his hat and gloves at her and left closing the door very gently behind him. Good riddance, he said to himself as he closed the door carefully behind him.
Down in the street again he began to walk briskly uptown. He felt excited and talkative. He wondered who he could go to see. Telling over the names of his friends made him depressed. He began to feel lonely, deserted. He wanted to be talking to a woman, making her sorry for the barrenness of his life. He went into a cigarstore and began looking through the phonebook. There was a faint flutter in him when he found the H’s. At last he found the name Herf, Helena Oglethorpe.
Nevada Jones sat a long while on the settee giggling hysterically. At length Tony Hunter came in in his shirt and drawers with his bow necktie perfectly tied.
“Has he gone?”
“Gone? sure he’s gone, gone for good,” she shrieked. “He saw your damn pants.”
He let himself drop on a chair. “O God if I’m not the unluckiest fellow in the world.”
“Why?” she sat spluttering with laughter with the tears running down her face.
“Nothing goes right. That means it’s all off about the matinees.”
“It’s back to three a day for little Nevada.... I dont give a damn.... I never did like bein a kept woman.”
“But you’re not thinking of my career.... Women are so selfish. If you hadn’t led me on....”