Clara pondered. “They fit down there.” “You mean: we fit up here?” Clara’s eyes large on her friend: “We fit together....” Fanny sat beside her on the bed and took her hand. So they stayed. Fanny saw two lines running close ... red lines ...: they bellied out, wide, wide to hold the House: they ran in close once more. They were less red--dimmer. Laughter and words below volleyed up to them ... anonymous, sharp. “Tell me,” said Clara, “don’t you think--“ “What dear?” “That we fit together?” Fanny bent over the white face of her friend. Suddenly, she kissed her lips. She laughed. “You’ll get better now.” “Fanny,” the words came low. “Do I want to get better?” * * * * * It was afternoon, and Fanny serving tea. She gave a cup to Jack Baruch: rich-bodied boy with thin long wrists and gold-curled hair, vague eyes, and a cupid’s Bow for a mouth. She gave a cup to Foxie Wesser--master of Jack: a fellow angular and small with sharp nose, sharp eyes. She gave a cup to Thelma Clark and to Mildred. “I like tea,” said Jack. “Why shouldn’t you?” asked Fanny. It struck her sudden how quietly these two young men were dressed in their excellent store clothes. “Well, it’s funny to like _tea_. Luve, you’re a wonder, makin’ us come here and have a good time, drinking _tea_.” Thelma’s laughter: “Only boneheads need booze. I’m tryin’ and tryin’ to like tea. Ever since I been comin’ here, I been tryin’. But I can’t just. I’m a bonehead.” “Wisht I had your wits,” said Mildred. She was blonde, doll-petite. Her lips curled lecherous in her narrow face. “What d’ya mean? _I_ have wits?” Thelma’s laughter. “I’m a damn fool. Ask Jack. That’s why I love him.” She turned her face--honest face with square chin and high clear cheekbones--to the pretty boy she loved. It was plain she loved him. --My friends! These boys, these girls. Jack Baruch who picks pockets. Wesser who handles men like Baruch and the gunmen for Mangel and for Statt--Wesser who was the Diplomat of pool-rooms, with his sharp smooth chin and his excellent English, and his intelligent calm. These girls-- Thelma got up. She kissed Jack, she kissed Fanny. She paid no attention to the other two. “Me for my afternoon’s walk. Good-by.” “You’re sensible, dear,” said Fanny: the lithe full body moved half in a prance away. Wesser was still.--Where is the calm of Wesser? Wesser was troubled. The absence of Thelma who meant laughter and noise seemed to make him uncovered. He picked at his trousers. He smoked his cigar with a harsh swiftness ... he who was so smooth. Jack was jolly. He who had brought into the too hard sureness of the House a bloom of adolescent melancholy, laughed now loudly. Jim Statt came in. “Well, Wesser ... spoken to Fanny?” “No,” he looked furtively away. Statt grunted and sat. “A’right then. I might ’a’ known you’d flinch. Well, _I_ won’t.” “Right-O,” Wesser’s eyes flashed. He muttered: “Your affair after all....”