t the top of a new sheet. He drew
up to the curb on Broadway just below Fourth and stopped the motor. He
leaned back against the tufted arm and stretched himself. Then he idly
viewed the passing show before him. It was past mid-afternoon and dry
and dusty. The keen edge of the sun had slightly dulled, but a Negro,
seated high up on a pile of shabby furniture on a moving van, mopped a
shining black face with the end of a very dirty undershirt sleeve. A
boy came wavering along on a bicycle, swerved in to the curbing across
the street, stopped, got off and went in to the Baptist Seminary,
leaving the bicycle sprawling in the gutter. An old woman came out of
nowhere; he heard her uncertain steps before he saw her as she
approached him; the wide pavement the moment before had been entirely
deserted. She walked as though she had no definite destination, not
straight ahead in a plumb line. She had an old-fashioned bonnet with
dangles on her head and a straw basket over one arm. Somehow he
thought of his aunt Lorry. She came peering up at him from under her
lashes. She seemed drawn by the brightness of the car. And her dim
eyes seemed searching in the shadow of the top for a definite
assurance. As she drew near, Joe smiled, a little absently; the rusty
steel aigrette perched on top of the bonnet like the horn of a unicorn
was nodding so gravely. The old thing caught the smile. Her face
brightened. Her mouth spread in a toothless grin. She reached out a
hand and touched the car lightly with a withered finger on the fender.

"Such a pretty buggy," she said. The voice was tremulous and
high-pitched and the articulation thick and indistinct.

Then she looked at Joe; her rheumy gaze passed over him from the tips
of his shiny new shoes to the crown of his hat. Admiration now spoke
from her with perhaps greater eloquence even though her lips were
still, parted a little. The pause had been but momentary.

Joe reached over and threw the door open.

"Climb in," he said. "I'll take you for a ride."

The old woman shrank back from the car, wide-eyed in alarm.

"Come on," he urged, quite gently, "I'm not a masher. I'll bring you
right back here, all safe and right side up."

The old face wrinkled in a shrewd, crafty grin. She lingered on the
pavement for a moment in indecision, then came slowly forward and
paused at the running board, peering upward into Joe's face.

"Take me for a ride?" she lisped, tremulously eager.

"Sure," sa