By a devious route they finally reached the Campus Martius and at the little door of a big Woodward Avenue hotel he left her, for she had told him there would be friends awaiting her there with whom she would take dinner later.
"At the train, dear?" she said, as he opened the door for her.
"Yes. Good-bye till then."
She followed his great figure with her eyes and saw it disappear in the crowd below. Then she turned and passed down the narrow corridor from the "ladies' entrance."
II
It had been a glorious day.
The first touch of winter was in the air, clear, crisp, and set the blood a-tingling.
"Ideal football weather," the sporting writer of the Journal had called it in the early afternoon edition where, with the wisdom of his species, he had sought to forecast the game's result.
In honor of the occasion a gracious citizenry had swathed Jefferson and Woodward Avenues in bandages of maize and blue, and all day long the small boy had been as active as though it were the fourth of July rather than the fifth of November.
And now in the evening, the older portion of the citizenry withdrew, and the theatres, the lobbies of the prominent hotels, the clubs, and all the places of public meeting, were turned over, unconditionally, to youth.