Page:The Star in the Window.pdf/102

92 over the difficult ceremony of saying a proper good-night, she said:

"I've had a very pleasant evening."

He ignored the remark.

"There's something," he began, "I mean," he floundered, "I haven't quite made out yet how it came about—you and me being partners."

"Oh! Didn't you hear it explained?"

"Yes, I did, but you see, I saw pretty plain what happened first. I know when I'm made fun of. I've been trying to make out if it was you all the time. I'm rigged wrong, I know. I don't blame anybody for wishing to chuck me—but—but"

"No. It wasn't I!" Reba denied vehemently. "It wasn't I! I found your number on the floor. She must have dropped it. I wouldn't care, if I were you, what she did."

"I don't care," he smiled at Reba. "I thought it couldn't be you," he said. "Well," after a second, "I'll be going now, I guess."

"I guess you better," agreed Reba.

Still he hesitated. Then suddenly courageous, "You wouldn't shake hands with me good-night, would you?" he asked. "My right hand's all there."

"Why, of course I will."

He didn't really shake her hand. He just held it in a big damp clasp a moment, then dropped it.

"Say," he said afterward, not looking at her—he had dragged out a cloth cap from a pocket somewhere, and kept his eyes on that—"you wouldn't go out with me anywhere, would you? I mean—you wouldn't consider—it wouldn't be just the thing, I suppose, for such