Etiquette would not allow
them to speak; but in the Caoutchouc City it is permitted to gaze
without stint at the trees in the parks and at the physical blemishes
of a fellow creature.
At length with a sigh they parted. But Cupid had been the driver of
the brewery wagon, and the wheel that broke a leg united two fond
hearts.
The next meeting of the hero and heroine was in front of a board
fence near Broadway. The day had been a disappointing one. There had
been no fights on the street, children had kept from under the wheels
of the street cars, cripples and fat men in negligee shirts were
scarce; nobody seemed to be inclined to slip on banana peels or fall
down with heart disease. Even the sport from Kokomo, Ind., who claims
to be a cousin of ex-Mayor Low and scatters nickels from a cab
window, had not put in his appearance. There was nothing to stare at,
and William Pry had premonitions of ennui.
But he saw a large crowd scrambling and pushing excitedly in front
of a billboard. Sprinting for it, he knocked down an old woman and a
child carrying a bottle of milk, and fought his way like a demon
into the mass of spectators. Already in the inner line stood Violet
Seymour with one sleeve and two gold fillings gone, a corset steel
puncture and a sprained wrist, but happy. She was looking at what
there was to see. A man was painting upon the fence: "Eat Bricklets
--They Fill Your Face."
Violet blushed when she saw William Pry.
Pages:
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69