"Then don't remain there an instant."
"I mean--I'm afraid of it for you."
There was a silence; they couldn't see each other. Brown's heart was beating fast.
"It is very generous of you to--think of me," came her voice, lower but very friendly.
"I ca-can't avoid it," he stammered, and wanted to kick himself for what he had blurted out.
Another pause--longer this time. And then:
"I am going to enter my house and climb up on the fence.... Would you mind waiting a moment?"
"I will wait here," said Beekman Brown, "until I see you." He added to himself: "I'm going mad rapidly and I know it and don't care.... What-- a--girl!"
While he waited, legs swinging, astride the back fence, he examined his injuries--thoughtfully touched the triangular tear in his trousers, inspected minor sartorial and corporeal lacerations, set his hat firmly upon his head, and gazed across the monotony of the back-yard fences at Clarence. The cat eyed him disrespectfully, paws tucked under, tail curled up against his well-fed flank--disillusioned, disgusted, unapproachable.
Presently, through the palings of a back yard on Sixty-fifth Street, Brown saw a small boy, evidently the progeny of some caretaker, regarding him intently.