"I thought you were never coming, Sally," she said petulantly.
"This is my sister, Miss Pearl Veal," said Mrs. Radigan, not heeding her, but turning to me.
I took the tips of the proffered fingers in mine, let them drop, and bowed. I stammered something—something inane, I suppose, but the girl gave me a lustrous smile just the same.
"Warmish day," I ventured, more courageously.
"Indeed," said she quietly, but still sweetly smiling.
"Good-by," said Mrs. Radigan, holding out her hand. "You can count on me."
"You can count on me," said I firmly.
And the cab rattled away.
For months I did not see that splendid pair. They were often in my thoughts, but as a clerk from the banking office carried through the rental of the house, I seemed to be forgotten. My summer scribblings were no less dull, but more cynical than ever. A Sunday with the Van Rundouns and a two-days' stay in Morristown made the sum of my social successes. The future seemed to offer little better. But November came. The horse-show bugle called the Radigans to town, and with them brought me adventures, adventures in numbers and often strange. The records of these, made at the time when their impression on my mind was sharp and clear, are set forth in the succeeding chapters.