At twelve o’clock a procession of cloaks issued single file from the women’s dressing-room and, each one pairing with a coated beau like dancers meeting in a cotillion figure, drifted through the door with sleepy happy laughter--through the door into the dark where autos backed and snorted and parties called to one another and gathered around the water-cooler. Jim, sitting in his corner, rose to look for Clark. They had met at eleven; then Clark had gone in to dance. So, seeking him, Jim wandered into the soft-drink stand that had once been a bar. The room was deserted except for a sleepy negro dozing behind the counter and two boys lazily fingering a pair of dice at one of the tables. Jim was about to leave when he saw Clark coming in. At the same moment Clark looked up. “Hi, Jim!” he commanded. “C’mon over and help us with this bottle. I guess there’s not much left, but there’s one all around.” Nancy, the man from Savannah, Marylyn Wade, and Joe Ewing were lolling and laughing in the doorway. Nancy caught Jim’s eye and winked at him humorously. They drifted over to a table and arranging themselves around it waited for the waiter to bring ginger ale. Jim, faintly ill at ease, turned his eyes on Nancy, who had drifted into a nickel crap game with the two boys at the next table. “Bring them over here,” suggested Clark. Joe looked around. “We don’t want to draw a crowd. It’s against club rules.” “Nobody’s around,” insisted Clark, “except Mr. Taylor. He’s walking up and down like a wild-man trying find out who let all the gasolene out of his car.” There was a general laugh. “I bet a million Nancy got something on her shoe again. You can’t park when she’s around.” “O Nancy, Mr. Taylor’s looking for you!” Nancy’s cheeks were glowing with excitement over the game. “I haven’t seen his silly little flivver in two weeks.” Jim felt a sudden silence. He turned and saw an individual of uncertain age standing in the doorway. Clark’s voice punctuated the embarrassment. “Won’t you join us, Mr. Taylor?” “Thanks.” Mr. Taylor spread his unwelcome presence over a chair. “Have to, I guess. I’m waiting till they dig me up some gasolene. Somebody got funny with my car.” His eyes narrowed and he looked quickly from one to the other. Jim wondered what he had heard from the doorway--tried to remember what had been said. “I’m right to-night,” Nancy sang out, “and my four bits is in the ring.” “Faded!” snapped Taylor suddenly. “Why, Mr. Taylor, I didn’t know you shot craps!” Nancy was overjoyed to find that he had seated himself and instantly covered her bet. They had openly disliked each other since the night she had definitely discouraged a series of rather pointed advances. “All right, babies, do it for your mamma. Just one little seven.” Nancy was _cooing_ to the dice. She rattled them with a brave underhand flourish, and rolled them out on the table. “Ah-h! I suspected it. And now again with the dollar up.”