CHAPTER XXVII
PHRONY TRIPPER AND THE REV. MR. RIMMON
As Keith stepped from his office one afternoon, he thought he heard his name called--called somewhat timidly. When, however, he turned and glanced around among the hurrying throng that filled the street, he saw no one whom he knew. Men and women were bustling along with that ceaseless haste that always struck him in New York--haste to go, haste to return, haste to hasten: the trade-mark of New York life: the hope of outstripping in the race.
A moment later he was conscious of a woman's step close behind him. He turned as the woman came up beside him, and faced--Phrony Tripper. She was so worn and bedraggled and aged that for a moment he did not recognize her. Then, as she spoke, he knew her.
"Why, Phrony!" He held out his hand. She seized it almost hungrily.
"Oh, Mr. Keith! Is it really you? I hardly dared hope it was. I have not seen any one I knew for so long--so long!" Her face worked, and she began to whimper; but Keith soothed her.
He drew her away from the crowded thoroughfare into a side street.
"You knew--?" she said, and gazed at him with a silent appeal.
"Yes, I knew. He deceived you and deluded you into running away with him."