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Effie smiled a tired little smile, and shook her head slowly.

“You’re a good kid, Gabie, to lie like that just to make me feel good. But my nurse left yesterday and I had my first real squint at myself in the mirror. She wouldn’t let me look while she was here. After what I saw staring back at me from that glass a whole ballroom full of French courtiers whispering sweet nothings in my ear couldn’t make me believe that I look like anything but a hunk of Roquefort, green spots included. When I think of how my clothes won’t fit it makes me shiver.”

“Oh, you’ll soon be back at the store as good as new. They fatten up something wonderful after typhoid. Why, I had a friend—-“

“Did you get my message?” interrupted Effie.

“I was only talking to hide my nervousness,” said Gabe, and started forward. But Effie waved him away.

“Sit down,” she said. “I’ve got something to say.” She looked thoughtfully down at one shining finger nail. Her lower lip was caught between her teeth. When she looked up again her eyes were swimming in tears. Gabe started forward again. Again Effie waved him away.

“It’s all right, Gabie. I don’t blubber as a rule. This fever leaves you as weak as a rag, and ready to cry if any one says `Boo!’ I’ve been doing some high-pressure thinking since nursie left. Had plenty of time to do it in, sitting here by this window all day. My land! I never knew there was so much time. There’s been days when I haven’t talked to a soul, except the nurse and the chambermaid. Lonesome! Say, the amount of petting I could stand would surprise you. Of course, my nurse was a perfectly good nurse–at twenty-five per. But I was just a case to her. You can’t expect a nurse to ooze sympathy over an old maid with the fever. I tell you I was dying to have some one say `Sh-sh-sh!’ when there was a noise, just to show they were interested. Whenever I’d moan the nurse would come over and stick a thermometer in my mouth and write something down on a chart. The boys and girls at the store sent flowers. They’d have done the same if I’d died. When the fever broke I just used to lie there and dream, not feeling anything in particular, and not caring much whether it was day or night. Know what I mean?”

Gabie shook a sympathetic head.

There was a little silence. Then Effie went on. “I used to think I was pretty smart, earning my own good living, dressing as well as the next one, and able to spend my vacation in Atlantic City if I wanted to. I didn’t know I was missing anything. But while I was sick I got to wishing that there was somebody that belonged to me. Somebody to worry about me, and to sit up nights–somebody that just naturally felt they had to come tiptoeing into my room every three or four minutes to see if I was sleeping, or had enough covers on, or wanted a drink, or something. I got to thinking what it would have been like if I had a husband and a–home. You’ll think I’m daffy, maybe.”

Gabie took Effie’s limp white hand in his, and stroked it gently. Effie’s face was turned away from him, toward the noisy street.

“I used to imagine how he’d come home at six, stamping his feet, maybe, and making a lot of noise the way men do. And then he’d remember, and come creaking up the steps
, and he’d stick his head in at the door in the funny, awkward, pathetic way men have in a sick room. And he’d say, `How’s the old girl to-night? I’d better not come near you now, puss, because I’ll bring the cold with me. Been lonesome for your old man?’

“And I’d say, `Oh, I don’t care how cold you are, dear. The nurse is downstairs, getting my supper ready.’