In spite of the unbearable heat, I almost felt sure that I should find her at home. Going out of a Sunday required presentable clothes, which she did not possess. She was saving for her dower with her usual intensity

I was not mistaken. I found her on the stoop in a crowd of women and children

"I must speak to you, Gussie," I said, as she descended to the sidewalk to meet me. "Let's go somewhere. I have something very important I want to say to you."

"Is it again something about your studying to be a smart man at my expense?" she asked, rather good-naturedly

"No, no. Not at all. It's something altogether different, Gussie."

The nervous emphasis with which I said it piqued her interest.

Without going up-stairs for her hat she took me to the Grand Street dock, not many blocks away. The best spots were already engaged, but we found one that suited our purpose better than the water edge would have done. It was a secluded nook where I could give the rein to my eloquence

I told her of my talk with the Chaikins, omitting names, but inventing details and bits of "local color" calculated to appeal to my listener's imagination and business sense. She followed my story with an air of stiff aloofness, but this only added fuel to the fervor with which I depicted the opportunity before me

"So you have thrown that college of yours out of your mind, haven't you?" she said in a dry, non-committal way

I felt the color mounting to my face. "Well, not entirely," I answered

"Not entirely?"

"I mean--Well, anyhow, what do they do at college? They read books. Can't I read them at home? One can find time for everything." Returning to my new project, I said: "It's a great chance, Gussie. It would be an awful thing if I had to let it slip out of my hand."

That what I wanted was her dower (with herself as an unavoidable appendage) went without saying. It was implied, as a matter of course

"How much would your great designer want you to invest?" she asked, with an air of one guided by mere curiosity, and with a touch of irony to boot

"A couple of thousand dollars might do, I suppose."

"A couple of thousand!" she said, lukewarmly. "Tell your great designer he is riding too high a horse."

"Still, in order to start a decent business--" I said, throwing a covert glance at her

"Cloak-factories have been started with a good deal less," she snapped back

"On Division Street, perhaps."

"And what do you fellows expect to do--start on Broadway?"

"Well, it takes some money to get started even on Division Street."

"Not two thousand. It has been done for a good deal less."

"I know; but still--I am sure a fellow must have some money

"It depends on what you call 'some.'" It was the same kind of fencing contest as that which I had had with Mrs.

Chaikin. I was sounding Gussie's purse as the designer's wife had mine.

Finally she took me in hand for a severe cross-examination. She was obviously interested. I contradicted myself in some minor points, but, upon the whole, I stood the test well

"If it is all as you say," she finally declared, "there seems to be something in it."

"Gussie " I said, tremulously, "there is a great chance for us--"

"Wait," she interrupted me, suddenly bethinking herself of a new point. "If he is as great a designer as you say he is, and he works for a big firm, how is it, then, that he can't find a partner with big money?"

"He could, any number of them, but he has confidence in me. He says he would much rather start with me on two thousand than with somebody else on twenty.

He thinks I should make an excellent business man, and that between the two of us we should make a great success of it.

Money is nothing--so he says--money can be made, but with a fool of an outside man even more than twenty thousand dollars might go up in smoke." "That's so," Gussie a.s.sented, musingly. There was a pause

"Well, Gussie?" I mustered courage to demand

"You don't want me to give you an answer right off, do you?

Things like that are not decided in a hurry."

We went on to discuss the project and some indifferent topics. It was rapidly growing dark and cool. Looming through the thickening dusk, somewhat diagonally across the dock from us, was the figure of a young fellow with his head reclining on the shoulder of a young woman. A little further off and nearer to the water I could discern a white shirt-waist in the embrace of a dark coat. A song made itself heard. It was "After the Ball is Over," one of the sentimental songs of that day. "Tara-ra-boom-de-aye"

followed, a tune usually full of joyous snap and go, but now performed in a subdued, brooding tempo, tinged with sadness. It rang in a girlish soprano, the rest of the crowd listening silently.

By this time the gloom was so dense that the majority of us could not see the singer, which enhanced the mystery of her melody and the charm of her young voice. Presently other voices joined in, all in the same meditative, somewhat doleful rhythm. Gayer strains would have sounded sacrilegiously out of tune with the darkling glint of the river, with the mysterious splash of its waves against the bobbing bulkheads of the pier, with the starry enchantment of the pa.s.sing ferry-boats, with the love-enraptured solemnity of the spring night.

I had not the heart even to think of business, much less to talk it.

We fell silent, both of us, listening to the singing. Poor Gussie!

She was not a pretty girl, and she did not interest me in the least.

Yet at this moment I was drawn to her. The brooding, plaintive tones which resounded around us had a bewitching effect on me.

It filled me with yearning; it filled me with love. Gussie was a woman to me now. My hand sought hers. It was an honest proffer of endearment, for my soul was praying for communion with hers

She withdrew her hand. "This should not be done in a hurry, either," she explained, pensively

"Gussie! Dear Gussie!" I said, sincerely, though not unaware of the temporary nature of my feeling

"Don't!" she implored me

There was something in her plea which seemed to say: "You know you don't care for me. It's my money that has brought you here.

Alas! It is not my lot to be loved for my own sake."

Her unspoken words broke my heart

"Gussie! I swear to you you're dear to me. Can't you believe me?"

The singing night was too much for her. She yielded to my arms.

Urged on by the chill air, we clung together in a delirium of love-making. There were pa.s.sionate embraces and kisses. I felt that her thin, dried-up lips were not to my taste, but I went on kissing them with unfeigned fervor.

The singing echoed dolefully. We remained in that secluded nook until the growing chill woke us from our trance. I took her home.

When we reached a tiny square jammed with express-wagons we paused to kiss once more, and when we found ourselves in front of her stoop, which was now deserted, the vigorous hand-clasp with which I took my leave was symbolic of another kiss.

I went away without discovering the size of her h.o.a.rd. I was to call on her the next evening.

As I trudged along through the swarming streets on my way home the predominant feeling in my heart was one of physical distaste.