a tiny animated image of her:
lustrous eyes, delicate nose, gentle chin.

"This is Mrs. Judique. Do you remember me? You drove me up here to the
Cavendish Apartments and helped me find such a nice flat."

"Sure! Bet I remember! What can I do for you?"

"Why, it's just a little--I don't know that I ought to bother you, but
the janitor doesn't seem to be able to fix it. You know my flat is on
the top floor, and with these autumn rains the roof is beginning to
leak, and I'd be awfully glad if--"

"Sure! I'll come up and take a look at it." Nervously, "When do you
expect to be in?"

"Why, I'm in every morning."

"Be in this afternoon, in an hour or so?"

"Ye-es. Perhaps I could give you a cup of tea. I think I ought to, after
all your trouble."

"Fine! I'll run up there soon as I can get away."

He meditated, "Now there's a woman that's got refinement, savvy, CLASS!
'After all your trouble--give you a cup of tea.' She'd appreciate a
fellow. I'm a fool, but I'm not such a bad cuss, get to know me. And not
so much a fool as they think!"

The great strike was over, the strikers beaten. Except that Vergil
Gunch seemed less cordial, there were no visible effects of Babbitt's
treachery to the clan. The oppressive fear of criticism was gone, but a
diffident loneliness remained. Now he was so exhilarated that, to prove
he wasn't, he droned about the office for fifteen minutes, looking at
blue-prints, explaining to Miss McGoun that this Mrs. Scott wanted more
money for her house--had raised the asking-price--raised it from seven
thousand to eighty-five hundred--would Miss McGoun be sure and put
it down on the card--Mrs. Scott's house--raise. When he had thus
established himself as a person unemotional and interested only in
business, he sauntered out. He took a particularly long time to start
his car; he kicked the tires, dusted the glass of the speedometer, and
tightened the screws holding the wind-shield spot-light.

He drove happily off toward the Bellevue district, conscious of the
presence of Mrs. Judique as of a brilliant light on the horizon. The
maple leaves had fallen and they lined the gutters of the asphalted
streets. It was a day of pale gold and faded green, tranquil and
lingering. Babbitt was aware of the meditative day, and of the
barrenness of Bellevue--blocks of wooden houses, garages, little shops,
weedy lots. "Needs pepping up; needs the touch that people like Mrs.
Judique could give a place," he ru