ld. For
him it went deeper. The words, "You'll come back here for me," tingled
through his brain like some sweet song. She was alive--alive and
waiting for him to come back. There is nothing finer to a man than
this knowledge, that some one is waiting his return. It was an emotion
that Wilson in his somewhat lonely life had never experienced save in
so attenuated a form as not to be noticeable. He lingered a moment
over the thought, and then, crushing the old hat--now doubly
dear--over his bandaged head, hurried out of this house in which he
had run almost the gamut of human emotions. He went out by the laundry
window, closing it behind him, across the courtyard, and made the
street without being seen. That was the last time, he thought, that he
would ever set foot within that building. He didn't find a public
telephone until he reached Tremont Street. He entered the booth with
his heart beating up in his throat. It didn't seem possible that when
a few minutes ago he didn't know whether she was dead or alive, that
he could now seat himself here and hope to hear her voice. His hand
trembled as he took down the receiver. It seemed an eternity before he
got central; another before she connected him with Belmont. He grew
irritable with impatience over the length of time that elapsed before
he heard,

"A dime, please."

He was forced to drop the receiver and go out for change. Every clerk
was busy, but he interrupted one of them with a peremptory demand for
change. The clerk, taken by surprise, actually obeyed the command
without a word. When Wilson finally succeeded in getting the number,
he heard a man's voice, evidently a servant. The latter did not know
of a Miss Manning. Who did live there? The servant, grown suspicious
and bold, replied,

"Never mind now, but if ye wishes to talk with any Miss Manning ye can
try somewheres else. Good-bye."

"See here--wait a minute. I tell you the girl is there, and I must
talk to her."

"An' I'm telling ye she isn't."

"Is there a Mr. Sorez there----"

"Oh, the man who is just after comin'? Wait a minute now," he put in
more civilly, "an' I'll see, sor."

Wilson breathed once more. He started at every fairy clicking and
jingle which came over the waiting line.

"Waiting?"

He almost shouted his reply in fear lest he be cut off.

"Yes! Yes! waiting. Don't cut me off. Don't----"

"Is this you?"

The voice came timidly, doubtingly--with a little tremor in it, but it
w