you're doing. You ain't thinking of that other guy, are you?"

"Oh, Willie: You're too damn sensitive."

"Yeah, I gue as I am, Thelma.

I ain't like the rest of the

Got any-

guys that hang around the bar. I'm different.

thing to drink, honey?"

"You brought some boor..."

"Naw. I mean something that's got a wallop in it."

"Gee, no Willie..."

"Lot's get dressed and go back to the bar, Baby..."

"No, Willio. You know this always makes me tired. I want to sleep."

He sighed, and said: "Okay..." and clumsily reached for his garment s. He began to put them on. "Come over tomorrow, honey?"

"Maybe. Tomorrow's Saturday, though. I'm busy Saturday, cleaning and laundry. A lot of roomers pay their rent on Saturday. And I wasn't home this evening; they'll all bo in tomorrow."

He turned away from her, and went to the dingy mirror to comb his hair.

"I was here last evening, but you weren't home, Thelma. We like to keep a little ahead..."

"Yes, of course, Lynn, Mr. Cohen appreciates that."

The tall young woman placed some folded bills on the desk and stood waiting. She had placed both hands in the pockets of her tailored slacks, and she was whistling softly, and examining a faded calander illustration of a dog and a little boy fishing. Thelma bent over the desk, writing. Then she tore off the receipt and handed it to

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