'He's never been with girls—not around here. You've no idea—he just lives with his books, and in his shop.'
'Perhaps that's why,' said she. 'Partly. Mildred ought to be careful.'
Henry, soberly considering this new light on his friend, looked off toward the corner.
He sat up abruptly.
'Henry' For goodness' sake! Ouch—my hair!'
'Ssh! Look—that man coming across! Wait. There now—with a suit-case!'
'Oh, Henry, you scared me! Don't be silly. He's way out in... Henry! How awful! It is!'
'What'll we do?'
'I don't know. Get up. Sit over there,' She was working at her hair; she smoothed her 'waist,' and pulled out the puff sleeves.
The man came rapidly nearer. His straw hat was tipped back. They could see the light of a cigar. A mental note of Henry's was that Arthur V. Henderson had been a football player at the state university. And a boxer. Even out of condition he was a strong man.