"Labor is noble,
but personal attendance, you know--valets and--"
"I am not a waiter. I am cashier in"--on the street they faced that
bounded the opposite side of the park was the brilliant electric sign
"RESTAURANT"--"I am cashier in that restaurant you see there."
The girl consulted a tiny watch set in a bracelet of rich design
upon her left wrist, and rose, hurriedly. She thrust her book into a
glittering reticule suspended from her waist, for which, however, the
book was too large.
"Why are you not at work?" she asked.
"I am on the night turn," said the young man; "it is yet an hour
before my period begins. May I not hope to see you again?"
"I do not know. Perhaps--but the whim may not seize me again. I must
go quickly now. There is a dinner, and a box at the play--and, oh!
the same old round. Perhaps you noticed an automobile at the upper
corner of the park as you came. One with a white body."
"And red running gear?" asked the young man, knitting his brows
reflectively.
"Yes. I always come in that. Pierre waits for me there. He supposes
me to be shopping in the department store across the square.
Conceive of the bondage of the life wherein we must deceive even our
chauffeurs. Good-night."
"But it is dark now," said Mr. Parkenstacker, "and the park is full
of rude men. May I not walk--"
"If you have the slightest regard for my wishes," said the girl,
firmly, "you will remain at this bench for ten minutes after I have
left.
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