"Yes, thank you."
"Come along, then, my young man; I will not let you go."
Bertie put the trio into the vehicle, and the lookers-on saw that he shook hands with "auntie" as the conductor jumped on his perch and they rolled on.
"Gad! there's a chance for you!" cried the Colonel as Bertie joined him. "An uncommon fine girl, by George! What a coloring! and a splendid pair of black eyes!"
"I suspect extreme fright did a good deal for both, poor girl. Her eyes are brown, not black."
"Brown! Nonsense! Didn't you think they were black?"
"I did not observe them," returned the grave personage he addressed, indifferently. "The boy had a narrow escape. I must say good morning," he added.
"Stop a bit," cried the Colonel. "I must see you again before you leave town. Dine with me to-morrow at the Junior. And, Bertie—"
"Thanks, no, I am engaged." He said good-by and walked on.
"Queer fellow that," said the Colonel, looking after him. "He got into some money troubles in India, left the army, and got converted. Now he is not exactly a Salvation soldier, but something of the kind. He'll be at you one of the days for a subscription to convert the crossing sweepers or some such undertaking. But you'll dine with me to-morrow. I'll tell you all the Clayshire gossip."