knew that the game was bagged; and so quickly she wearied of the chase. She began to talk to Sidonie.
“Been a fine day,” said the candy man, hollowly. “First time in a month I’ve felt first-class. Hit it up down old Madison, hollering out like I useter. Think it’ll rain to-morrow?”
Mademoiselle laid two round arms on the cushion on the window-sill, and a dimpled chin upon them.
“Candy man,” said she, softly, “do you not love me?”
The candy man stood up and leaned against the brick wall.
“Lady,” said he, chokingly, “I’ve got $800 saved up. Did I say you wasn’t beautiful? Take it every bit of it and buy a collar for your dog with it.”
A sound as of a hundred silvery bells tinkled in the room of Mademoiselle. The laughter filled the alley and trickled back into the court, as strange a thing to enter there as sunlight itself. Mademoiselle was amused. Sidonie, a wise echo, added a sepulchral but faithful contralto. The laughter of the two seemed at last to penetrate the candy man. He fumbled with his horseshoe pin. At length Mademoiselle, exhausted, turned her flushed, beautiful face to the window.
“Candy man,” said she, “go away. When I laugh Sidonie pulls my hair. I can but laugh while you remain there.”
[123]
