Harry Underwood sprang to his feet. "I'll carry the tray for you."

I thought I detected a little quiver of pain on Mrs. Underwood's face.
Her husband had expressed no concern for her, but was offering to
carry my tray. Truly, the tables were turning. I had suffered because
of the rumors I had heard concerning this woman's regard for Dicky.
Was I, not meaning it, to cause her annoyance?

"Indeed you will do no such thing," I spoke playfully to hide my real
indignation at the man. "Dicky is the only accredited waiter around
this house."

"Card from the waiters' union right in my pocket," Dicky grinned, and
stretched lazily as he followed me to the kitchen.

We served the coffee, and Lillian and her husband went home. As the
door closed behind them Dicky came over to me and took me in his arms.

"Pretty exciting evening, wasn't it, sweetheart?" he said. "I'm afraid
you are all done out."

He drew me to our chair and we sat down together. I found myself
crying, something I almost never do. Dicky smoothed my hair tenderly,
silently, until I wiped my eyes. Then his clasp tightened around me.

"Tonight has taught me a lesson," he said. "Sometimes I have dreamed
of a little child of our own, Madge. But I would rather never have a
child than go through the suffering those poor devils had tonight. It
must be awful to lose a baby."