"Damn it to hell!" her husband cursed with surprising ferocity.

Sally twisted in his grip, "A-aren't you going to answer it?"

He shook his head and resumed his lewd probing of his wife's trembling loins. "It's my day off."

"But it may be a customer needing a prescription."

The phone kept on ringing insistently as the young couple stood there locked in an obscene embrace with Ray's hand thrust up between his wife's legs. Then, abruptly-almost roughly he released her and pushed her away as he moved to snatch the telephone receiver.

It was a customer, a heart patient, who had just discovered he was out of the digitalis pills he must take daily.

"All right," Ray said wearily, "Come down to the store in about fifteen minutes. No-no free delivery nights or Sundays, only during regular store hours. You can send a taxi if you don't feel like coming yourself, Mr. Pickett."

Sally was already busy drying her hands. "We could drop the pills off … we'll be out in the car anyway," she whispered to Ray, but he was already hanging up. She carefully avoided looking at the front of his slacks where she knew the tell-tale bulge still pushed out the fly in an incongruous manner. He was glaring coldly at her.

"Be damned if we will. If he took his last pill yesterday, why couldn't he come in then for a refill? Because he enjoys making a big emergency deal out of it!" He strode angrily out of the room and she heard him go noisily down the stairs to open the drug store.

Poor dear, he'd been working entirely too many hours, and should at least have one day of rest in the week. It seemed so unfair that John Blodgett should reap all the profits of the drug store when he did nothing more than go over the books occasionally, while Ray was on his feet from nine to six with an additional three hours on Friday night.