One gloomy afternoon Jimmy stood outside an employment bureau among a group of shabbily dressed, dejected men, some of whom were of distinctly unprepossessing appearance. One had roughly pushed him away from the window; but he did not rouse himself to resent it. He felt listless and low-spirited, and to wait a little would pass the time. Besides, he thought he had read all the notices about men required which the agent displayed, and had offered himself for several of the posts without success. He got his turn at the window at last, and left it moodily; but when he reached the edge of the sidewalk he stopped suddenly and the blood rushed to his face. Ruth Osborne was crossing the street toward him.
Jimmy looked around desperately, but it was too late to escape; he could only hope that Miss Osborne would pass without recognizing him. He did not want her to see him among the group of shabby loungers. His own clothes were the worse for wear, and he knew that he had a broken-down appearance. The employment bureau’s sign suggested what he was doing there, and he would not have the girl know how low he had fallen. He had turned his back toward her and pulled his shabby hat low down over his eyes, when her voice reached him.
“Mr. Farquhar!”
Jimmy turned, thrilled but embarrassed, and Ruth smiled at him.
“I can’t compliment you upon your memory,” she said.
Jimmy saw that the other men were regarding them curiously. He was not surprised, for Ruth had a well-bred air and her dress indicated wealth and refinement, while his appearance was greatly against him; but it was insufferable that those fellows should speculate about her, and he moved slowly forward.
“I think my memory’s pretty good,” he answered with a steady glance.
“That makes your behavior worse, because it looks as if you meant to avoid me.”
“I’ll confess that I did; but I’m not sure that you can blame me. No doubt you saw how I was employed?”
Ruth’s eyes sparkled and there was more color than usual in her face.