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 standardized line of attack. In Eddie's circle, men said those things in that manner and were successful. Dot's orbit was the same.

"You don't think I'd make a date with you, do you?" she asked. "You were all right on the boat when I was lonesome—" She broke off in a laugh.

"Suits me," he came back. "I was just sorry for you. It sure looks like you can't get a fellow to take you out."

"Well, I'm particular." She said this with her little tip-tilted nose in the air and the brown, wavy bob swinging low and silky on her neck. The ukulele was under her arm, mute and forgotten. It had no place in the grimy foyer with its barnlike walls and embarrassed chairs. In a few minutes it would be thrown carelessly in the spare closet, the limbo of winter coats, hoarded magazines, and useless radio parts.

"What about it?" Eddie prompted. "Want to see me again?"

"I should say not, but accidents do happen."

Eddie smiled a little. He liked girls to say things like that. No fun kidding a dame who couldn't think up a quick answer. This Dot Haley was all right. She was a little stuck on herself, but she was a good-looker, though he'd never tell her that she was.

This noble resolution to refrain from adding to Dot's conceit was pure swagger on Eddie's part. It would have been impossible for him to sing praises to Dot's charms had he desired passionately to do so. He knew that other fellows, when they chose, could toss compliments about with enviable ease. Pretty expressions flowed liquidly as they willed. They could even extol the beauty of an unattractive girl without experiencing any difficulties. Eddie was different. Flattery froze on his lips. He had tried it once. He had failed, or perhaps he had succeeded. The lying words wouldn't come. Honest admiration was al-