"You--you may
despise me; you may think me the lowest of the low, but I--I am going to
stay here."
I sat in silence, amazed, puzzled, gazing across at her, my face sober,
my hands clinched.
"You actually mean you dare risk yourself here--with me?"
"With your help; with you as a friend to talk to--yes."
I drew in my breath sharply, my forehead beaded with perspiration.
"But stop and think what I am," I urged recklessly. "A mere hobo."
She raised her face, the flushed cheeks wet, the brown eyes glowing
indignantly.
"No," she said earnestly. "You are not that; you are a man."
For a long minute I did not answer, unable to determine what to do, how
to act. We had both finished our meal, and there was no excuse for
lingering longer at the table.
"You will go with me, then?"
"Yes."
I pushed back my chair, and she arose also, following me without question
as I passed across to the door. The cashier nodded to my good night, and
I opened the door for her passage to the street. The mist of the cloudy
night had been blown away by an increasing breeze. The air was warm, and
the sky brightening in the east. I glanced aside into her face, and led
the way into a near-by park, the two of us trudging along a well-kept
gravel path, until I discovered a bench hidden from observation amid
surrounding shrubbery.
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