There's the Carletons coming to dinner Monday, and my studio Tea to-morrow, to say nothing of the Symphony and the opera, and the concerts you'd lose because you were too dead tired to go to them.

You know how it was with that concert yesterday afternoon which Alice Greggory wanted you to go to with her." "I didn't--want--to go," choked Billy, under her breath.
"And there's your music.

You haven't done a thing with that for days, yet only last week you told me the publishers were hurrying you for that last song to complete the group." "I haven't felt like--writing," stammered Billy, still half under her breath.
"Of course you haven't," triumphed Bertram.

"You've been too dead tired.
And that's just what I say.

Billy, you _can't_ do it all yourself!" "But I want to.