She was so proud of herself and of him that she wasted never a
glance at the powdered gold on the blue ceiling.
"I'm terrible glad to see you, Tommie," she said.
"Are you? Honest?" he chortled.
They jostled into each other and the crowd.
"I'm awful hungry, though," she said, "and I've got oodles of
things to tell you."
"Let's eat," he said. They went to the all-night dairy restaurant
in the Terminal. He led her to one of the broad-armed chairs and
fetched her dainties--a triangle of apple pie, a circle of cruller,
and a cylinder of milk.
She leaned across the arm of the chair and told him of her mishaps.
He was so enraged that he knocked a plate to the floor. She snatched
the cruller off just in time to save it, and the room echoed
her laughter.
They talked and talked until she was talked out, and it was
midnight. He began to worry about the hour. It was a long ride
on the Subway and then a long walk to her boarding-house and then
a long walk and a long ride to his.
"I hate to go back to that awful Jambers woman and let her know
I'm fired," Kedzie moaned. "My trunk's in storage, anyhow, and
maybe she's got no room."
"Why go back?" said Tommie, not realizing the import of his words.
It was merely his philosophical habit to ask every custom "Why?"
"Where else is there to go to?" she sighed.
"If we were only married--" he sighed.
"Why, Tommie!"
"As we ought to be!"
"Why, Tommie Gilfoyle!"
And now he was committed.
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