“I don’t mind if you scold me,” she said with unexpected humility.
Wilfred laughed again, not very mirthfully. “I can be honester with you now,” he said. “I have nothing to lose.”
She stopped. “I’ll put your friendship to the test at once,” she said abruptly. “Let’s not go home. Let’s walk for miles and miles. Have dinner out.”
“Oh, will you!” cried Wilfred in delight.
“Well! . . . you’re easily consoled,” she said dryly.
“I can’t help but be happy when you are beside me!”
She dropped his arm.
They turned Northward again. They went down hill under the bridge approach, and alongside the towering gas tanks. The next stage was marked by East River Park, with its row of fancy little brick houses, circa 1888; then through Pleasant avenue, a raw thoroughfare, belying its name; and finally through the secluded streets around the Northeast corner of the island, lined with gaily-painted wooden dwellings like a village. Not until they had reached the plaza where the red trolley cars start for the Bronx, did Elaine confess to being tired and hungry.
“Have you got enough money?” she asked like a boy.
Wilfred nodded. “We’ll get on the El. and ride back to Sixty-Seventh street,” he said. “There is a restaurant on Third avenue called Joe’s, famous in its way; I expect it’s like no place you have ever been in.”