"Now, what do we do next?" breathed Billie, breaking the silence at last.
"I feel helpless, Chet."

"Well, I don't think you have anything on me," admitted Chet slangily. "I
suppose the most sensible thing to do would be to go home and see how
Debbie is getting on with the lunch."

"Goodness, that's the first time I ever had to be reminded that I was
hungry," said Billie, and with that they laughed and felt more natural.

The rest of that day went off beautifully, and Billie was beginning to
feel very confident when suddenly Debbie threw a suggestion bomb-like in
the midst of her contentment.

"I hate to bother you, miss," said the black cook, approaching her
mistress the next morning--Billie, by the way, was busily dusting the
living-room with a very becoming dust cap perched on top of her pretty
hair, "but this is mah day out."

"Your--day--out!" gasped Billie, sitting down hard on the chair she had
been dusting and regarding Debbie's black face with dismay. "You never
can mean that you are going to desert me, Debbie? Leave me to do all the
cooking and--and--everything--" The awful vision was too much for her
and her voice died down to a whisper.

"I'm tur'ble sorry, Miss Billie," said Debbie, gently but very, very
firmly, "but mah young man and me we has a mos' awful impo'tant
in-gagement fo' dis aft'noon, an' I couldn't break it--no'm, much as I
want to." She added that last in the evident hope of appeasing her young