the gas company threatened to discontinue service in the little kitchenette. Lillian had always been careless about paying bills, and when there had been plenty of money at hand no inconvenience had arisen from her neglect. It had been easy to pay the fellow when he showed up with the final notice. But now it was different. Very different. Five dollars and twenty-one cents takes an awful fall out of one's last ten-dollar bill.
Hubert considered the matter. Certainly he wasn't going to pay out of that solitary bill, and the gas was needed very badly. He got his hat and went out.
At the Dyckman Street corner he paused and considered the matter. The sun was hot. He took off his hat and fanned himself idly. The sun sparkled on the plate-glass windows of the stores across the way. Hm, there was the butcher shop they used to deal in. Nice fellow, that butcher. Very obliging. Briskly Hubert crossed the street.
It was a long, narrow store with plump chickens and tender-looking roasts displayed on white enamel trays under glass. Hubert saw that the owner of the shop who had always given him his personal attention was at the moment engaged. A somewhat fussy young woman was picking out a few lamb chops and Hubert waited patiently for the butcher to notice him.
The fussy young woman was at last satisfied and took her bundle and departed.
"Howdy," said Hubert.
"Why, hello, Mr. Cory," said the butcher. "You're quite a stranger. Been away?"
"Yes, we were away for a while. My wife was
