Harry couldn’t stop laughing now. He pressed his belly with his hands, but the noise poured out of him. It had begun to hurt again. Swinging her hand as though it held a hammer, she brought her fist down hard on his mouth. She hit him only once. He relaxed and was quiet. “I had to do it,” she said to Homer when he took her arm and led her away.

He guided her to a chair in the kitchen and shut the door. She continued to sob for a long time. He stood behind her chair, helplessly, watching the rhythmical heave of her shoulders. Several times his hands moved forward to comfort her, but he succeeded in curbing them. When she was through crying, he handed her a napkin and she dried her face. The cloth was badly stained by her rouge and mascara. “I’ve spoilt it,” she said, keeping her face averted. “I’m very sorry.”

“It was dirty,” Homer said.

She took a compact from her pocket and looked at herself in its tiny mirror.

“I’m a fright.”

She asked if she could use the bathroom and he showed her where it was. He then tiptoed into the living room to see Harry. The old man’s breathing was noisy but regular and he seemed to be sleeping quietly. Homer put a cushion under his head without disturbing him and went back into the kitchen. He lit the stove and put the coffeepot on the flame, then sat down to wait for the girl to return: He heard her go into the living room. A few seconds later she came into the kitchen. She hesitated apologetically in the doorway.

“Won’t you have some coffee?”

Without waiting for her to reply, he poured a cup and moved the sugar and cream so that she could reach them. “I had to do it,” she said. “I just had to.”

“That’s all right.”

To show her that it wasn’t necessary to apologize, he busied himself at the sink.

“No, I had to,” she insisted. “He laughs that way just to drive me wild.

I can’t stand it. I simply can’t.”

“Yes.”

“He’s crazy. We Greeners are all crazy.”

She made this last statement as though there were merit in being crazy. “He’s pretty sick,” Homer said, apologizing for her. “Maybe he had a sunstroke.”

“No, he’s crazy.”

He put a plate of gingersnaps on the table and she ate them with her second cup of coffee. The dainty crunching sound she made chewing fascinated him.

When she remained quiet for several minutes, he turned from the sink to see if anything was wrong. She was smoking a cigarette and seemed lost in thought.

He tried to be gay.

“What are you thinking?” he said awkwardly, then felt foolish. She sighed to show how dark and foreboding her thoughts were, but didn’t reply.

“I’ll bet you would like some candy,” Homer said. “There isn’t any in the house, but I could call the drugstore and they’d send it right over. Or some ice cream?”

“No, thanks, please.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“My father isn’t really a peddler,” she said, abruptly. “He’s an actor. I’m an actress. My mother was also an actress, a dancer. The theatre is in our blood.”

“I haven’t seen many shows. I…”

He broke off because he saw that she wasn’t interested. “I’m going to be a star some day,” she announced as though daring him to contradict her. I’m sure you…

“It’s my life. It’s the only thing in the whole world that I want.” “It’s good to know what you want. I used to be a bookkeeper in a hotel, but…”

“If I’m not, I’ll commit suicide.”

She stood up and put her hands to her hair, opened her eyes wide and frowned.

“I don’t go to shows very often,” he apologized, pushing the gingersnaps toward her. “The lights hurt my eyes.” She laughed and took a cracker. “I’ll get fat.”

“Oh, no.”

“They say fat women are going to be popular next year. Do you think so? I don’t. It’s just publicity for Mae West.” He agreed with her. She talked on and on, endlessly, about herself and about the picture business. He watched her, but didn’t listen, and whenever she repeated a question in order to get a reply, he nodded his head without saying anything.

His hands began to bother him. He rubbed them against the edge of the table to relieve their itch, but it only stimulated them. When he clasped them behind his back, the strain became intolerable. They were hot and swollen. Using the dishes as an excuse, he held them under the cold water tap of the sink.

Faye was still talking when Harry appeared in the doorway. He leaned weakly against the door jamb. His nose was very red, but the rest of his face was drained white and he seemed to have grown too small for his clothing. He was smiling, however.

To Homer’s amazement, they greeted each other as though nothing had happened.

“You okay now, Pop?”

“Fine and dandy, baby. Right as rain, fit as a fiddle and lively as a flea, as the feller says.”

The nasal twang he used in imitation of a country yokel made Homer smile.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asked. “A glass of milk, maybe?”

“I could do with a snack.”

Faye helped him over to the table. He tried to disguise how weak he was by doing an exaggerated Negro shuffle. Homer opened a can of sardines and sliced some bread. Harry smacked his lips over the food, but ate slowly and with an effort.

“That hit the spot, all righty right,” he said when he had finished.

He leaned back and fished a crumpled cigar butt out of his vest pocket.

Faye lit it for him and he playfully blew a puff of smoke in her face.

“We’d better go, Daddy,” she said.

“In a jiffy, child.”

He turned to Homer.

“Nice place you’ve got here. Married?”

Faye tried to interfere.

“Dad!”

He ignored her.

“Bachelor, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, well, a young fellow like you.”

“I’m here for my health,” Homer found it necessary to say.

“Don’t answer his questions,” Faye broke in.

“Now, now, daughter, I’m just being friendly like. I don’t mean no harm.” He was still using an exaggerated backwoods accent. He spat dry into an imaginary spittoon and made believe he was shifting a cud of tobacco from cheek to cheek.

Homer thought his mimicry funny.

“I’d be lonesome and scared living alone in a big house like this,” Harry went on. “Don’t you ever get lonesome?”

Homer looked at Faye for his answer. She was frowning with annoyance. “No,” he said, to prevent Harry from repeating the uncomfortable question.

“No? Well, that’s fine.”

He blew several smoke rings at the ceiling and watched their behavior judiciously.

“Did you ever think of taking boarders?” he asked. “Some nice, sociable folks, I mean. It’ll bring in a little extra money and make things more homey.”

Homer was indignant, but underneath his indignation lurked another idea, a very exciting one. He didn’t know what to say. Faye misunderstood his agitation.

“Cut it out, Dad,” she exclaimed before Homer could reply. “You’ve been a big enough nuisance already.”

“Just chinning,” he protested innocently. “Just chewin’ the fat.”

“Well, then, let’s get going,” she snapped.

“There’s plenty of time,” Homer said.

He wanted to add something stronger, but didn’t have the courage. His hands were braver. When Faye shook good-bye, they clutched and refused to let go.

Faye laughed at their warm insistence.

“Thanks a million, Mr. Simpson,” she said. “You’ve been very kind. Thanks for the lunch and for helping Daddy.”

“We’re very grateful,” Harry chimed in. “You’ve done a Christian deed this day. God will reward you.”

He had suddenly become very pious.

“Please look us up,” Faye said. “We live close-by in the San Berdoo Apartments, about five blocks down the canyon. It’s the big yellow house.”

When Harry stood, he had to lean against the table for support. Faye and Homer each took him by the arm and helped him into the street. Homer held him erect, while Faye went to get their Ford which was parked across the street.