As she approached the corner of the Avenue the blond, no-hatted man in gray flannels appeared. White calls them. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. “It’s a flabby, loose-willed world we have to face. ’ ‘Woof!’ uttered the sergeant, jumping back. She recovered herself, however, with amazing facility. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. Whence had she come: whither was she bound? A temporary congestion in the street held up the caravan for a spell; and Ah Cum looked backward to note if any of the party had become separated. It’s—Mrs. "Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of satisfaction.
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