ad crossed Twenty-third Street by this time, and were standing on
the memorable corner. An electric bus whirred by on the east side of
Broadway, and Smith drew Helen's notice to it.

"On a post that stood near here," he said, "there used to be a sign
that read, 'Buses every four minutes.' And if you wanted to go down
town, there was exactly one other way besides taking a bus, and that
was to walk."

"And that was quite enough," declared Miss Maitland.

"Well, it served, anyway," Smith conceded.

They walked on up the Avenue. Finally the girl broke a long pause.

"I was thinking," she said slowly, "that I would like to have you meet
Mr. Augustus Lispenard."

"And who is he, may I ask?"

"Well, he is an old gentleman who lives on Washington Square, and you
will probably never see one another, but he seems to love New York more
than anything in the world--and you seem to, also."

"Well . . . it's my town," confessed her companion. "That is, it's not
my native town, for I was born out in Iowa, but I've lived here nearly
all my life. And it's a good town. Even a Bostonian will have to
admit that," he added laughingly.

"Yes--I admit it," said the Bostonian. And it struck her that her
admission came more readily than it ever before could have come. "By
the way," she returned, more conventionally, "I'm afraid I must be
taking you out of your way. What would you have done if you hadn't
been kind enough to act as my guide this afternoon?" she inquired
carelessly.

Smith looked across at her.

"To tell the truth, I was thinking of going to the ball game up at the
Polo Grounds," he said promptly; "but I didn't leave the office soon
enough. I'm very much interested in this present series."

"You're interested in lots of things, I should say," his companion
commented. "Fire insurance and New York I have found out already. And
here is something else. Are you really interested in baseball?"

"I certainly am," said Smith; "and I think every one else ought to be,
if he or she has any interest in this country of ours."

Helen glanced at him in surprise.

"What possible connection can those two things have?" she asked.

"Oh, it's not a thing you can understand unless you've seen it. From
the way you speak, I presume you've never seen a game of professional
baseball."

"No," Miss Maitland replied with docility, "I'm afraid I never have.
I've been to a few college games--Harvard mostly--but I've never seen