kows, perhaps."

"But they're waiting to have you tell them what you know. I've seen to
that."

"If they ask any questions, I'll invent a story. I'll act confused,
self-conscious. I'll make them think you are a much dearer friend than
I have pretended, so far; dearer, even, than I can hope you ever will
be."

"That wouldn't be fair."

"There are occasions when everything is fair. Perhaps these store
people know something--"

"Nothing whatever."

"Then, for Heaven's sake, release me from my pledge!" Gray spoke
desperately. "When I return, permit me to ask those thousand questions,
and what others occur to me. Won't you?"

The girl pondered this request briefly, then smiled. "Very well. If you
are still curious, when you see me, I'll tell you who I am."

"A bargain! I'll be back early." More seriously, Gray declared: "I must
tell you right now how perfectly splendid I think you are. You have
completely renewed my belief in human kindness, and I'm sure your name
must be Miss Good."

But a disappointment awaited Calvin Gray when, late that afternoon, he
returned to the store. Miss Good had gone. At first he refused to
believe Ma Briskow's statement, but it was true: she had disappeared as
quietly and as unobtrusively as she had appeared, and, what was more
annoying, she had left no word whatever for him. This was practical
joking, for a certainty, and Gray told himself that he abhorred
practical jokes. It was a jolt to his pride to have his attentions thus
ignored, but what irked him most was the fact that he was stopped, by
reason of his deceit, from making any direct inquiries that might lead
to a further acquaintance with the girl.

Mrs. Briskow, however, was in no condition either to note his dismay or
to volunteer information upon any except one subject; to wit, corns.
Human hearts were of less concern to her, for the time being, than
human feet, and hers were killing her. She began a recital of her
sufferings, as intimate, as agonizing, and as confidential as if Gray
were a practicing chiropodist. What she had to say about tight shoes
was bitter in the extreme; she voiced a gloomy conviction that the
alarming increase in suicides was due to bunions. The good woman
confessed that she dearly loved finery and had bought right and left
with reckless extravagance, but all the merchandise in this department
store was not worth the anguish she had endured this day. With her
stiff little bonnet tilted carelessly