They were now in the open street. Love-making must now confine itself to eye-glances and farewell pressure of the hands.
Meanwhile, Will had proceeded on his errand, meeting with another adventure in doing so.
On reaching the crossing at Eighth and Arch streets an old gentleman was just in advance of him. There was a line of vehicles. Trying to get through between them he was struck by a horse and thrown to the ground. He fell in such a position that he would inevitably have been run over by the wheels of the loaded wagon had not Will sprung hastily forward, and dragged him off the track.
“Come, old gentleman,” he said, as he assisted the old man to his feet. “’Tain’t safe fer you to be walking among wagon-wheels. Hope you ain’t hurt.”
He was industriously brushing the dust from the clothes of the fallen man. The latter was a well-dressed and rather handsome person, though showing plainly the advances of age.
“I am not hurt. I thank you for your quickness and kindness,” he said, as he looked Will searchingly in the face. “Where do you live, my boy? I must see you again.”
“I ain’t living now, I’m only staying,” said Will, as he brushed off the last speck of dirt.
“And where are you staying?”
“Wherever folks will let me.”
“Are you engaged in business?”