“You know what I've got to say.”
This failing to draw from K. Le Moyne anything but his steady glance, Joe jerked his arm free, and clenched his fist.
“What did you bring her out here for?”
“I do not know that I owe you any explanation, but I am willing to give you one. I brought her out here for a trolley ride and a picnic luncheon. Incidentally we brought the ground squirrel out and set him free.”
He was sorry for the boy. Life not having been all beer and skittles to him, he knew that Joe was suffering, and was marvelously patient with him.
“Where is she now?”
“She had the misfortune to fall in the river. She is upstairs.” And, seeing the light of unbelief in Joe's eyes: “If you care to make a tour of investigation, you will find that I am entirely truthful. In the laundry a maid—”
“She is engaged to me”—doggedly. “Everybody in the neighborhood knows it; and yet you bring her out here for a picnic! It's—it's damned rotten treatment.”
His fist had unclenched. Before K. Le Moyne's eyes his own fell. He felt suddenly young and futile; his just rage turned to blustering in his ears.
“Now, be honest with yourself. Is there really an engagement?”
“Yes,” doggedly.
“Even in that case, isn't it rather arrogant to say that—that the young lady in question can accept no ordinary friendly attentions from another man?”
Utter astonishment left Joe almost speechless. The Street, of course, regarded an engagement as a setting aside of the affianced couple, an isolation of two, than which marriage itself was not more a solitude a deux. After a moment:—
“I don't know where you came from,” he said, “but around here decent men cut out when a girl's engaged.”
“I see!”
“What's more, what do we know about you? Who are you, anyhow? I've looked you up. Even at your office they don't know anything. You
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