The crowd surged past them to the Washington express, and a waiting porter picked up Griswold’s bags.
“Wish you wouldn’t go. I have three hours to wait,” said Ardmore, looking at his watch, “and the only Atlanta man I know is out of town.”
“What did you say you were going to New Orleans for?” demanded Griswold, taking out his ticket and moving towards the gate. “I thought you exhausted the Creole restaurants long ago.”
“The fact is,” faltered Ardmore, colouring, “I’m looking for some one.”
“Out with it—out with it!” commanded his friend.
“I’m looking for a girl I saw from a car window day before yesterday. I had started north, and my train stopped to let a south-bound train pass somewhere in North Carolina. The girl was on the south-bound sleeper, and her window was opposite mine. She put aside the magazine she was reading and looked me over rather coolly.”
“And you glanced carelessly in the opposite direction and pulled down your shade, of course, like the well-bred man you are——” interrupted Griswold, holding fast to Ardmore’s arm as they walked down the platform.
“I did no such thing. I looked at her and she looked at me. And then my train started——”
“Well, trains have a way of starting. Does the romance end here?”
“Then, just at the last moment, she winked at me!”