"Fine. I knew I'd be a hit. Well, George, how's the boy this bright
afternoon?"

"Limp and pessimistic."

"That comes of sitting up till four in the morning with festive
hams."

"You were up as late as I was, and you look like Little Eva after a
night of sweet, childish slumber."

"Yes, but I drank ginger ale, and didn't smoke eighteen cigars. And
yet, I don't know. I think I must be getting old, George. All-night
parties seem to have lost their charm. I was ready to quit at one
o'clock, but it didn't seem matey. I think I'll marry a farmer and
settle down."

George was amazed. He had not expected to find his present view of
life shared in this quarter.

"I was just thinking myself," he said, feeling not for the first
time how different Billie was from the majority of those with whom
his profession brought him in contact, "how flat it all was. The
show business I mean, and these darned first nights, and the party
after the show which you can't sidestep. Something tells me I'm
about through."

Billie Dore nodded.