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Updated: July 10, 2025
In the glow of a spray of red and white electric bulbs, in a bower of the instant's pretty-girl periodical covers, and herself the most vivid of them all, Miss Marjorie Clark caught a hastily flung copper coin on the fly, her laughter mounting with it. "Whoops, la-la!" "Good catch, kiddo." "Oh, you Charley-boy, who was you pitching for last season?" "The Reds, because that's your color."
Sam Keith, who, after meeting Mary at his cousin's house, had at first developed an amazing fondness for that relative's society, now came less often. He was in the second stage of the pretty-girl disease mentioned by his aunt; the fever and delirium had passed, and he was now cooling off. It cannot be said that the fever had been in the least encouraged.
The poorly dressed salesgirl behind the counter smiled down at him in a manner which successive ten o'clock sessions had failed to eradicate. "What kind?" she asked. His gaze wandered helplessly over the bewildering array of volumes. "Here's something everyone's reading," she suggested, holding up an inane, pretty-girl covered book.
Her mother had not touched it all day had gone off and left it. "This is a little too much!" Una said, grimly. The only signs of life were Mrs. Golden's pack of cards for solitaire, her worn, brown Morris-chair, and accretions of the cheap magazines with pretty-girl covers which Mrs. Golden ransacked for love-stories. Mrs.
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