The wonderful day, the day for memory, was that on which King took Billee to Coney Island. June had arrived with white dresses, canvas shoes, Palm Beach suits, straw hats and sea yearnings. Billee had telephoned him from somewhere to meet her at Bowling Green at eleven. They would take cars to the Island and come back by boat at ten to Battery Park. Her old lady was off to New England again with the Plymouth Rockers, celebrating an anniversary, and would not return until next day. Her friend, the housemaid, would sit up for her, and the subway wasn’t far. And be sure and meet her or she would die of disappointment; she had never been to Coney Island. She was wearing something white and simple, and came with a wonder light in her eyes, swinging a little bag gayly up to his face. “Guess,” she cried, “my one extravagance!” “Sandwich,” he ventured. Billee screamed: “Bathing suit, silly!” “Great heavens! And you can pack it in that?” “Ought I to have brought a trunk?” “A trunk? I hate to say it.” “Don’t.” Now to King Dubignon was revealed a new Billee. She was the spirit of light and laughter, and the faces of all who saw her that day shone with sympathy and admiration. She was a child out of school, and seeing the world for the first time. “Poor little girl,” he said within, an ache deep down, “she hasn’t had much fun. Never mind, it’s coming some day.” It was coming that day. It had in fact already arrived. “King,” breathlessly, after a daring pressure of his hand, “bear with me to-day. I’m simply wild, _wild!_ and not responsible. I’ve heard good news, great news, and it’s killing me with happiness. It’s my great day, you big, handsome, loving boy!--my boy!” “Keep going, Billee, I’ll never stop you. Am I in on it?” “Are you? _Are_ you? How could it be good news if you were not?” He was certain he had never seen anything half as funny as Billee that day, sliding down the “corkscrew,” unless it was Billee trying to navigate the whirling bowl and crawling out on hands and knees, her little jaws set hard and eyes imploring him. For they took in all the features of the Island, did all the undignified stunts, rode the wooden race horses, and flying-jennies, shot the chutes, journeyed through Wonderland, circled the Ferris wheel, shot at targets, threw rings for dolls and balls at grinning “coon” heads, saw the fat woman and alligator boy and the Hawaiian dancers. The offer of a free trip up and five dollars by the captive balloon man, if they would marry in the air, was promptly accepted by King but spurned by Billee. Then they ran races on the beach with other carefree couples, built sand houses with little children, ate popcorn, “hot dog” and cotton candy and saw the movies. And Billee drank a pony of beer and lit a cigarette for King. Once they came across a wild, ragtime dance scene, and Billee screamed with delight. It seemed to be everybody’s frolic. “Come on, King, I must dance with you!”