His shoes were polished; the tan
of his cheeks had paled--his hands had been washed. The window was
empty, and he waited under it with his nose upward, like a hound
hoping for a bone.
Mademoiselle came, with Sidonie carrying her load of hair. She looked
at the candy man and smiled a slow smile that faded away into ennui.
Instantly she knew that the game was bagged; and so quickly she
wearied of the chase. She began to talk to Sidonie.
"Been a fine day," said the candy man, hollowly. "First time in a
month I've felt first-class. Hit it up down old Madison, hollering
out like I useter. Think it'll rain to-morrow?"
Mademoiselle laid two round arms on the cushion on the window-sill,
and a dimpled chin upon them.
"Candy man," said she, softly, "do you not love me?"
The candy man stood up and leaned against the brick wall.
"Lady," said he, chokingly, "I've got $800 saved up. Did I say you
wasn't beautiful? Take it every bit of it and buy a collar for your
dog with it."
A sound as of a hundred silvery bells tinkled in the room of
Mademoiselle. The laughter filled the alley and trickled back into
the court, as strange a thing to enter there as sunlight itself.
Mademoiselle was amused. Sidonie, a wise echo, added a sepulchral
but faithful contralto. The laughter of the two seemed at last to
penetrate the candy man. He fumbled with his horseshoe pin. At length
Mademoiselle, exhausted, turned her flushed, beautiful face to the
window.
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