“Small boy, note this handwriting! You will perceive that it is more of a jumping than a running hand—well, it belongs on the top of all mail. Understand?”
“I’m on,” said Terence with his broadest grin.
“Return to New York,” quoted King, self communing; “I should have known from the way she crossed the street she belonged in New York.”
“Sir?”
“On your way, Terence; on your way!” but this with a smile.
Chapter III
LENT was well under way and the first Easter displays in show windows when on a Saturday morning, King found a little note perched on the top of his office mail, which read:
“If you will be at the old Delmonico corner near Union Square Saturday at 4 P. M., you may walk with me as far as Twenty-third Street, on condition that you turn back there, and in the meantime ask me no questions. Don’t come if the conditions don’t suit.”
Whence she came, he never knew, but as he stood waiting, she appeared before him, her face radiant, her gentian eyes smiling up to his. He lifted his hat quickly and fell into step with her along the east side of Broadway. Now that the supreme moment had arrived, he raged inwardly that a species of dumbness should have seized upon him. Turning her head away, the girl laughed softly. She had no fears. The subtle instinct of her sex had informed her that it was not a contest between man and girl, but between woman and boy. The discovery pleased her. And then, smiling, she challenged him:
“Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”