"Good night, Gump! Come round and we play pinochle."
"I hope you don't think we're stingy with light, Mr. Gump. If I had my way they'd all be going; but Birdie likes only the gas-grate. My Ray was the same way, never a great one for much light."
"I'm the same, too," replied Mr. Gump.
"Good night!"
"Good night!"
Birdie remained seated in the mellow flicker of the fire-dance; its glow lit her large, well-featured face intermittently and set the stars in her hair scintillating. The quiet of late evening fell over the room.
"What a grand old pair, Birdie!"
"Yes," she said, softly—very softly.
Silence.
"Say—Birdie! Say—"