clear of the street and was taking
off the burst tire.

"We seem fated to meet," she said.

Orme looked up at her. "I hope you won't think me a cad," he said, "if I
say that I hope we may meet many times."

Her little frown warned him that she had misunderstood.

"Do you happen to know the Tom Wallinghams?" he asked.

Her smile returned. "I know _a_ Tom Wallingham and a _Bessie_
Wallingham."

"They're good friends of mine. Don't you think that they might introduce
us?"

"They might," she vouchsafed, "if they happened to see us both at the
same time."

Orme returned to his task. The crowd that always gathers was now close
about them, and there was little opportunity for talk. He finished his
job neatly, and stowed away the old tire.

She was in the car before he could offer to help her. "Thank you again,"
she said.

"If only you will let me arrange it with the Wallinghams," he faltered.

"I will think about it." She smiled.

He felt that she was slipping away. "Give me some clue," he begged.

"Where is your spirit of romance?" she railed at him; then apparently
relenting: "Perhaps the next time we meet----"

Orme groaned. With a little nod like that which had dismissed him at the
time of his first service to her, she pulled the lever and the car moved
away.

Tumult in his breast, Orme walked on. He watched the black car thread its
way down the street and disappear around a corner. Then he gave himself
over to his own bewildering reflections, and he was still busy with them
when he found himself at the entrance of the Pere Marquette. He had
crossed the Rush Street bridge and found his way up to the Lake Shore
Drive almost without realizing whither he was going.

Orme had come to Chicago, at the request of Eastern clients, to meet
half-way the owners of a Western mining property. When he registered at
the Annex, he found awaiting him a telegram saying that they had been
detained at Denver and must necessarily be two days late. Besides the
telegram, there had been a letter for him--a letter from his friend, Jack
Baxter, to whom he had written of his coming. Jack had left the city on
business, it appeared, but he urged Orme to make free of his North Side
apartment. So Orme left the Annex and went to the rather too gorgeous,
but very luxurious Pere Marquette, where he found that the staff had
been instructed to keep a close eye on his comfort. All this had happened
but three short hours ago.

After get