Arden took a long, deep breath. "I'll buy that," she said. "And tonight, it wouldn't take much persuasion to induce me to snooze right here in this chair!" "Oh, fine," cheered Don. "That would fix me up swell with the neighbors. I'm not going to get shotgunned into anything like that!" "Don't be silly," said Arden. "From the look in your eye," said Channing, "I'd say that you were just about to do that very thing. I was merely trying to dissolve any ideas that you might have." "Don't bother," she said pettishly. "I haven't any ideas. I'm as free as you are, and I intend to stay that way!" Channing stood up. "The next thing we know, we'll be fighting," he observed. "Stand up, Arden. Shake." Arden stood up, shook herself, and then looked at Channing with a strange light in her eyes. "I feel sort of dizzy," she admitted. "And everything irritates me." She passed a hand over her eyes wearily. Then, with a visible effort, she straightened. She seemed to throw off her momentary ill feeling instantly. She smiled at Channing and was her normal self in less than a minute. "What is it?" she asked. "Do you feel funny, too?" "I do!" he said. "I don't want that beer. I want to snooze." "When Channing would prefer snoozing to boozing he is sick," she said. "Come on, fellow, take me home." Slowly they walked down the long hallway. They said nothing. Arm in arm they went, and when they reached Arden's door, their good-night kiss lacked enthusiasm. "See you in the morning," said Don. Arden looked at him. "That was a little flat. We'll try it again--tomorrow or next week." Don Channing's sleep was broken by dreams. He was warm. His dreams depicted him in a humid, airless chamber, and he was forced to breathe that same stale air again and again. He awoke in a hot sweat, weak and feeling--lousy! He dressed carelessly. He shaved hit-or-miss. His morning coffee tasted flat and sour. He left the apartment in a bad mood, and bumped into Arden at the corner of the hall. "Hello," she said. "I feel rotten. But you have improved. Or is that passionate breathing just a lack of fresh air?" "Hell! That's it!" he said. He snapped up his wrist watch, which was equipped with a stop-watch hand. He looked about, and finding a man sitting on a bench, apparently taking it easy while waiting for someone, Channing clicked the sweep hand into gear. He started to count the man's respiration. "What gives?" asked Arden, "What's 'It'? Why are you so excited? Did I say something?" "You did," said Channing after fifteen seconds. "That bird's respiration is better than fifty! This whole place is filled to the gills with carbon dioxide. Come on, Arden, let's get going!"