“Oh, David!” she broke out, “we––we can’t run any more.”
“No,” he answered steadily, “we must go straight ahead and pass him.”
So they did, and as the policeman stooped a little the better to see their faces, they each lifted their eyes to him and laughed. He tipped his helmet.
“A bad night, sir,” he said genially.
“A bully night,” answered Wilson.
They went on more slowly after this, across the park and toward the broad avenue. They came to where the brownstone houses blinked their yellow eyes at them. The boards were all down now and the street all a-twinkle with fairy lights.
“Do you remember how they did that before?” he asked.
“And how warm it looked inside? David––David––they can’t make me feel lonesome any more.”
“No, but we can’t laugh at them; we must laugh with them.”