kept on his way toward the Grand
Central Station. Although he had been riding in and out of the city on
a certain suburban train for nearly two years and a half, he always
heaved a sigh of relief when the gate-tender told him he was taking
the right train for Tarrytown. Once in a great while, on matinee days,
he came to town to luncheon with Nellie before the performance. On
Sundays she journeyed to Tarrytown to see him and Phoebe. In that way
they saw quite a bit of each other. This day, however, he was taking
an earlier train out, and he was secretly agitated over the
possibility of getting the wrong one. Nellie had sent word to the
theatre that she had a headache and could not have luncheon with him.

He was not to come up to her apartment. If he had known a human being
in all New York with whom he could have had luncheon, he would have
stayed in town and perhaps gone to a theatre. But, alas, there was no
one! Once he had asked a low comedian, a former member of Nellie's
company, but at the time out of a job and correspondingly meek, to
luncheon with him at Rector's. At parting he had the satisfaction of
lending the player eleven dollars. He hoped it would mean a long and
pleasant acquaintance and a chance to let the world see something of
him. But the low comedian fell unexpectedly into a "part" and did not
remember Nellie's husband the next time he met him. He forgot
something else as well. Harvey's memory was not so short. He never
forgot it. It rankled.

He bought a noon extra and found a seat in the train. Then he sat up
very straight to let people see that they were riding in the same car
with the great Nellie Duluth's husband. Lucky dog! Every one was
saying that about him, he was sure. But every one else had a noon
extra, worse luck!

After a while he sagged down into the seat and allowed his baby-blue
eyes to fall into a brown study. In his mind's eye he was seeing a
thousand miles beyond the western bank of the Hudson, far off into
the quiet streets of a town that scarcely had heard the name of Nellie
Duluth and yet knew him by name and fame, even to the remotest nook of
it.

They were good old days, sweet old days, those days when he was
courting her--when she was one among many and he the only one. Days
when he could serve customers in his shirt-sleeves and address each
one familiarly. Every one was kind. If he had a toothache, they
sympathised with him and advised him to have it pulled and all that