The car! Her eyes raced down the block. There it stood, untouched.
“I—I hocked my diamond, Jimmie, and bought a car. I made the girls think you were going to give me one and I didn’t want them to know that you—you—” She turned away. “So I hocked the ring—and—and got—that!”
He followed her eyes to where a spot of blue reposed near the corner.
“And now it won’t go and I haven’t any money to put it anywhere. They’ve been keeping it where I bought it and I never thought about garaging. So—so when it broke down I just had to sit here and watch it all night.”
[284]
] The rushing words halted. She looked up at the face bent over hers. If Mr. James Fowler Patterson had a sense of humor—and he had—the comedy of the present situation failed to bring it to light. He stood and gazed down into the small tired face lifted with such desperate appeal.
“I—”
“Jimmie, won’t you believe me this time—please?”
He bent closer. “If I tell you I could take a gun this minute and blow out what little brains I’ve got, will you believe me? Will you?” He did not give her time to answer. “I deserve it—shooting’s too good. Why, even if you dressed up like a Christmas window, only a saphead who’s wasted all his life chasing up and down Broadway could have made such a mistake. What’s love, anyhow? And sweetheart—I do love you. These weeks without you have proved how much.”
She closed her eyes as the words came.
“Why,” he plunged on, “my dad had given me up as a bad job—said he was through! And six weeks ago I went to him and told him I’d found the girl who could make a man of me—asked him to take me on at the Patterson Iron Works, I didn’t care in what capacity. He thought I was joking—but I put on overalls and rolled up my sleeves. Because I wanted to be good enough for you. That was just about the time you showed up in all that gorgeousness. And I let the idea get hold of me— Don’t cry, honey,—I can’t stand it!”