"I used to know him in Canada."
"What!" He stopped on a crowded corner. "Are you a Canadian, too?"
Tower took him by the arm, amusedly, and guided him across the street. "I was born so. There are several thousands of us here—in New York—you know."
"Did you know I was?"
"I supposed so, from your University pin."
Don put his hand up to it, flushing excitedly. "Now I understand why I I—I couldn't make out why you did it. You've been . . . mighty decent to"
Tower tried to make light of this awkward gratitude, turning it off jokingly. "Don't mention it—not to your friend Pittsey, at any rate. This is your station here. I'm going across town." He held out his hand. "Will you be boosting to-morrow?"
Don closed on his fingers with an eager warmth, as if to detain him until the surprise of the new situation could wear off and leave their parting less abrupt. "Won't I though! Will you?"
"Well, I'll be down at one o'clock to see you started. Till to-morrow, then." He slipped from Don's grasp. "Good-bye."
As he turned the corner, he nodded and waved his hand to Don, who stood beaming at the foot of the station steps, obstructing the passage. The hot and impatient men and women who bumped against him and shouldered him out of their way did not understand that he was no longer a useless impediment to the traffic of the streets, that he was a tried and accepted earner
