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account。 At twenty…one she was still playing at the Bijou； and into her
face was creeping the first hint of that look of sophistication which comes
from daily contact with the artificial world of the footlights。
There are； in a small Midwest town like Wetona； just two kinds of girls。
Those who go downtown Saturday nights； and those who don't。 Terry； if
she had not been busy with her job at the Bijou； would have come in the
first group。 She craved excitement。 There was little chance to satisfy
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such craving in Wetona； but she managed to find certain means。 The
traveling men from the Burke House just across the street used to drop in
at the Bijou for an evening's entertainment。 They usually sat well toward
the front； and Terry's expert playing； and the gloss of her black hair； and
her piquant profile as she sometimes looked up toward the stage for a
signal from one of the performers caught their fancy； and held it。
She found herself； at the end of a year or two； with a rather large
acquaintance among these peripatetic gentlemen。 You occasionally saw
one of them strolling home with her。 Sometimes she went driving with
one of them of a Sunday afternoon。 And she rather enjoyed taking
Sunday dinner at the Burke Hotel with a favored friend。 She thought
those small…town hotel Sunday dinners the last word in elegance。 The
roast course was always accompanied by an aqueous； semifrozen
concoction which the bill of fare revealed as Roman Punch。 It added a
royal touch to the repast； even when served with roast pork。
Terry was twenty…two when Orville Platt； making his initial Wisconsin
trip for the wholesale grocery house he represented； first beheld her
piquant Irish profile； and heard her deft manipulation of the keys。 Orville
had the fat man's sense of rhythm and love of music。 He had a buttery
tenor voice； too； of which he was rather proud。
He spent three days in Wetona that first trip； and every evening saw
him at the Bijou； first row； center。 He stayed through two shows each
time； and before he had been there fifteen minutes Terry was conscious of
him through the back of her head。 Orville Platt paid no more heed to the
stage； and what was occurring thereon； than if it had not been。 He sat
looking at Terry； and waggling his head in time to the music。 Not that
Terry was a beauty。 But she was one of those immaculately clean types。
That look of fragrant cleanliness was her chief charm。 Her clear； smooth
skin contributed to it； and the natural penciling of her eyebrows。 But the
thing that accented it； and gave it a last touch； was the way in which her
black hair came down in a little point just in the center of her forehead；
where hair meets brow。 It grew to form what is known as a cowlick。 （A
prettier name for it is widow's peak。） Your eye lighted on it； pleased； and
from it traveled its gratified way down her white temples； past her little
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ears； to the smooth black coil at the nape of her neck。 It was a trip that
rested you。
At the end of the last performance on the night of his second visit to
the Bijou； Orville waited until the audience had begun to file out。 Then
he leaned forward over the rail that separated orchestra from audience。
〃Could you；〃 he said； his tones dulcet； 〃could you oblige me with the
name of that last piece you played？〃
Terry was stacking her music。 〃George！〃 she called to the drum。
〃Gentleman wants to know the name of that last piece。〃 And prepared to
leave。
〃‘My Georgia Crackerjack；'〃 said the laconic drum。
Orville Platt took a hasty side step in the direction of the door toward
which Terry was headed。 〃It's a pretty thing；〃 he said fervently。 〃An
awful pretty thing。 Thanks。 It's beautiful。〃
Terry flung a last insult at him over her shoulder： 〃Don't thank ME
for it。 I didn't write it。〃
Orville Platt did not go across the street to the hotel。 He wandered up
Cass Street； and into the ten…o'clock quiet of Main Street； and down as far
as the park and back。 〃Pretty as a pink！ And play！ 。 。 。 And good； too。
Good。〃
A fat man in love。
At the end of six months they were married。 Terry was surprised into
it。 Not that she was not fond of him。 She was； and grateful to him； as
well。 For； pretty as she was； no man had ever before asked Terry to be
his wife。 They had made love to her。 They had paid court to her。
They had sent her large boxes of stale drugstore chocolates； and called her
endearing names as they made cautious declarations such as：
〃I've known a lot of girls； but you've got something different。 I don't
know。 You've got so much sense。 A fellow can chum around with you。
Little pal。〃
Wetona would be their home。 They rented a comfortable； seven…
room house in a comfortable； middle…class neighborhood； and Terry
dropped the red velvet turbans and went in for picture hats。 Orville
bought her a piano whose tone was so good that to her ear； accustomed to
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the metallic discords of the Bijou instrument； it sounded out of tune。 She
played a great deal at first； but unconsciously she missed the sharp spat of
applause that used to follow her public performance。 She would play a
piece； brilliantly； and then her hands would drop to her lap。 And the
silence of her own sitting room would fall flat on her ears。 It was better
on the evenings when Orville was home。 He sang； in his throaty； fat
man's tenor； to Terry's expert accompaniment。
〃This is better than playing for those ham actors； isn't it； hon？〃 And
he would pinch her ear。
〃Sure〃listlessly。
But after the first year she became accustomed to what she termed
private life。 She j