Like a great brown rat, George's shoe was loping lazily across the room. Apparently the spirit was habitually forgetful of this particular extremity. Marc raced after it and came abreast of it just as it reached the chair. He swung his foot behind him and kicked viciously. The shoe faded just in time to save itself, and Marc's foot collided painfully with the chair. Moaning, he sat down helplessly on the floor and began to nurse the offended member. Then, at the sound of Memphis' voice, he glanced up with horrified eyes. The secretary was observing him interestedly from the doorway. "A new dance step?" she asked tonelessly. "Just ... just getting a little exercise," Marc stammered lamely. "Got to tone up the old system once in a while, you know. Push-ups." He flexed his arms in half-hearted demonstration. Memphis moved uncertainly into the room and closed the door. "Look out that chair doesn't push back," she said. Marc laughed nervously and got to his feet. "I slipped," he said. "Well," Memphis said resignedly, "since you've already cracked, I guess these can't hurt you too much." She extended a hand full of papers and dropped them on the desk. "Bills," she announced. "The show?" Marc asked soberly. Memphis nodded. "I dropped in at rehearsal last night, just out of morbid curiosity." She said it in a tone of voice generally reserved for use in funeral parlors and morgues. "I caught one of Julie's numbers." A look of utmost discomfort rested curiously on her ruddy face. "Sorry, Mr. Pillsworth." Obviously Memphis was acting as the close friend who always consoles the bereaved. Marc didn't know when the bug of theatrical ambition had begun to gnaw at the foundations of his home, but he was willing to bet an attractive sum that the craven little termite had been at its ravenous work for years, considering the matrimonial and financial devastation its insidious activities had wrought in just the last few weeks. * * * * * Julie's days as a model and "lady of the chorus" had dawned and waned long before Marc had ever met her. And that being the case, he was all too willing to forgive and forget them. Even in moments of domestic stress, when their handsome ghosts stalked arrogantly through his parlor, bedroom and bath, keeping Julie company as she proclaimed her intention to leave him and resume her "career" ... even then he refused to pay them any serious attention. However, he might have displayed more wisdom had he given those days all the studied attention due a plan of atomic control, particularly during the last few months, during which, in Julie's reminiscences, they had taken on a more intense, misty-eyed glamour. But what Marc didn't know was that one of Julie's erstwhile chorus girl friends had recently arrived at a rather spectacular Broadway success.