“Miss Mason! Oh, Miss Mason!” sung out the boy. “Some one to see you.”
“Molly! Molly!” cried one of the salesgirls. “You’re wanted.”
“Molly Mason,” mused Larry. “That’s a pretty name. I wonder if the young lady is pretty, too? But if she’s head of stock most likely she’s an elderly lady.”
“Miss Mason!” cried the boy again.
“Molly! Molly!” exclaimed the salesgirl.
“Coming,” answered a pleasant voice, and Larry started, for he realized that he had heard that voice before. A moment later a young lady—an exceedingly pretty young lady—stood before him, looking at him with wonder in her brown eyes.
“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, you’re——” She stopped in some confusion, and blushed.
“Well, this is strange!” cried Tom. “I never thought I’d find you here!”
To his great surprise he found himself confronted by the young lady to whom he had rendered assistance in the subway about a week before—the young lady whom the unmannerly bully had shoved to one side in boarding the train.
“Are you all right now?” asked Larry. “Is—er—does your ankle pain you?”