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 ago that he had been close to a proposal. Had he re- covered from his affection for her? It would mean that he wouldn’t annoy her any longer with insinuating declarations of passion, but she didn’t altogether like the idea of having a man who once had made love to her treat her as though she were simply another cog in his professional machine.

Tommy lit his familiar pipe and took up his telephone again.

“Musical Cosmos—Miss Weatherby.”

“Are you very busy here, Tommy?” asked Dorothy.

She would make a dignified exit.

“Busy? No, madame, this is my lunch hour. You ‘ought to see this place when-"

The bell.

“This you, Betty? Yes, Tommy. Two things. One: put on your come-and-kiss-me hat and call for me about one and maybe I’ll pay for my lunch as well as yours. Two: I’m sending you a picture of a new acquisition. Professional, I mean. You're my only social diversion, Betty. Her name’s Dorothy Reitz. She sings soprano at Aeolian Hall next month. I wish you’d run in an interview before the recital. Ring her up at Schuyler 9716. Oh, she’s decorative enough, Betty. Nothing to make you jealous, kid. I'd tell you more but she’s here now. See you later.”

“Well,” he continued, “your picture goes into the Musi- cal Cosmos. Miss Weatherby will ring you up for an interview. Tell her about the interesting new songs you have, why flappers do or don’t, or why camels play chess. Anything you like, but make it entertaining. If you don’t, she will. I don’t know what Eggs has planned for you——”

“Who’s Eggs?” interrupted Dorothy.