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 streaming tears with a handkerchief. "Yes, you can," she soothed. "Of course you can. There isn't a thing to cry about. We're taking care of you now. Nothing's the matter, child—is there? Tell us all about it."

The united efforts of Yvonne and Jock finally elicited from Cecily the news that she felt "awfully funnee" and a series of sobbing speculations as to what her mother would say when she went home. "And how'm I going to get home," she wound up, lifting a tragic wet face. ("Anyway," Jock told himself, "she cries a lot prettier than she used to. Why, she cries the prettiest of any girl I ever saw!")

"I'll take you home, don't worry," he said.

To his astonishment the offer provoked fresh sniffles. "Wh-what'll you think of me?" gulped Cecily. "I never was like this b-before, and of course it would have to be this night! Oh, everything's all t-terrible"

It was eventually determined that Cecily should be driven to Yvonne's apartment for the night. "It's the only logical thing to do," Yvonne said to Jock. "If her mother's like most mothers, taking her home as is would be sheer cruelty. You find August, will you, and ask him if he cares if we do our last numbers now instead of later—and bring her wrap from the chair where she was sitting"

At twelve-thirty the roadster fled away from Terrace Tavern, bearing three people.

"Lean against me, Cecily," suggested Yvonne.

"No," said Cecily drowsily. "I wanna lean the other way."

She dozed through the trip into the city nestled against Jock, with her head contentedly resting on his shoulder.