He stepped back to let me pass out in front of him to the street, and once on the sidewalk, he fell behind me a moment so that he might walk next to the curbing. Oh, that young man had beautiful manners! I'll always remember them. It was just the noon hour and he met lots of men that he knew. To each one he raised his hat as if he'd had a princess with him. They returned his bow in the same manner, with a curious look at me.
"They think," he laughed pleasantly, "I'm taking you to the game this afternoon!"
I flushed. I wanted to say, "I wish you were." If I had been the pretty girl whom we had just passed, in the black lynx, with a little round fur hat with a red flower on it, it would have been easy to smile, glance sidewise, and say pretty things. But from under my black felt sailor, side glances wouldn't be attractive. I kept my eyes straight ahead. "You can explain to them afterward," I said.
He left me in a drug-store. "I'll get him!" were his last words as he raised his hat.
I waited three quarters of an hour. It was after one o'clock when I saw Oliver push open the big plate-glass door. He had been hurrying. His face was red, his eyes startled and frightened, his hair tossed a little under the cap he wore. At sight of me he stopped, then strode up to me, where I was sitting on a stool by the soda-fountain.
"You!" he gasped. "You! For heaven's sake, Bobbie, what are you here for?"
"I telegraphed," I explained. "Didn't you—"
"No," he broke in, "I've had no telegram. What's the trouble anyhow? Who's dead? Who—"
"Why, Oliver," I replied calmly, "nobody's dead." Then in a lower tone, "I've come with the money," I said.