Page:The Pacific Monthly vol. 14.djvu/101



closed for twenty 3'ears had suddenly reopened, and her long buried lover bad appeared on its threshold.

In spite of its faultless perfection, its immobility of feature, and its slightly false coloring, the likeness was startling, and the Little Old Maid paused for an in- stant, staring with fascinated eyes, and then passed on trembling as if she had seen a ghost.

She was absent-minded all the forenoon, and once the elderly floorwalker in her department reprimanded her for inattention to customers. The tears sprang to her eyes, and her chin quivered, while the floorwalker stalked down the aisle muttering savagely, "I hate a snivelling woman! Wh'ad she need to cry for! It makes a man feel like goin' out an' kickin' himself around the block."

When the floorwalker sauntered up the aisle again the Little Old Maid would not look in his direction, which made Hm even more irate than before. "Course she is mad," he observed to himself. "Most women haven't any more sense 'n a hen. I'm thankful I don't have to deal with any of 'em outside of business hours."

But the memory of the tearful eyes and the quivering chin tormented the soft elderly heart buttoned inside the black cutaway coat, and 12 o'clock found him again reconnoitering near the Little Old Maid's counter.

She was alone and rearranging the goods, thrown into disorder by careless customers. The floorwalker cleared his throat violently. The Little Old Maid glanced up, caught his eyes, and deliberately turned her back.

"Excuse me, Miss — ah, Winters. Mebbe I was a little rough this morning — " he waited, listening, but no answer came. "You see, when a man has only a c\;p of muddy coffee and a few cold pancakes for breakfast he gets kind a down in the mouth after a while."

The Little Old Maid studied the boxes on the shelves with unswerving interest.

"When a fellow is knocked about in the world and hasn't no friends to speak of — " his listener cocked one eye at him half relentingly, "he is hardly responsible for every mean thing he says. Folks that have homes now — "

The little figure turned like a flash. "Haven't you got any home ?"

"Never had one since I was born. Hunt the word up in a dictionary once 'n a while just to see how it looks," and he chuckled amiably at his attempt to be funny.

The Little Old Maid straightened some boxes on the counter, and replied with obvious embarrassment :

"You didn't say enough to — that is, I — "

"It's all right any how," interrupted the floorwalker, trying to cover her con- fusion and put an end to her self-accusations, and' mercifully turning his eyes away from her flushed face, he got an inspiration. "There's Hendrix down there flirtin' with them girls at the glove counter again. He knows that kind 0' thing's forbidden heTe. I'll tend to him for good an' all this time," and striking out boldly toward the glove counter, he sidetracked down the first aisle, and left tlie flirtatious Hendrix undisturbed.

The Little Old Maid took herself mentally to task with unsparing honesty. "Just think 0' me getting mad at that poor man, that hasn't a home to go to, and me with everything comfortable," and a vision of the tiny three-room flat rose before her, with its wee shiny kitchen, its snug living room carpeted with .sreen ingrain, the picture of Mount Hood against the walls, the Nottingham lace cur- tains, the shelf of books, and the little air-tight stove that imparted such comfort on cold nights.

At 6 o'clock she donned her blue jacket and her little ready-to-wear hat, and on her way out through the men's department stole a long look at the lay figure • reseml>ling her lost "Archie."

"It just seems like it must be him," and as she passed the immovable figure she softly whispered, "Good-night, Archie," trembling at her own temerity.

That night her sleep was broken by dreams of the lover who h.ad been dead for twenty years, though sometimes, instead of the dark curling locks she so