Dot earnestly doubted it. It probably meant Maude and Ted. She would be having a wonderful time at an expensive seaside resort despite any irregularities of conduct. When it was Maude, the gods laughed and accepted her sins as youthful pranks. Dot felt a little bitter. It was very hot on Post Avenue, and the gods didn't seem to care a hoot that Dot was perpetuating the race in a perfectly respectable way. Maude was probably wearing snowy-white sport clothes and soft, perfumed dance frocks. She was bathing, riding in wheel chairs, dancing, and in every way enjoying the summer.
She had dropped Dot a card and had sent the baby a gift; so apparently she bore Dot no ill will even though Dot had seen fit to do as she pleased in the little matter of her pregnancy. Dot was still a trifle angry at Maude. She had longed to return the carriage robe, but an insane lust to own many things for her baby had defeated her longing.
The night of July Fourth came down upon New York with a dark, throbbing heat. There was nothing of new interest being reported from Madison Square Garden. Dot and Eddie sat drinking cream soda, each gloomily thinking his own gloomy thoughts.
Dot got to her feet ponderously. "Eddie," she said, "I got to go up on the roof for a while. I'm getting crazy from just looking at this room."
Eddie turned off the radio. "I'll go with you," he said.
They ascended the one short flight of stairs to the roof in silence. Dot walked in front. Gee, from the back you'd never know she was pregnant! She wore a short dotted-swiss dress without sleeves and without belt or sash. It had only taken an hour to make and had cost but forty-nine cents. Her hair still held its noble, aloof wave which could be touched neither by pain nor by adversity, but it was ragged on her neck and far too long to fill any of the
