“And what I mean to say is,” said Ginger, pausing in the act of carrying a massive easy chair to the third spot which Sally had selected in the last ten minutes, “if I didn't sweat about a bit and help you after the way you got me that job...” “Ginger, desist,” said Sally. “Yes, but honestly...” “If you don't stop it, I'll make you move that chair into the next room.” “Shall I?” Ginger rubbed his blistered hands and took a new grip. “Anything you say.” “Silly! Of course not. The only other rooms are my bedroom, the bathroom and the kitchen. What on earth would I want a great lumbering chair in them for? All the same, I believe the first we chose was the best.” “Back she goes, then, what?” Sally reflected frowningly. This business of setting up house was causing her much thought. “No,” she decided. “By the window is better.” She looked at him remorsefully. “I'm giving you a lot of trouble.” “Trouble!” Ginger, accompanied by a chair, staggered across the room. “The way I look at it is this.” He wiped a bead of perspiration from his freckled forehead. “You got me that job, and...” “Stop!” “Right ho... Still, you did, you know.” Sally sat down in the armchair and stretched herself. Watching Ginger work had given her a vicarious fatigue. She surveyed the room proudly. It was certainly beginning to look cosy. The pictures were up, the carpet down, the furniture very neatly in order. For almost the first time in her life she had the restful sensation of being at home. She had always longed, during the past three years of boarding-house existence, for a settled abode, a place where she could lock the door on herself and be alone. The apartment was small, but it was undeniably a haven. She looked about her and could see no flaw in it... except... She had a sudden sense of something missing. “Hullo!” she said. “Where's that photograph of me? I'm sure I put it on the mantelpiece yesterday.” His exertions seemed to have brought the blood to Ginger's face. He was a rich red. He inspected the mantelpiece narrowly. “No. No photograph here.” “I know there isn't. But it was there yesterday. Or was it? I know I meant to put it there. Perhaps I forgot. It's the most beautiful thing you ever saw. Not a bit like me; but what of that? They touch 'em up in the dark-room, you know. I value it because it looks the way I should like to look if I could.” “I've never had a beautiful photograph taken of myself,” said Ginger, solemnly, with gentle regret. “Cheer up!” “Oh, I don't mind. I only mentioned...” “Ginger,” said Sally, “pardon my interrupting your remarks, which I know are valuable, but this chair is--not--right! It ought to be where it was at the beginning. Could you give your imitation of a pack-mule just once more? And after that I'll make you some tea. If there's any tea--or milk--or cups.” “There are cups all right. I know, because I smashed two the day before yesterday. I'll nip round the corner for some milk, shall I?”