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“Why, hello!” he said, and came forward, swiftly. “Hello! Hello!”

“Hello!” Hahn answered; “Not to say hello-hello.”

Wallie looked at the girl. “Hello, Mizzi.”

“Hello,” said Mizzi.

“For God’s sake stop saying ‘hello!'” roared Hahn.

They both looked at him absently, and then at each other again.

Hahn flung his coat and hat at the Jap and rubbed his palms briskly together. “Well, how did you like it?” he said, and slapped Wallie on the back. “How’d you like it–the place I mean, and the Jap boy and all? H’m?”

“Very much,” Wallie answered, formally. “Very nice.”

“You’ll be having one of your own some day, soon. That’s sure.”

“I suppose so,” said Wallie, indifferently.

“I would like to go home,” said Mizzi, suddenly, in her precise English.

At that Wallie leaped out of his lounging coat. “I’ll take you! I’ll–I’ll be glad to take you.”

Hahn smiled a little, ruefully. “We were going to have dinner here, the three of us. But if you’re tired, Mizzi. I’m not so chipper myself when it comes to that.” He looked about the room, gratefully. “It’s good to be home.”

Wallie, hat in hand, was waiting in the doorway, Mizzi, turning to go, suddenly felt two hands on her shoulders. She was whirled around. Hahn–he had to stand on tiptoe to do it–kissed her once on the mouth, hard. Then he gave her a little shove toward the door. “Tell Wallie about the red carpet,” he said.

“I will not,” Mizzi replied, very distinctly. “I hate red carpets.”

Then they were gone. Hahn hardly seemed to notice that they had left. There were, I suppose, the proper number of Good-byes, and See-you-to-morrows, and Thank yous.

Sid Hahn stood there a moment in the middle of the room, very small, very squat, rather gnomelike, but not at all funny. He went over to the piano and seated himself, his shoulders hunched, his short legs clearing the floor. With the forefinger of his right hand he began to pick out a little tune. Not a sad little tune. A Hungarian street song. He did it atrociously. The stubby forefinger came down painstakingly on the white keys. Suddenly the little Jap servant stood in the doorway. Hahn looked up. His cheeks were wet with tears.

“God! I wish I could play!” he said.