ad always seemed
to him so sad and beautiful. But troubadours, he knew, went out of
fashion long before railway stations came in. So his remark to the young
woman was not at all melodious:

"Can I do anything?"

A portion of the handkerchief was removed, and an eye which, Mr. Magee
noted, was of an admirable blue, peeped out at him. To the gaze of even
a solitary eye, Mr. Magee's aspect was decidedly pleasing. Young
Williams, who posed at the club as a wit, had once said that Billy Magee
came as near to being a magazine artist's idea of the proper hero of a
story as any man could, and at the same time retain the respect and
affection of his fellows. Mr. Magee thought he read approval in the lone
eye of blue. When the lady spoke, however, he hastily revised his
opinion.

"Yes," she said, "you can do something. You can go away--far, far away."

Mr. Magee stiffened. Thus chivalry fared in Upper Asquewan Falls in the
year 1911.

"I beg your pardon," he remarked. "You seemed to be in trouble, and I
thought I might possibly be of some assistance."

The girl removed the entire handkerchief. The other eye proved to be the
same admirable blue--a blue half-way between the shade of her corduroy
suit and that of the jacky's costume in the "See the World--Join the
Navy" poster that served as background to her woe.

"I don't mean to be rude," she explained more gently, "but--I'm crying,
you see, and a girl simply can't look attractive when she cries."

"If I had only been regularly introduced to you, and all that,"
responded Mr. Magee, "I could make a very flattering reply." And a true
one, he added to himself. For even in the faint flickering light of the
station he found ample reason for rejoicing that the bit of cambric was
no longer agonizingly pressed. As yet he had scarcely looked away from
her eyes, but he was dimly aware that up above wisps of golden hair
peeped impudently from beneath a saucy black hat. He would look at those
wisps shortly, he told himself. As soon as he could look away from the
eyes--which was not just yet.

"My grief," said the girl, "is utterly silly and--womanish. I think it
would be best to leave me alone with it. Thank you for your interest.
And--would you mind asking the gentleman who is pressing his face so
feverishly against the bars to kindly close his window?"

"Certainly," replied Mr. Magee. He turned away. As he did so he collided
with a rather excessive lady. She gave the impression