"Look here," said Letcher suddenly. "You might as well know it right now. I'm married."
"Married!" echoed Minnie. "Honest, you're kiddin', ain't you?"
"Wish I was sometimes. Married and got a couple o' kids, boy and a girl. Look!"
He drew from his pocket a thumbed photograph of two fat youngsters.
Minnie felt a hot wave of nausea race over her. It blurred out the image of his grinning face.
"Oh," she cried. "Oh, I never would of guessed it. Why didn't somebody tell me before? Why didn't Eleanor tell me?"
"You won't be shocked by a little thing like that after you've been around the studios awhile," Letcher laughed. "Funny little kid you are. Well, good night, dearie. There's my car. Got to beat it or the wife's goin' to meet me on the top step with a flatiron. So long, Mineola, see you tomorrow!"
Riding downtown in the subway Minnie was almost overcome with fatigue. The paper bundle weighed heavily on its string as she swayed back and forth, clinging to the strap.
Why she should think of him she didn't know, but suddenly Billy McNally loomed up before her, as one tired would think of a broad comfortable couch. Maybe it was only because she was used to him—but at that it was pleasant to concentrate upon someone dependable, someone who wasn't a four-flusher like the others. Was all honest love uninteresting? Minnie asked herself. Half dreaming of Billy she could almost feel the warm pressure of his kisses. She wondered what he had been doing. She hadn't seen him since he had caught her in a lie; she had told him that because of her neuralgia the chilly night air made it impossible for her to sit in the lower hallway, and he had seen her at the drugstore with Al Kessler, sitting there at the counter, warm and con-
