nce; and he has others with the broken
sky-line of down-town, all misted with the smoke and puffs and jets of
vapor that have colors like an orchard in mid-April. I'm going to take
you there some Sunday afternoon, Bibbs."

"You're showing me the town," he said. "I didn't know what was in it at
all."

"There are workers in beauty here," she told him, gently. "There are
other painters more prosperous than my friend. There are all sorts of
things."

"I didn't know."

"No. Since the town began growing so great that it called itself
'greater,' one could live here all one's life and know only the side of
it that shows."

"The beauty-workers seem buried very deep," said Bibbs. "And I imagine
that your friend who makes the smoke beautiful must be buried deepest
of all. My father loves the smoke, but I can't imagine his buying one
of your friend's pictures. He'd buy the 'Bay of Naples,' but he wouldn't
get one of those. He'd think smoke in a picture was horrible--unless he
could use it for an advertisement."

"Yes," she said, thoughtfully. "And really he's the town. They ARE
buried pretty deep, it seems, sometimes, Bibbs."

"And yet it's all wonderful," he said. "It's wonderful to me."

"You mean the town is wonderful to you?"

"Yes, because everything is, since you called me your friend. The city
is only a rumble on the horizon for me. It can't come any closer than
the horizon so long as you let me see you standing by my old zinc-eater
all day long, helping me. Mary--" He stopped with a gasp. "That's the
first time I've called you 'Mary'!"

"Yes." She laughed, a little tremuously. "Though I wanted you to!"

"I said it without thinking. It must be because you came there to walk
home with me. That must be it."

"Women like to have things said," Mary informed him, her tremulous
laughter continuing. "Were you glad I came for you?"

"No--not 'glad.' I felt as if I were being carried straight up and up
and up--over the clouds. I feel like that still. I think I'm that way
most of the time. I wonder what I was like before I knew you. The person
I was then seems to have been somebody else, not Bibbs Sheridan at
all. It seems long, long ago. I was gloomy and sickly--somebody
else--somebody I don't understand now, a coward afraid of
shadows--afraid of things that didn't exist--afraid of my old
zinc-eater! And now I'm only afraid of what might change anything."

She was silent a moment, and then, "You're happy, Bibbs?" sh