ees against the
creamy stretches where rabbit paths ran into dark entanglements. All at
once they were in the open again, sweeping through a sudden factory
village, Jenkinstown, stagnant with the exhaustion of the Sunday's rest.

"There, aren't you glad you didn't begin there?" she said gaily, with a
nick of the whip toward the grim gray line of barracks that crowded
against the street.

"You never would have married me then," he said.

"Oh, ask me anything but to be _poor_!" she said, shuddering.

"She might at least have lied," he thought grimly. He gazed with
curiosity at this glimpse of factory life, at the dulled faces of women,
wrapped in gay shawls, staring at them; at the sluggish loiterers on the
corners, and the uncleanly hordes of children, who cried impertinently
after them, recalling his father's words:--"a great mixed horde to be
turned into intelligent, useful American citizens!" Squalid and
hopelessly commonplace it seemed to him, cruelly devoid of pleasure or
joy in the living. But such as these had placed him where he was, with
an opportunity to turn in a year what in the lifetime of generations
they could never approach.

The spectacle affected Doris like a disagreeable smell.

"I hate to think such people exist," she said, frowning.

"But they do exist," he said slowly.

"Yes, but I don't want to think of it. Heavens, to be poor like that!"

"It's late; we'd better be going back," he said.

They came back enveloped in the falling dusk, Doris running on gaily,
quite delighted now at the prospect of their coming marriage, making a
hundred plans for the ordering of the establishment, debating the
question of an electric or an open car to start with, the proper quarter
to seek an apartment, and the number of servants, while Bojo, silently,
rather grim, listened, thinking of the look which would come into some
one's eyes when their decision was told.

At the porte-cochere Gladys and Patsie came rushing out with frightened
faces. Fred had caught the last train home after a call from New York.
Bojo, with a sinking feeling, seized the note he had left for him.

Roscy telephoned. There's a rumor that a group have been
cornering Pittsburgh & New Orleans all this while. If so
there'll be the devil to pay in the morning. Forshay's been
wild to get you. Get back somehow. If in time get the Harlem
6:42 at Jenkinstown. In haste.

FRED.

"Can I make the 6:42 at Jenkinstown