side of half an hour we'd agreed on the usual compromise--I'm
to do as Vee says.

So here at 11:15 on a bright summer mornin' I'm dumped off a trolley car
way out on the upper edge of Massachusetts. It's about as lonesome a
spot as you could find on the map. Nothing but fields and woods in
sight, and a dusty road windin' across the right of way. Not a house to
be seen, not even a barn.

"You're sure this is Dorr's Crossin', eh?" I asks of the conductor as I
hesitates on the step.

"Oh, yes," says he, cheerful.

"Don't seem to be usin' it much, does he?" says I.

"Ding, ding!" remarks the fare collector to the motorman, and it was a
case of hoppin' lively for me.

There's nothing left to do but hoist myself conspicuous onto a
convenient wayside rock and hope that this Barry Crane person was
runnin' somewhere near on time. About then I begun to wish I knew more
about him, his general habits and so on. Was his memory good? Could he
be depended on to keep dates with strangers? Would he know Dorr's
Crossing when he saw it?

Vee hadn't touched on any of these points when she was convincin' me how
simple it would be for him and me to get together. Course, she'd given
me a chatty little sketch of Mr. Crane, but mostly it had been about
what a swell organist he was. Played in a big church. Not only that, but
made up pieces, all out of his own head. Also she'd mentioned about his
hopeless romance with a certain Ann McLeod.

Seems Barry had been strong for Miss McLeod for five or six years. She'd
kind of strung him along at first, too. Couldn't help likin' Barry some.
Everybody did. He was that kind--good natured, always sayin' clever
things. You know. But when it came to hitchin' up with him permanent,
Miss McLeod had balked. Nobody knew just why. Bright girl, Ann. Brainy,
too, and with lots of pep. She was secretary for some big efficiency
expert. Maybe that was why she couldn't stand for Barry's musical
temperament. She thought 9 a.m. was absolutely the last call for pushin'
back the roll-top and openin' the mornin' mail, while Barry's idea of
beginnin' a perfect day was for someone to bring in a breakfast tray
about eleven o'clock and hand him a cigarette before he tumbled out of
the straw. So while he'd qualified as a Dear Old Thing and she'd got to
the point where she'd let him call her Playmate Mine, that's where the
romance hung on the rocks. Also he'd been described as a chunky party
with a round face decorated