“Bless you, old boy, how--how fast you do walk!” panted the old man. “I was ’way up--on the other side of the road when--when I saw you turnin’ down here. Sol Mantring said I wouldn’t know you--if I saw you. Why--I knowed you at first sight.” “Wot’s he done?” bleated a small boy in front, for the crowd had already surrounded the couple. “What’s who done?” asked the old man, angrily, after he had looked around and seen the crowd. “Why, you tarnal loafers, can’t a man run down the road to catch up with his own son without you thinkin’ there’s somethin’ wrong? I’ve heerd that in New York ev’ry man suspects ev’ry other man of bein’ a thief. Git out! go about your business, if you’ve got any.” The crowd, looking sadly disappointed and disgusted, slowly dispersed, one very red-faced man remarking that the entire proceeding had been “a durned skin.” The father and son walked along until comparatively alone; then the father said,-- “Somethin’s wrong, old boy. What is it?” Phil did not reply. “Out of money, an’ afraid to send me word?” “No,” Phil replied. “Then it’s _her_, eh?” Phil nodded. His father squeezed his hand, and after a moment continued,-- “Proposed to her, an’ been refused?” “No,” said Phil: “another man has proposed, and been accepted.” “Dear! dear!” sighed the old man. “An’ she’s dead in love with him, I s’pose?” “I never saw any sign of it,” said Phil, his face wrinkling. “I don’t see how she can: he’s a dry old stick.” “Rich?” “Um--m--I don’t know,” said Phil. “Know him?” “Yes, a little. Mr. Tramlay says he lives on his income.” “Easy enough for a bachelor to do that in New York,” said the old man, “an’ still not have much.” They walked in silence a few minutes; then the old man continued,-- “Sure you weren’t mistaken, bub?” “About what?” “Sure you reelly fell in love? Sure you warn’t only in a fit of powerful admiration? Lots of young fellers get took in that way an’ spend a lifetime bein’ sorry for it.” Phil shook his head. “She’s mighty good-lookin’; I know it. I can take in the p’ints of a gal as good as if she was a colt. Good stock in her, too; that father of hern is full of grit an’ go, an’ her mother’s a lady. Still, you might have been kind o’ upset, an’ not knowed your own mind as well as you might.” “Father,” said Phil, “you remember what you’ve often said about your horse Black Billy?--‘There’s only one horse in the world, and that’s Billy.’ Well, for me there’s only one girl in the world,--Lucia.” “That’s the Hayn blood, all over,” said the old man, with a laugh that grated harshly on Phil’s ear. “And I’ve lost her,” Phil continued. “Don’t let’s talk about her any more. Don’t remind me of her.” “Don’t remind you?” shouted the old man, stopping short on the sidewalk. “See here, young man,” the father continued, shaking his forefinger impressively, “if I was you, an’ felt like you, do you know what I’d do?”