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on the screen, nothing else seems to matter. I just get that goo-ey feeling, and couldnā€™t start a fight if you asked me to. So we go off to have a soda, and I said to him, ā€˜That sure was a lovely film, Gus!ā€™ and would you believe me, he says straight out that he didnā€™t think it was such a much, and he thought Bryant Washburn was a pill! A pill!ā€ The Girl Friendā€™s penetrating voice shook with emotion.

ā€œHe never!ā€ exclaimed the shocked cigar-stand girl.

ā€œHe did, if I die the next moment! I wasnā€™t more than half-way through my vanilla and maple, but I got up without a word and left him. And I ainā€™t seen a sight of him since. So there you are, dearie! Was I right or wrong?ā€

The cigar-stand girl gave unqualified approval. What men like Gus Biddle needed for the salvation of their souls was an occasional good jolt right where it would do most good.

ā€œIā€™m glad you think I acted right, dearie,ā€ said the Girl Friend. ā€œI guess Iā€™ve been too weak with Gus, and heā€™s took advantage of it. I sā€™pose Iā€™ll have to forgive him one of these old days, but, believe me, it wonā€™t be for a week.ā€

The cigar-stand girl was in favour of a fortnight.

ā€œNo,ā€ said the Girl Friend, regretfully. ā€œI donā€™t believe I could hold out that long. But, if I speak to him inside a week, wellā€”! Well, I gotta be going. Goodbye, honey.ā€

The cigar-stand girl turned to attend to an impatient customer, and the Girl Friend, walking with the firm and decisive steps which indicate character, made for the swing-door leading to the street. And as she went, the paralysis which had pipped Archie released its hold. Still ignoring the forty-five cents which the boy continued to proffer, he leaped in her wake like a panther and came upon her just as she was stepping into a car. The car was full, but not too full for Archie. He dropped his five cents into the box and reached for a vacant strap. He looked down upon the flowered hat. There she was. And there he was. Archie rested his left ear against the forearm of a long, strongly-built young man in a grey suit who had followed him into the car and was sharing his strap, and pondered.

CHAPTER XV.
SUMMER STORMS

Of course, in a way, the thing was simple. The wheeze was, in a sense, straightforward and uncomplicated. What he wanted to do was to point out to the injured girl all that hung on her. He wished to touch her heart, to plead with her, to desire her to restate her war-aims, and to persuade herā€”before three oā€™clock when that stricken gentleman would be stepping into the pitcherā€™s box to loose off the first ball against the Pittsburg Piratesā€”to let bygones be bygones and forgive Augustus Biddle. But the blighted problem was, how the deuce to find the opportunity to start. He couldnā€™t yell at the girl in a crowded street-car; and, if he let go of his strap and bent over her, somebody would step on his neck.

The Girl Friend, who for the first five minutes had remained entirely concealed beneath her hat, now sought diversion by looking up and examining the faces of the upper strata of passengers. Her eye caught Archieā€™s in a glance of recognition, and he smiled feebly, endeavouring to register bonhomie and good-will. He was surprised to see a startled expression come into her brown eyes. Her face turned pink. At least, it was pink already, but it turned pinker. The next moment, the car having stopped to pick up more passengers, she jumped off and started to hurry across the street.

Archie was momentarily taken aback. When embarking on this business he had never intended it to become a blend of otter-hunting and a moving-picture chase. He followed her off the car with a sense that his grip on the affair was slipping. Preoccupied with these thoughts, he did not perceive that the long young man who had shared his strap had alighted too. His eyes were fixed on the vanishing figure of the Girl Friend, who, having buzzed at a smart pace into Sixth Avenue, was now legging it in the direction of the staircase leading to one of the stations of the Elevated Railroad. Dashing up the stairs after her, he shortly afterwards found himself suspended as before from a strap, gazing upon the now familiar flowers on top of her hat. From another strap farther down the carriage swayed the long young man in the grey suit.

The train rattled on. Once or twice, when it stopped, the girl seemed undecided whether to leave or remain. She half rose, then sank back again. Finally she walked resolutely out of the car, and Archie, following, found himself in a part of New York strange to him. The inhabitants of this district appeared to eke out a precarious existence, not by taking in one anotherā€™s washing, but by selling one another second-hand clothes.

Archie glanced at his watch. He had lunched early, but so crowded with emotions had been the period following lunch that he was surprised to find that the hour was only just two. The discovery was a pleasant one. With a full hour before the scheduled start of the game, much might be achieved. He hurried after the girl, and came up with her just as she turned the corner into one of those forlorn New York side-streets which are populated chiefly by children, cats, desultory loafers, and empty meat-tins.

The girl stopped and turned. Archie smiled a winning smile.

ā€œI say, my dear sweet creature!ā€ he said. ā€œI say, my dear old thing, one moment!ā€

ā€œIs that so?ā€ said the Girl Friend.

ā€œI beg your pardon?ā€

ā€œIs that so?ā€

Archie began to feel certain tremors. Her eyes were gleaming, and her determined mouth had become a perfectly straight line of scarlet. It was going to be difficult to be chatty to this girl. She was going to be a hard audience. Would mere words be able to touch her heart? The thought suggested itself that, properly speaking, one would need to use a pick-axe.

ā€œIf you could spare me a couple of minutes of your valuable timeā€”ā€

ā€œSay!ā€ The lady drew herself up menacingly. ā€œYou tie a can to yourself and disappear! Fade away, or Iā€™ll call a cop!ā€

Archie was horrified at this misinterpretation of his motives. One or two children, playing close at hand, and a loafer who was trying to keep the wall from falling down, seemed pleased. Theirs was a colourless existence and to the rare purple moments which had enlivened it in the past the calling of a cop had been the unfailing preliminary. The loafer nudged a fellow-loafer, sunning himself against the same wall. The children, abandoning the meat-tin round which their game had centred, drew closer.

ā€œMy dear old soul!ā€ said Archie. ā€œYou donā€™t understand!ā€

ā€œDonā€™t I! I know your sort, you trailing arbutus!ā€

ā€œNo, no! My dear old thing, believe me! I wouldnā€™t dream!ā€

ā€œAre you going or arenā€™t you?ā€

Eleven more children joined the ring of spectators. The loafers stared silently, like awakened crocodiles.

ā€œBut, I say, listen! I only wantedā€”ā€

At this point another voice spoke.

ā€œSay!ā€

The word ā€œSay!ā€ more almost than any word in the American language, is capable of a variety of shades of expression. It can be genial, it can be jovial, it can be appealing. It can also be truculent. The ā€œSay!ā€ which at this juncture smote upon Archieā€™s ear-drum with a suddenness which made him leap in the air was truculent; and the two loafers and twenty-seven children who now formed the audience were well satisfied with the dramatic development of the performance. To their experienced ears the word had the right ring.

Archie spun round. At his elbow stood a long, strongly-built young man in a grey suit.

ā€œWell!ā€ said the young man, nastily. And he extended a large, freckled face toward Archieā€™s. It seemed to the latter, as he backed against the wall, that the young manā€™s neck must be composed of india-rubber. It appeared to be growing longer every moment. His face, besides being freckled, was a dull brick-red in colour; his lips curled back in an unpleasant snarl, showing a gold tooth; and beside him, swaying in an ominous sort of way, hung two clenched red hands about the size of two young legs of mutton. Archie eyed him with a growing apprehension. There are moments in life when, passing idly on our way, we see a strange face, look into strange eyes, and with a sudden glow of human warmth say to ourselves, ā€œWe have found a friend!ā€ This was not one of those moments. The only person Archie had ever seen in his life who looked less friendly was the sergeant-major who had trained him in the early days of the war, before he had got his commission.

ā€œIā€™ve had my eye on you!ā€ said the young man.

He still had his eye on him. It was a hot, gimlet-like eye, and it pierced the recesses of Archieā€™s soul. He backed a little farther against the wall.

Archie was frankly disturbed. He was no poltroon, and had proved the fact on many occasions during the days when the entire German army seemed to be picking on him personally, but he hated and shrank from anything in the nature of a bally public scene.

ā€œWhat,ā€ enquired the young man, still bearing the burden of the conversation, and shifting his left hand a little farther behind his back, ā€œdo you mean by following this young lady?ā€

Archie was glad he had asked him. This was precisely what he wanted to explain.

ā€œMy dear old ladā€”ā€ he began.

In spite of the fact that he had asked a question and presumably desired a reply, the sound of Archieā€™s voice seemed to be more than the young man could endure. It deprived him of the last vestige of restraint. With a rasping snarl he brought his left fist round in a sweeping semicircle in the direction of Archieā€™s head.

Archie was no novice in the art of self-defence. Since his early days at school he had learned much from leather-faced professors of the science. He had been watching this unpleasant young manā€™s eyes with close attention, and the latter could not have indicated his scheme of action more clearly if he had sent him a formal note. Archie saw the swing all the way. He stepped nimbly aside, and the fist crashed against the wall. The young man fell back with a yelp of anguish.

ā€œGus!ā€ screamed the Girl Friend, bounding forward.

She flung her arms round the injured man, who was ruefully examining a hand which, always of an out-size, was now swelling to still further dimensions.

ā€œGus, darling!ā€

A sudden chill gripped Archie. So engrossed had he been with his mission that it had never occurred to him that the love-lorn pitcher might have taken it into his head to follow the girl as well in the hope of putting in a word for himself. Yet such apparently had been the case. Well, this had definitely torn it. Two loving hearts were united again in complete reconciliation, but a fat lot of good that was. It would be days before the misguided Looney Biddle would be able to pitch with a hand like that. It looked like a ham already, and was still swelling. Probably the wrist was sprained. For at least a week the greatest left-handed pitcher of his time would be about as much use to the Giants in any professional capacity as a cold in the head. And on that crippled hand depended the fate of all the money Archie had in the world. He wished now that he had not thwarted the fellowā€™s simple enthusiasm. To have had his head knocked forcibly through a brick wall would not have been pleasant, but the ultimate outcome would not have been as unpleasant as this. With a heavy heart Archie prepared to withdraw, to be alone with his sorrow.

At this moment, however, the Girl Friend, releasing her wounded lover, made a sudden dash for him, with the plainest intention of blotting him from the earth.

ā€œNo, I say! Really!ā€ said Archie, bounding backwards. ā€œI mean to say!ā€

In a series of events, all of which had been a bit thick, this, in his opinion, achieved the maximum of thickness. It was the extreme ragged, outside edge of the limit. To brawl with a fellow-man in a public street had been bad, but to be brawled with by a girlā€”the shot was not on the board. Absolutely not on the board. There was only one thing to be done. It was dashed undignified, no doubt, for a fellow to pick up the old waukeesis and leg it in the face of the enemy, but

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