'Do you love me, James?' asked Mrs. Peters.
'Madly,' said James, 'but -- '
'You are ill! ' exclaimed Mrs. Peters. 'Why are you so pale and tired looking?'
'I feel weak,' said Mr. Peters. 'I -- '
'Oh, wait; I know what it is. Wait, James. I'll be back in a minutes''
With a parting bug that revived in Mr. Peters recollections of the Terrible Turk, his wife hurried out of the room and down the stairs.
Mr. Peters hitched his thumbs under his sus- penders.
'All right,' he confided to the ceiling. 'I've got her going. I hadn't any idea the old girl was soft any more under the foolish rib. Well, sir; ain't I the Claude Melnotte of the lower East Side? What? It's a 100 to 1 shot that I get the dollar. I wonder what she went out for. I guess she's gone to tell Mrs. Muldoon on the second floor, that we're recon- ciled. I'll remember this. Soft soap! And Ragsy was talking about slugging her!
Mrs. Peters came back with a bottle of sarsapa- rilla.
'I'm glad I happened to have that dollar,' she said. 'You're all run down, boney.'
Mr. Peters had a tablespoonful of the stuff in- serted into him. Then Mrs. Peters sat on his lap and murmured:
'Call me tootsum wootsums again, James.'
He sat still, held there by his materialized goddess of spring.
Spring had come.
On the bench in Union Square Mr. Ragsdale and Mr. Kidd squirmed, tongue-parched, awaiting D'Artagnan and his dollar.
'I wish I had choked her at first,' said Mr. Peters to himself.
WHILE THE AUTO WAITS
Promptly at the beginning of twilight, came again to that quiet corner of that quiet, small park the girl in gray. She sat upon a bench and read a book, for there was yet to come a half hour in which print could be accomplished.
To repeat: Her dress was gray, and plain enough to mask its impeccancy of style and fit. A large- meshed veil imprisoned her turban hat and a face that shone through it with a calm and unconscious beauty. She had come there at the same hour on the day previous, and on the day before that; and there was one who knew it.
The young man who knew it hovered near, relying upon burnt sacrifices to the great joss, Luck. His piety was rewarded, for, in turning a page, her book slipped from her fingers and bounded from the bench a full yard away.
The young man pounced upon it with instant avid- ity, returning it to its owner with that air that seems to flourish in parks and public places - a compound of gallantry and hope, tempered with respect for the policeman on the beat. In a pleasant voice, be risked an inconsequent remark upon the weather that in- troductory topic responsible for so much of the world's unhappiness-and stood poised for a mo- ment, awaiting his fate.
The girl looked him over leisurely; at his ordinary, neat dress and his features distinguished by nothing particular in the way of expression.
'You may sit down, if you like,' she said, in a full, deliberate contralto. 'Really, I would like to have you do so. The light is too bad for reading. I would prefer to talk.'
The vassal of Luck slid upon the seat by her side with complaisance.
'Do you know,' be said, speaking the formula with which park chairmen open their meetings, 'that you are quite the stunningest girl I have seen in a long time? I had my eye on you yesterday. Didn't know somebody was bowled over by those pretty lamps of yours, did you, honeysuckle?'
'Whoever you are,' said the girl, in icy tones, 'you must remember that I am a lady. I will excuse the remark you have just made because the mistake was, doubtless, not an unnatural one -- in your circle. I asked you to sit down; if the invitation must con- stitute me your honeysuckle, consider it with- drawn.'
'I earnestly beg your pardon,' pleaded the young ran. His expression of satisfaction had changed to one of penitence and humility. It was my fault, you know -I mean, there are girls in parks, you know - that is, of course, you don't know, but -- '
'Abandon the subject, if you please. Of course I know. Now, tell me about these people passing and crowding, each way, along these paths. Where are they going? Why do they hurry so? Are they happy?'
The young man had promptly abandoned his air of coquetry. His cue was now for a waiting part; he could not guess the role be would be expected to play.
'It is interesting to watch them,' he replied, pos- tulating her mood. 'It is the wonderful drama of life. Some are going to supper and some to -- er -- other places. One wonders what their histories are.'
'I do not,' said the girl; 'I am not so inquisi- tive. I come here to sit because here, only, can I be tear the great, common, throbbing heart of hu- manity. My part in life is cast where its beats are never felt. Can you surmise why I spoke to you, Mr. -- ?'
'Parkenstacker,' supplied the young man. Then be looked eager and hopeful.
'No,' said the girl, holding up a slender finger, and smiling slightly. 'You would recognize it im- mediately. It is impossible to keep one's name out of print. Or even one's portrait. This veil and this hat of my maid furnish me with an incog. You should have seen the chauffeur stare at it when he thought I did not see. Candidly, there are five or six names that belong in the holy of holies, and mine, by the accident of birth, is one of them. I spoke to you, Mr. Stackenpot -- '
