"On a post that stood near here," he said, "there used to be a sign that read, 'Buses every four minutes.' And if you wanted to go down town, there was exactly one other way besides taking a bus, and that was to walk."
"And that was quite enough," declared Miss Maitland.
"Well, it served, anyway," Smith conceded.
They walked on up the Avenue. Finally the girl broke a long pause.
"I was thinking," she said slowly, "that I would like to have you meet
Mr. Augustus Lispenard."
"And who is he, may I ask?"
"Well, he is an old gentleman who lives on Washington Square, and you will probably never see one another, but he seems to love New York more than anything in the world—and you seem to, also."
"Well . . . it's my town," confessed her companion. "That is, it's not my native town, for I was born out in Iowa, but I've lived here nearly all my life. And it's a good town. Even a Bostonian will have to admit that," he added laughingly.
"Yes—I admit it," said the Bostonian. And it struck her that her admission came more readily than it ever before could have come. "By the way," she returned, more conventionally, "I'm afraid I must be taking you out of your way. What would you have done if you hadn't been kind enough to act as my guide this afternoon?" she inquired carelessly.
Smith looked across at her.