The upshot of it was that Steve decided to call on Mary the following afternoon; it was only courtesy he told himself by way of an excuse. He wanted to talk to her--not of business but of life, of the shabby old house. Outwardly he wanted to ask if he might help her and what her plans were, but in reality he wanted her to help him. He no longer felt displeased that Beatrice had not come with him; he felt positive Mary would understand, that she would dismiss Trudy's slight with proper scorn. Beatrice would have insisted upon arriving in state. By this time the bridge club with its Russian sweetmeats, its six-hundred-dollar china plates, the new afternoon frock, and the spoofing of Trudy must be well under way! The fish market was not doing a land-office business. Stray purchasers approached and halted before the cashier's cage. Steve began watching them. Suddenly he became aware of the gorgeous young woman presiding behind the wire cage, reluctantly pushing out change and accepting slips, completely preoccupied in her own thoughts, while a copy of the _High Blood Pressure Weekly_ lay at one side. What attracted Steve was the horrible similarity between this young person and his own wife! Both had the same fluffed, frizzled hair and a gay light chiffon frock with gold trimmings. Though it was December the toothpick point of a white-kid slipper protruded from the cage. An imitation Egyptian necklace called attention to the thin, powdered throat. The cashier was altogether a cheap copy of Beatrice's general appearance. She had the same tiny, nondescript features and indolent expression in her eyes; she was most superior in her fashion of dealing with the customers, never deigning to speak or be spoken to. As soon as she spied Steve, however, she smiled an invitation to enter and become owner of half a whitefish or so. Then the car came and he leaped aboard. It seemed unbearable that a counterpart of Beatrice O'Valley was making change at Sullivan's Fish Market--but more unbearable to realize that women in the position of Beatrice O'Valley dressed and rouged--and acted very often--in such a fashion that women in the position of Trudy and this cashier queen sought industriously to imitate them. * * * * * Luke showed his grief in the normal manner of any half-grown, true-blue lad, singularly thoughtful of his sister's wishes, and mentioning everyone and everything except their mother and her death. "We won't give up having a home," Mary told him the night of the funeral; "we'll move into a smaller place so I can take care of it." "I guess I'll work pretty hard at school," was all he answered. "Of course you will. I'm proud of you now, and if you work and show you deserve it I'll help you through college." Luke shook his head. "Takes too long before I could get to earning real money. You ought to have it easy pretty soon."