looked to the street. There was the black car, bumping along with one flat tire. The girl threw on the brakes and came to a stop. 

In an instant Orme was in the street. If he thought that she would not remember him, her first glance altered the assumption, for she looked down at him with a ready smile and said: “You see, I do need you again, after all.” 

As for Orme, he could think of nothing better to say than simply, “I am glad.” With that he began to unfasten the spare tire. 12

12

“I shall watch you with interest,” she went on. “I know how to run a car—though you might not think it—but I don’t know how to repair one.” 

“That’s a man’s job anyway,” said Orme, busy now with the jack, which was slowly raising the wheel from the pavement. 

“Shall I get out?” she asked. “Does my weight make any difference?” 

“Not at all,” said Orme; but, nevertheless, she descended to the street and stood beside him while he worked. “I didn’t know there were all those funny things inside,” she mused. 

Orme laughed. Her comment was vague, but to him it was enough just to hear her voice. He had got the wheel clear of the street and was taking off the burst tire. 

“We seem fated to meet,” she said. 

Orme looked up at her. “I hope you won’t think me a cad,” he said, “if I say that I hope we may meet many times.” 

Her little frown warned him that she had misunderstood. 

“Do you happen to know the Tom Wallinghams?” he asked. 13

13

Her smile returned. “I know a Tom Wallingham and a Bessie Wallingham.” 

“They’re good friends of mine. Don’t you think that they might introduce us?” 

“They might,” she vouchsafed, “if they happened to see us both at the same time.” 

Orme returned to his task. The crowd that always gathers was now close about them, and there was little opportunity for talk. He finished his job neatly, and stowed away the old tire. 

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