In the foyer at seven o'clock Sara Juke met Charley Chubb, and he slid up quite frankly behind her and kissed her on the lips. At Sharkey's a miss is as good as her kiss! "You--you quit! You mustn't!" She sprang back, quivering, her face cold-looking and blue; and he regarded her with his mouth quirking. "Huh! Hoity-toity, ain't you? Hoity-toity and white-faced and late, all at once, ain't you? Say, them airs don't get across with me. Come on! I'm hungry." "I didn't mean to yell, Charley--only you scared me. I thought maybe it was one of them fresh guys that hang round here; all of 'em look so dopey and all. I--you know I never was strong for this place, Charley." "Beginning to nag, are you?" "No, no, Charley. No, no!" They drew up at a small table. "No fancy keeling act to-night, kiddo. I ain't taking out a hospital ward, you know. Gad, I like you, though, when you're white-looking like this! Why'd you dodge me at noon to-day and to-night after closing? New guy? I won't stand for it, you know, you little white-faced Sweetness, you!" "I hadda go somewheres, Charley. I came near not coming to-night, neither, Charley." "What'll you eat?" "I ain't hungry." "Thirsty, eh?" "No." He regarded her over the rim of the smirchy bill of fare. "What are you, then, you little white-faced, big-eyed devil?" "Charley, I--I got something to--to tell you. I--" "Bring me a lamb stew and a beer, light. What'll you have, little white-face?" "Some milk and--" "She means with suds on, waiter." "No--no; milk, I said--milk over toast. Milk toast--I gotta eat it. Why don't you lemme talk, Charley? I gotta tell you." He was suddenly sober. "What's hurting you? One milk toast, waiter; tell them in the kitchen the lady's teeth hurt her. What's up, Sweetness?" And he must lean across the table and imprint a fresh kiss on her lips. "Don't--don't--don't! For Gawd's sake, don't!" She covered her face with her hands; and such a trembling seized her that they fell pitifully away again and showed her features, each distorted, "You mustn't, Charley! Mustn't do that again, not--not for three months--you--you mustn't." He leaned across the table; his voice was like sleet--cold, thin, cutting: "What's the matter--going to quit?" "No--no--no!" "Got another guy you like better?" "Oh! Oh!" "A queenie can't quit me first and get away with it, kiddo. I may be a soft-fingered sort of fellow, but a queenie can't quit me first and get away with it. Ask 'em about me round here; they know me. If anybody in this little duet is going to do the quitting act first it ain't going to be you. What's the matter? Out with it!" "Charley, it ain't that--I swear it ain't that!" "What's hurting you, then?" "I gotta tell you. We gotta go easy for a little while. We gotta quit doing the rounds for a while till--only for a little while. Three months he said would fix me. A grand old doc he was!