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 any old voice at all sound "like Jeritza singing the blues."

She concluded, "Anyway, we're good. Plenty good enough, as soon as we've practised together a little more."

"Good enough for what?" asked Jock aimlessly. He had pulled Yvonne on to his knees, and hence had little interest in the forthcoming answer, if any.

She put her hands against his chest and scrutinized him soberly. "Jock Hamill, how would you like to go into partnership with me—no, wait, my dear! I'm serious about this. Listen to me just a minute. I have to work—keep still till I finish, for goodness' sake!—and you're going to work too, when you get your lazy old self around to it, so why shouldn't we work together, playing and singing in a"

"Salvation Army!" crowed Jock. "Just the thing!"

Yvonne disengaged herself and stood up, vastly dignified. "All right, if you refuse to be sensible"

"I will be! Word of honor. Sit down here again where you belong. Where are we going to play and sing? Tell me."

"Did you ever hear of Terrace Tavern?"

"Rum joint out toward Pelham? Yah, sure, I've heard of it."

"It's not a 'rum joint! remonstrated Yvonne. "It's a very nice roadhouse, one of the nicest around New York."

"Question: is there such a thing as a nice road house," grinned Jock. "Alas, I fear not, the boys and girls being as they are nowadays. But go on. This is all very interesting."

"Terrace Tavern," pursued Yvonne after a reproachful pause, "is run by a man named August Schultz, who used to be at the Café Mandalay when I was