She gave him her number on West Fifty-seventh Street.
Because of his collecting he knew the neighborhood. It was a street of shabby frame houses far out on the South Side. He remembered great mazes of trade near it, and unpaved streets and open stretches of wet prairie land. Somehow it seemed fitting to him that this little flower of the muck and coal yard area should be a model.
"I'll be sure and get you," he laughed. "You won't forget, will you, Miss—"
"Just Ruby," she interrupted. "Ruby Kenny."
"It's a pretty name, isn't it?" he said. "It's euphonious. You wouldn't let me come out some Sunday and see just where it is?"
"Yes, you may," she replied, pleased by his comment on her name. "I'm home most every Sunday. Come out next Sunday afternoon, if you want to."
"I will," said Eugene.
He walked out to the street with her in a very buoyant mood.