up the blind and lifted, next, the sash. She drew deep breaths of the cool evening air and returned to his arms, from which she watched the gray spread of the last twilight over the soft summits of the mountains. Here and there on the slopes below the Tavern twinkled tiny lights, motionless, mostly; but one crept slowly into the wide expanse of misty darkness which was the golf course. A little negro boy, Jay thought, a caddie with a lantern; and whistling came from the darkness; haunting, happy notes.
"Have the niggers got it on us?" Lida asked.
"Change with 'em, would you?" asked Jay.
"Nothing in that," Lida denied. "But what's in this?"
"We're young," said Jay. "You're very young."
"That's the trouble; what'll be better, older? They'd sell their souls, older, to be back where we are. It's all here at our age; we got to have it now or there's nothing at all."
"We'll have it, Lida."
"Will we? . . . Why are we staying here?"
"I like it. I thought you would."
"I don't. It isn't exactly cheap, is it?" she demanded.
"Not exactly."
"Then why are we staying?"
"Where do you want to go?"
"Kamchatka, unless you know some place further."
"I see," said Jay, quietly.
"Where were you thinking of going from here?"
"Chicago."
"My God, why Chicago?"
"I was born there," said Jay, stirring with a slight de-
