and one, getting up a luncheon appetite. And about ten days ago I got a
glimpse of this face in the mirror. Somehow I was sure it was a face I'd
seen before, a face I'd been kind of day dreaming about for a year or
more. Yes, I know that may sound kind of batty, but it's a fact. Out in
the big woods you have time for such things. Anyway, when I saw that
reflection it seemed very familiar to me. So the next day I stopped and
took a good look. She was there. And I was certain she was no dummy. I
could see her breathe. She was watching me in the glass, too. It's been
the same every time I've been past."

"Well," says I, "what then?"

"Why," says he, "whether it's someone I've known or not, I want to find
out who she is and how I can meet her for--for--Well, she's the girl."

"Gee!" says I, "you're a reg'lar Mr. Zipp-Zipp when it comes to romantic
notions, ain't you?" And I looks him over curious. As I've always held,
though, that's what you can expect from these boys with chin dimples.
It's the Romeo trade-mark, all right, and Crosby had a deep one. "But
see here," I goes on, "suppose it should turn out that you're wrong;
that this shop window siren of yours was only one of the kind with a
composition head, a figure that they blow up with a bicycle pump, and
wooden feet? Where does that leave you?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I wish you could have seen her," says he.

"What sort of a looker?" I asks. "Blonde or brunette?"

"I don't know," says he. "She has a wonderful complexion--like old
ivory. Her hair is wonderful, too, sort of a pale gold. But her eyebrows
are quite dark, and her eyes--Ah, they're the kind you couldn't
forget--sort of a deep violet, I think; maybe you'd call 'em plum
colored."

"Listens too fancy to be true," says I. "But they do get 'em up that way
for the trade."

There's no jarrin' Crosby loose from his idea, though, and he's just
proposin' that I meet him there at twelve-thirty next day when Vee
drifts out and I has to break away. "I'll let you know if I can," says I
as I walks off.

Course, Vee wants to know who my friend is and all about it, and when
I've sketched out the plot of the piece she's quite thrilled. "How
interesting!" says she. "I do hope he finds out it's a real girl Some of
those models are simply stunning, you know. And there is such a thing
as a face haunting you. Oh, by the way! Do you remember the Stribbles?"

"Should I?" I asks.

"The janitor's family in that apartm