So she continued to breakfast in bed at the conservative hour of ten o'clock; continued to superintend the rehabilitation of two rooms on the second floor which Jenks, to his rheumatic distress, was redecorating in accordance with the latest whim of his mistress; continued in all things to order her life exactly as she had ordered it for twenty years.

It was now the very end of September, and autumn was more than ever in the air. There was none of the chill ocean breath which in Boston had already begun to make itself unpleasantly evident, and Helen found the keenest enjoyment in walking about the city, which heretofore she had seen princ.i.p.ally from the windows of street cars and taxicabs.

It was about three o'clock of a Sat.u.r.day afternoon at the close of her second week in New York that she started northward up Fifth Avenue, casting, as she turned, one backward look at the beauty of the Washington Arch, white in the sunshine. She herself, after the first few blocks, took the west side of the avenue, for the afternoon sun was unexpectedly warm. When she came to Fourteenth Street, she paused to allow the pa.s.sage of a number of street cars and other vehicles which were figuratively champing their bits till the Jove-like person in blue set them free to move. And as she stood there, she became aware of a voice behind her, which said:--

"You have chosen a beautiful day for a walk, Miss Maitland," and turning, she faced Mr. Richard Smith of the Guardian.

"Why, how do you do!" the girl said, holding out her hand with frank cordiality. "I'm very glad to see you. Would it flatter you if I said I was thinking of you this morning?"

"It would," said Smith, soberly. "It does not do to flatter me. I don't get over it easily. I don't go so far as to forbid it, you understand, to those who know me, but I recognize it as being as seductive and alluring and dangerous as any delightful but deadly drug, and I usually flee from it accordingly."

"Well, there's really no reason why you should flee from it now--unless it is a pecuniary reason," said Miss Maitland, smiling. "But in case you should start to escape, perhaps I had better modify my statement and say that I was actually thinking of that old harness maker and wondering when you were coming to tell me about ways and means of keeping him in business."

"I had hoped to do so before this," the other replied. "I wrote the Guardian agent at Robbinsville on the same day you visited the office, but I've had nothing to report until to-day."

"And have you now? What is it?"

"This morning I received a letter from our agent. He said that the creditors had held a protracted meeting, and there was one irritating old party who kept suggesting that the poorhouse was the inevitable solution; but finally arrangements were made by which our old friend can keep his shop as long as he lives. They trusteed the business, I believe."

Helen was silent, and for a little s.p.a.ce the two walked forward without a word. At last the girl lifted her eyes to Smith's a little wistfully.

"I'm glad he can keep his shop," she said; "and yet in one way I'm rather sorry that the creditors agreed. I would have liked to have helped the old man, myself, and I think it would have been rather good fun to have financed a harness business."

"Yes; it would," Smith rejoined, with a laugh. "But I confess I'm a little relieved. I'm afraid that for me it would have meant attaching another mortgage to the old homestead, which already looks like a popular bill board, it is so plastered with prior liens."

The girl did not know exactly what answer to make to this, so she made none. Smith presently went on.

"But I'm sure he would like to know that you would have a.s.sisted him if it had been necessary. If I am ever anywhere near Robbinsville, I shall make a point to see him and tell him."

"Why, I had nothing to do with it!" said the girl. "It was entirely your plan--I merely said I'd go halves with you."

"Yes. But I would really have never done anything by myself," Smith replied frankly. "And for a very good reason. But in any event the old man would be much more interested in thinking it was you."

"If I am ever in Robbinsville, I shall see that he knows the real facts," said Miss Maitland, with a slight flush in her cheeks.

"Here is Twenty-third Street," the underwriter said abruptly. "Where are you bound for, if I may ask?"

"Nowhere in particular," the girl answered. She stopped. "Isn't that a wonderful sight, now, in the sunlight?" She indicated the white tower of the Metropolitan Life building, pointing far up into the clear blue of the eastern sky, across Madison Square.

"Wonderful indeed," agreed Smith, so thoughtfully that his companion glanced at him. "By the way, you didn't happen to be here half a century ago, did you?" he asked whimsically.

"No," said Miss Maitland. "If I had been anywhere, it would have been around Back Bay, I presume."

"Then you miss part of this. Unless you had been here then, you can't appreciate how marvelous all this is now," he went on. "Of course I wasn't here either; but I am a New Yorker, and I know how it used to look."

"Do you?" she asked with interest. "And how did it look then?"

"Well, suppose we go back another ten years and make it sixty in all.

There was no tower there and no Flatiron building here beside us. And there was no open square before us. Oh, it was open, but not a square--more of a prairie. Broadway came up and intersected Fifth Avenue just as it does to-day. But on this Flatiron corner there stood just one thing. And what do you suppose that was?"

"I couldn't imagine."

"One solitary, lonesome lamp post. And over there, on the site of that monstrous building, was the little frame structure that gave the Square its name--the Madison cottage. And that was the only building to be seen."

"The only one! But when was this?"

"In the fifties--in fact, up to eighteen fifty-eight, when they began to put up the Fifth Avenue Hotel on the same ground. Next year that was finished, and in eighteen sixty came the Prince of Wales and honored it by leading the grand march in its great dining hall."

They had crossed Twenty-third Street by this time, and were standing on the memorable corner. An electric bus whirred by on the east side of Broadway, and Smith drew Helen's notice to it.

"On a post that stood near here," he said, "there used to be a sign that read, 'Buses every four minutes.' And if you wanted to go down town, there was exactly one other way besides taking a bus, and that was to walk."

"And that was quite enough," declared Miss Maitland.

"Well, it served, anyway," Smith conceded.

They walked on up the Avenue. Finally the girl broke a long pause.

"I was thinking," she said slowly, "that I would like to have you meet Mr. Augustus Lispenard."

"And who is he, may I ask?"

"Well, he is an old gentleman who lives on Washington Square, and you will probably never see one another, but he seems to love New York more than anything in the world--and you seem to, also."

"Well . . . it's my town," confessed her companion. "That is, it's not my native town, for I was born out in Iowa, but I've lived here nearly all my life. And it's a good town. Even a Bostonian will have to admit that," he added laughingly.

"Yes--I admit it," said the Bostonian. And it struck her that her admission came more readily than it ever before could have come. "By the way," she returned, more conventionally, "I'm afraid I must be taking you out of your way. What would you have done if you hadn't been kind enough to act as my guide this afternoon?" she inquired carelessly.

Smith looked across at her.

"To tell the truth, I was thinking of going to the ball game up at the Polo Grounds," he said promptly; "but I didn't leave the office soon enough. I'm very much interested in this present series."

"You're interested in lots of things, I should say," his companion commented. "Fire insurance and New York I have found out already. And here is something else. Are you really interested in baseball?"

"I certainly am," said Smith; "and I think every one else ought to be, if he or she has any interest in this country of ours."

Helen glanced at him in surprise.

"What possible connection can those two things have?" she asked.

"Oh, it's not a thing you can understand unless you've seen it. From the way you speak, I presume you've never seen a game of professional baseball."

"No," Miss Maitland replied with docility, "I'm afraid I never have.

I've been to a few college games--Harvard mostly--but I've never seen a professional game. Is it very different?"

"Absolutely. You ought to go to one. You can't really understand the United States of America until you do."

"Are you serious? I'm afraid you're just joking with me."