“But when you don’t know what play-boys are like, when you haven’t the least notion what they expect of you—how terrifying!
“Good old Pat!” she thought with a sigh. “He saved me that time. To think what it means, this having humble friends all strewn along your pathway, scores and scores of just common folks, your friends!
“But why not?” She laughed a little laugh. “Am I not myself only Petite Jeanne, friend of the gypsies, humblest of them all?”
So she hurried home to lock the door, hang the beautiful robe carefully in a corner, settle herself in a great shabby chair and give herself over to watching the rocket cars streak across the sky far above the great Fair.
* * * * * * * *
And in one of these cars, hoping against hope that she might at the other end catch up with the long-eared Chinaman, was Florence.
“No chance!” she breathed a moment later, as she sent one wide sweeping glance across the landing platform. “He’s gone. But which way? Down or across?”
Choosing to re-cross the broad expanse, she once more boarded a rocket car and went speeding away.
This time, having all but given up hope of catching the fugitive, she gave herself over to enjoyment of the moment.
Never, though she rode the Sky Ride a thousand times, would she lose that feeling of breath-taking thrill that came over her as, hanging high in air, she watched the ever changing lights and the milling throng upon the land, the flashing fountains, the darting boats on the lagoon.