During that entire five years she remained with Hattie Holt. The two became friendly after a fashion. Hattie was expansive and rather vulgar. Men liked her because she was a hail fellow. She was a great comfort to many. Her friendly attitude was infectious. But she never read a book and only read the headlines in newspapers. Life was devoted to the art of love and she pined for no other recreation.
Sometimes of an evening when there were no men cluttering up the house she joined Louella in a pint of beer and some cheese sandwiches.
"Funny world," she declared once. "Wonder where in hell I'll end? You'd never think to look at me that I was happily married once."
"Oh, I don't know," reflected Louella. "You're not so bad to look at if one isn't too critical. I can imagine a man marrying you, but I can't for the life of me see why he should."
"Damn rude," pouted Hattie, "but I'll overlook it. Yes, I was happily married not once, but twice, and both my husbands were narrow-minded. When they found out about each other they were provoked. They were even worse than that and so I thought it might be a good idea to leave them both. So I ran away with a drummer. But before a week was over he went back to his wife a sadder and a wiser man but in many ways contented. However, I never missed him. Among the succeeding crowds that came to the carnival, I'd have hardly known he was about anyway. Would you mind giving me a bit more cheese?"
"Not at all," said Louella. "Is that the doorbell?"
"What else could it be?"
"I hope to Heaven it is for you. I'm tired."
Mandy went to the door and admitted a sleek, thin individual with patent-leather hair and a breezy manner. They knew him as Don Raymond, the manager of a barber-supply house.
"Hello, girls," he cried. "I'll take beer."
"What the hell do you think this is, a bar?" asked Hattie peevishly.
"No matter what it is," said he, "I'll still take beer." As he drained the glass which Louella handed him, he went on: "To-
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