nearly forgot. A lady called up. While you were in the
hath tub.”

“This morning?” Hy's face went discreetly blank.

“Yes, Miss--Miss--sounded like Banana.”

“Miss Sorana.” Hy's eyelids fluttered an instant. Then he lit a
cigarette and was again his lightly imperturbable self. “What an ungodly
hour!” he murmured, “for Silvia, of all girls. But she knows she mustn't
call me at the office.”

The Worm regarded his roommate with discerning, mildly humorous eyes.
“Who, may I ask, is Silvia? And what is she?”

Hy missed the allusion. “If _The Evening Earth_ were ever to come into
possession of my recent letters which I devoutly hope and trust they
won't”--Hy staged a shudder--“they would undoubtedly refer to her as 'an
actress.' Just like that. An actress.”

“Hm!” mused the Worm, “it's in writing already, eh!”

Hy shrugged his shoulders. “The old world has to go round,” said he.
Then his eyes grew dreamy. “But, my boy, my boy! You should see her--the
darling of the gods! Absolutely the darling of the gods! Met her at the
Grand Roof. Good lord! figured in cold calendar arithmetic, it isn't
eight days. But then, they say eternity is but a moment.”

“A dancing case?” queried the Worm.

Hy nodded. “After ten steps, my son, we knew! Absolutely knew! She knew.
I knew. We were helpless--it had to be.”

At this point Hy pocketed his watch and settled back to smoke
comfortably. He always bolted his breakfast by the watch; he always
chatted or read the paper afterward; he was always late at the office.

The Worm was studying him quizzically. “Hy,” he said, “how do you do
it?”

“Do what?” queried Hy, struggling with a smile of self-conscious
elation.

“Oh, come! You know. This!” The Worm gestured inclusively with his pipe.
“Ten days ago it was that Hilda Hansen person from Wisconsin. Two weeks
before that--”

Hy raised his hand. “Go easy with the dead past, my son.”

The Worm pressed on. “Morally, ethically, you are doubtless open to
criticism. As