"Good little fairy," he said, "I want to put some gold dust in the pot, too."

"Wait until we get to the end of the rainbow."

"Just keep a record for me. My mind is such a sieve," he said, offering the spurned black book.

"All right. Give me the Black Maria. I will ride your figures in it."

"That was a pun. You ought to be spanked."

"Oh, Jarvis, isn't it fun?" she cried to him.

"Is it? I feel that turning salesman and approaching a manager is like marching to the block."

"Poor old dreamer! Suppose you stay home, and let me peddle the play."

"Not much. I will shoulder my own pack."

"I feel like a Crusader myself. I'd rather be _me_ than anybody on earth."

"The most extraordinary thing about you is your rapture," he commented, seriously.

She ran away, singing "Then Longen folke to go on Pilgrimauges."

The next day they set forth on their journey. Bambi left lists all over the house as reminders for the Professor. Ardelia had orders enough to manoeuvre an army. The Professor went to the station with them, and absent-mindedly kissed Jarvis good-bye, which infuriated his victim and nearly sent Bambi into hysterics. As the train pulled out, she leaned from the window and called, "Go home, now, Professor!" and with a mechanical jerk he turned and started off in the direction indicated.

"I never leave him with any comfort," she admitted to Jarvis. "He is so apt to mislay himself."

"He always makes me think of a mechanical toy, ever since he told me that he always counted whatever he did. I am sure that you wind him up, like a watch, every night."

"Poor old dear! Funny I should have chosen him for a father, isn't it?"

"I think your choice of relations is distinctly queer."

"My queer relations! That's a good t.i.tle. Everybody would understand it at once."

"Thank heaven, I haven't any, queer, or otherwise."

"Didn't you ever have any?"

"No."

"Just growed?"

He nodded.

"I remember a funny old man you lived with, when I first knew you.

Wasn't he a relative?"

"No, he found me some place. What's the difference? Do you care?"

"No, I'm glad. I am sure I couldn't abide 'in-laws.'"

Over the luncheon table he suddenly looked at her, as if for the first time. He noticed that all the eyes in the crowded diner were upon her.

"What's the matter?" she asked, intercepting his glance.

"Do people always stare at you?" he inquired.

She swept the car with an indifferent glance.

"I don't know. I never noticed."

"It's queer for us to be going off like this," he said, in a startled tone.

"It seems perfectly natural to me. Are you embarra.s.sed?" she asked, suddenly aware of a new quality in him.

"No, certainly not," he defended himself.

It was five o'clock when they drew into Grand Central Station, a time when the whole duty of man seems to be to get out of New York and into the suburbs. An army of ants ran through the great blue-vaulted rotunda, streaming into the narrow tunnels, where the steel horses were puffing and steaming. The sense of rushing waters was upon Jarvis. He halted, stunned and helpless.

"Isn't it great? All the tribes of Shem, Ham, and j.a.phet," cried Bambi, at his elbow. She piloted him through--big, powerful, bewildered Jarvis.

Many a hurrying suburbanite slowed up enough to look after them, the tall, blond giant, and a little girl with shining eyes.

"Where are we going?" Jarvis asked, with child-like confidence that she would know.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "GOOD EVENING, MRS. NEW YORK, AND ALL YOU PEOPLE OUT THERE! WE'RE HERE, JARVIS AND I."]

"Gramercy Park. We'll put up at a club. We'll act rich and take a taxi."

She ordered the driver to go down the avenue slowly, and as he jolted around the crowded corner of Forty-second Street, on to the smooth asphalt, Bambi leaned forward eagerly.

"Good evening, home of the books," she nodded to the Library. "Good evening, Mrs. New York, and all you people there! We're here, Jarvis and I."

She turned and caught his rare smile.

"You're happy, aren't you?" he remarked.

"Perfectly. I feel as if I were breathing electricity. Don't you like all these people?"

"No, I feel that there are too many of them. There should be half as many, and better done. Until we learn not to breed like rabbits, we will never accomplish a creditable race."

"Such good-looking rabbits though, Jarvis."

"Yes. Sleek and empty-headed."

"All hopping uptown, to nibble something," she chuckled.

"Life is such foolishness," he said, in disgust.