"He 's a jollier, ain't he?" she said, in the same tone.
"Sure," he laughed. "He was jollyin' the red-headed girl to-day. He 's more fun 'n enough."
She straightened back from the photograph with a change of face.
"I don't see such a much of him now," he went on innocently; "'cept at twelve. He 's mighty pop'lar, I guess. He has to go out 'bout ev'ry night."
He turned the tintype over in his hand and sat looking at the blank back of it. She was studying him.
"D' yuh board together?" she asked suddenly.
He shook his head. "Pipp 's moved downtown." He put the pictures back in his pocket and sat leaning forward with his forearms on his knees, looking down at his hat on the floor. "N' York 's a big place," he said.
She smiled the smile of understanding. "It 's pretty lonely, too, ain't it? Won't yuh take off yer coat?"
He rose. "I guess I better be goin'," he said. "I—I jus' dropped in—to see how yuh were." He evaded her eyes by looking into his hat, and while she was still stammering an attempt to put him at his ease again, he edged to the door and slipped out. She followed him. "I hope yuh 'll come up again, Mr.—"
He did not give her his name. He stumbled down the stairs.
"Well, good-night," she said reproachfully.
"Good-night, good-night," he answered from the lower landing.
She went back into the room and took a candy from
