THE HARBINGER
ciled. I’ll remember this. Soft soap! And Ragsy was talking about slugging her!”
Mrs. Peters came back with a bottle of sarsaparilla,
“I’m glad I happened to have that dollar,” she said. “You’re all run down, honey.”
Mr. Peters had a tablespoonful of the stuff inserted into him. Then Mrs. Peters sat on his lap and murmured:
“Call me tootsum wootsums again, James.”
He sat still, held there by his materialized goddess of spring.
Spring had come.
On the bench in Union Square Mr. Ragsdale and Mr. Kidd squirmed, tongue-parched, awaiting D’Artagnan and his dollar.
“I wish I had choked her at first,” said Mr. Peters to himself.
[57]
