ame age, there might have
been comparisons, and possibly some trace of envy, but in the present
case there could be nothing but mutual admiration.

"Is you folks going ashore?" asked the Kid.

"We were thinking of remaining on the boat," I told him.

"Say, what's the matter with goin' on the pier and sittin' down for a
while? 'Tain't as cool as the boat, but it's better'n town, and the
later ye gets back, the cooler it'll be."

Mrs. Sullivan confirmed her husband's statements. I looked enquiringly
at Frances, who listened willingly to the words of experience. In a few
minutes we landed and found a comfortable seat.

Suddenly, as we were chatting pleasantly, there passed before us Mr.
O'Flaherty, of the second floor back. He wore a cap surmounted by
goggles and an ample gray duster, and with him walked several other
large and florid-looking gentlemen. His eyes fell on Frances and then
upon me. I thanked goodness that her head was turned so that she could
not possibly have seen the odious wink and the leer he bestowed upon me.

"Say," whispered Mr. Sullivan, in my ear. "D'ye see that big guy look at
ye? Made ye mad, didn't he? For two cents I'd have handed him one."

"My good friend," I whispered back, "none of us are beyond reach of the
coarse natured."

"That's so," he answered, "but a wallop in the jaw's good for 'em."

An hour later we took the boat back. The little girl slept all the way
home, in her father's arms. Frances gazed dreamily on the water. Little
Mrs. Sullivan sat on a chair very close to her husband, with the baby
secure on her lap. Her head soon rested on the young prizefighter's
shoulder, and she dozed off. I am sure he endured exquisite discomfort
with pins and needles rather than disturb her.

And I, like a fool, worried on account of a man perpetually scented with
gasoline and spotted with transmission grease who had taken the infernal
liberty of winking at me because of my being with poor Frances, taking
the air on a proletarian pier.

"The world," Gordon had told me, one day, "utterly refuses to permit a
man and woman to be merely good friends. Since the days of Noah's Ark,
it has been recognized as an impossibility, and, therefore, society has
ever frowned down upon any attempt in so foolish a direction."

I replied hotly that the world was evil-minded, at times, and he
retorted that the world was all right, but some men were jackasses. He
remarked that Carlyle had been too lenient w