He showed her the top of a small, square box tied with blue cord. It bore a jeweler's mark.
"Can you guess now, Lil? It's something you been aching fer."
"Lemme alone!" she said.
He looked at her in frank surprise, slowly replacing the box in his hip-pocket.
"Durned if I know what's got you!" he muttered.
"Nothing ain't got me," she insisted.
He brightened.
"Poor little girl! Never mind; next summer I'm goin' to grab that Atlantic City job I been tellin' you about. The old man said again yesterday that, jest as sure as he opens his sheet-music bazar down there next season, it's me fer the keyboard."
"His schemes don't ever turn out. I know his talk," his wife objected.
"Sure they will this time, Lil; he's got a feller to back it. He dropped in special to hear me play the 'Louisanner Rusticanner Rag' to-day; an' honest, Lil, he couldn't keep his feet still! I sprung that new one on him, too—the 'Giddy Glide'—an' I had to laugh; the old man nearly jumped over the pianner—couldn't sit quiet! Just you wait, Lil. I got that job cinched—no more picture-show stuff fer me! It'll be us fer the board-walk next summer!"