“The girl again,” mused Webster, regarding his friend with brooding glance. “He doesn’t know it himself, half the time; but it’s that confounded girl that’s doing it all.”
They discussed the different phases of the case for some hours, and then Kenyon took his departure. It was a long way to his little hotel near the Battery, but he was in no humor for riding, and turning into Broadway he swung rapidly along down town. Lower Broadway is almost deserted after business hours, and when a man loomed up alongside of him at Canal Street and fell into step, Kenyon turned sharply.
“Forrester!” he exclaimed in surprise.
“I say, Kenyon, do you know you are a great fellow to set the pace,” complained the bulky youth. “I’ve been trying to overtake you ever since you crossed Fourteenth Street.”
“I’m very sorry,” replied Kenyon, recovering his presence of mind instantly. “But I did not expect to see you.”
The other looked at him in frank astonishment.
“Why, what did you suppose had happened?” asked he, wonderingly.
Kenyon laughed.
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised at anything happening,” said he. “But I had specified nothing.”
The other regarded him curiously.