"Good-night. I say, Sidney, it's more than half an engagement. Won't you

kiss me good-night?"

She hesitated, flushed and palpitating. Kisses were rare in the staid

little household to which she belonged.

"I--I think not."

"Please! I'm not very happy, and it will be something to remember."

Perhaps, after all, Sidney's first kiss would have gone without her

heart,--which was a thing she had determined would never happen,--gone out

of sheer pity. But a tall figure loomed out of the shadows and approached

with quick strides.

"The roomer!" cried Sidney, and backed away.

"Damn the roomer!"

Poor Joe, with the summer evening quite spoiled, with no caress to

remember, and with a potential rival who possessed both the years and the

inches he lacked, coming up the Street!

The roomer advanced steadily. When he reached the doorstep, Sidney was

demurely seated and quite alone. The roomer, who had walked fast, stopped

and took off his hat. He looked very warm. He carried a suitcase, which

was as it should be. The men of the Street always carried their own

luggage, except the younger Wilson across the way. His tastes were known

to be luxurious.

"Hot, isn't it?" Sidney inquired, after a formal greeting. She indicated

the place on the step just vacated by Joe. "You'd better cool off out

here. The house is like an oven. I think I should have warned you of that

before you took the room. These little houses with low roofs are fearfully

hot."

The new roomer hesitated. The steps were very low, and he was tall.

Besides, he did not care to establish any relations with the people in the

house. Long evenings in which to read, quiet nights in which to sleep and

forget--these were the things he had come for.

But Sidney had moved over and was smiling up at him. He folded up

awkwardly on the low step. He seemed much too big for the house. Sidney

had a panicky thought of the little room upstairs.

"I don't mind heat. I--I suppose I don't think about it," said the roomer,

rather surprised at himself.

Reginald, having finished his chestnut, squeaked for another. The roomer

started.

"Just Reginald--my ground-squirrel." Sidney was skinning a nut with her

strong white teeth. "That's another thing I should have told you. I'm

afraid you'll be sorry you took the room."

The roomer smiled in the shadow.

"I'm beginning to think that YOU are sorry."

She was all anxiety to reassure him:-"It's because of Reginald. He lives under my--under your bureau. He's

really not troublesome; but he's building a nest under the bureau, and if

you don't know about him, it's rather unsettling to see a paper pattern

from the sewing-room, or a piece of cloth, moving across the floor."




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