At this Maxine laughed a sharp little laugh that was almost a bark. Perhaps she was justified.

The eighteen straggled in between six and six-thirty, nightly. A mixture of townspeople and strangers. While Maxine poured the water in the dining room the neat little parlour became a mess. The men threw hats and overcoats on the backs of the chairs. Their rubbers slopped under them. They rarely troubled to take them off. While waiting avidly for dinner to be served they struck matches and lighted cigarettes and cigars. Sometimes they called in to Maxine, “Say, girlie, when’ll supper be ready? I’m ‘bout gone.”

The women trotted upstairs, chattering, and primped and fussed in Maxine’s neat and austere little bedroom. They used Maxine’s powder and dropped