or the privilege?"

Masie knew men--especially men who buy gloves. Without hesitation she
looked him frankly and smilingly in the eyes, and said:

"Sure. I guess you're all right. I don't usually go out with strange
gentlemen, though. It ain't quite ladylike. When should you want to
see me again?"

"As soon as I may," said Carter. "If you would allow me to call at
your home, I--"

Masie laughed musically. "Oh, gee, no!" she said, emphatically. "If
you could see our flat once! There's five of us in three rooms. I'd
just like to see ma's face if I was to bring a gentleman friend
there!"

"Anywhere, then," said the enamored Carter, "that will be convenient
to you."

"Say," suggested Masie, with a bright-idea look in her peach-blow
face; "I guess Thursday night will about suit me. Suppose you come to
the corner of Eighth Avenue and Forty-eighth Street at 7:30. I live
right near the corner. But I've got to be back home by eleven. Ma
never lets me stay out after eleven."

Carter promised gratefully to keep the tryst, and then hastened to
his mother, who was looking about for him to ratify her purchase of
a bronze Diana.

A salesgirl, with small eyes and an obtuse nose, strolled near Masie,
with a friendly leer.

"Did you make a hit with his nobs, Mase?" she asked, familiarly.

"The gentleman asked permission to call," answered Masie, with the
grand air, as she slipped Carter's card into the bosom of her waist.

"Permission to call!" echoed small eyes, with a snigger. "Did he say
anything about dinner in the Waldorf and a spin in his auto
afterward?"

"Oh, cheese it!" said Masie, wearily. "You've been used to swell
things, I don't think. You've had a swelled head ever since that
hose-cart driver took you out to a chop suey joint. No, he never
mentioned the Waldorf; but there's a Fifth Avenue address on his
card, and if he buys the supper you can bet your life there won't be
no pigtail on the waiter what takes the order."

As Carter glided away from the Biggest Store with his mother in his
electric runabout, he bit his lip with a dull pain at his heart.
He knew that love had come to him for the first time in all the
twenty-nine years of his life. And that the object of it should make
so readily an appointment with him at a street corner, though it was
a step toward his desires, tortured him with misgivings.

Carter did not know the shopgirl. He did not know that her home is
often either a scarcely habitable