Twenty-four hours ago! She thought
of that as she was winding her watch. It seemed incredible that it was
no longer than that since the saccharine little sob in John McCormack's
voice as he had sung "Just a little love, a li-ttle ki-iss," had driven
her frantic.
She turned out her light and opened her bedroom window. The phonograph
across the court was going again. But now, evidently, its master had
come back from Pittsburgh, for it was singing lustily, "That's why I
wish again that I was in Michigan, back on the farm."
Rose smiled her old wide smile, and cuddled her cheek into the pillow.
She was the happiest person in the world.
When he called her up the next morning, she asked him to come down to
the premises of Dane & Company (it was a loft on lower Fifth Avenue)
about noon and go out to lunch with her, and she made no secret of her
motive in selecting their rendezvous. "I'd like to have you see what our
place is like;" she said, "though it isn't like anything much just now,
between seasons this way.
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