The Man With Two Left Feet

girls having the best time that ever was. Say, I guess you don't go out much, do you?'
    'Not much.'
    'If it's not a rude question, what do you do? I been trying to place you all along. Now I reckon your friend works in a store, don't she?'
    'Yes. She's a cloak–model. She has a lovely figure, hasn't she?'
    'Didn't notice it. I guess so, if she's what you say. It's what they pay her for, ain't it? Do you work in a store, too?'
    'Not exactly. I keep a little shop.'
    'All by yourself?'
    'I do all the work now. It was my father's shop, but he's dead. It began by being my grandfather's. He started it. But he's so old now that, of course, he can't work any longer, so I look after things.'
    'Say, you're a wonder! What sort of a shop?'
    'It's only a little second–hand bookshop. There really isn't much to do.'
    'Where is it?'
    'Sixth Avenue. Near Washington Square.'
    'What name?'
    'Bennett.'
    'That's your name, then?'
    'Yes.'
    'Anything besides Bennett?'
    'My name's Kate.'
    The young man nodded.
    'I'd make a pretty good district attorney,' he said, disarming possible resentment at this cross–examination. 'I guess you're wondering if I'm ever going to stop asking you questions. Well, what would you like to do?'
    'Don't you think we ought to go back and find your friend and Genevieve? They will be wondering where we are.'
    'Let 'em,' said the young man briefly. 'I've had all I want of Jenny.'
    'I can't understand why you don't like her.'
    'I like you. Shall we have some ice–cream, or would you rather go on the Scenic Railway?'
    Katie decided on the more peaceful pleasure. They resumed their walk, socially licking two cones. Out of the corner of her eyes Katie cast swift glances at her friend's face. He was a very grave young man. There was something important as well as handsome about him. Once, as they made their way through the crowds, she saw a couple of boys look almost reverently at him. She wondered who he could be, but was too shy to inquire. She had got over her nervousness to a great extent, but there were still limits to what she felt herself equal to saying. It did not strike her that it was only fair that she should ask a few questions in return for those which he had put. She had always repressed herself, and she did so now. She was content to be with him without finding out his name and history.
    He supplied the former just before he finally consented to let her go.
    They were standing looking over the river. The sun had spent its force, and it was cool and pleasant in the breeze which was coming up the Hudson. Katie was conscious of a vague feeling that was almost melancholy. It had been a lovely afternoon, and she was sorry that it was over.
    The young man shuffled his feet on the loose stones.
    'I'm mighty glad I met you,' he said. 'Say, I'm coming to see you. On Sixth Avenue. Don't mind, do you?'
    He did not wait for a reply.
    'Brady's my name. Ted Brady, Glencoe Athletic Club,' he paused. 'I'm on the level,' he added, and paused again. 'I like you a whole lot. There's your friend, Genevieve. Better go after her, hadn't you? Good–bye.' And he was gone, walking swiftly through the crowd about the bandstand.
    Katie went back to Genevieve, and Genevieve was simply horrid. Cold and haughty, a beautiful iceberg of dudgeon, she refused to speak a single word during the whole long journey back to Sixth Avenue. And Katie, whose tender heart would at other times have been tortured by this hostility, leant back in her seat, and was happy. Her mind was far away from Genevieve's frozen gloom, living over again the wonderful happenings of the afternoon.
    Yes, it had been a wonderful afternoon, but trouble was waiting for her in Sixth Avenue. Trouble was never absent for very long from Katie's unselfish life. Arriving at the little bookshop, she found Mr Murdoch, the glazier, preparing for departure. Mr Murdoch came in on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to play draughts with her grandfather, who was paralysed from the waist, and unable to leave the house except when Katie took him for his outing in Washington Square each morning in his bath–chair.
    Mr Murdoch welcomed Katie with joy.
    'I was wondering whenever you would come back, Katie. I'm afraid the old man's a little upset.'
    'Not ill?'
    'Not ill. Upset. And it was my fault, too. Thinking he'd be interested, I read him a piece from the paper where I seen about these English Suffragettes, and he just went up in the air. I guess he'll be all right now you've