“Why do they hurry so?” he demanded, almost irritably.
“Hurrying home, most of them, because they've got to get up in the morning and go to work.”
“Do you ever wonder about the homes they are hurrying to?”
“Me? I don't wonder. I know. Most of them have to move fast to keep up with the rent.”
“I don't mean houses,” he explained, patiently. “I mean—A house isn't a home.”
“You bet it isn't.”
“It's the families I'm talking about. In a small town you know all about people, who they live with, and all that.” He was laboriously talking down to her. “But here—”
He saw that she was not interested. Something he had said started an unpleasant train of thought in her mind. She was walking faster, and frowning slightly. To cheer her he said:
“I am keeping an eye out for the large young man in the sack suit, you know. If he jumps me, just yell for the police, will you? Because I'll probably not be able to.”
“I wish you'd let me forget him.”