“How alone?” drawled her friend. “Do you suppose New York has suddenly been depopulated?” “But we shall be alone, Doro. What more lonesome than a crowd in which you know nobody?” “How very thoughtful you have become of a sudden. I hope you will keep your hand on your purse, dear. There will be some people left in the great city—and perhaps one may be a pickpocket.” The electric lights were flashed on, and the train soon dived into the great tunnel, “like a rabbit into his burrow,” Tavia said. They had to disembark at Grove Street to change for an uptown train. The tall young Westerner did likewise, but he did not accost them. The Sixth Avenue train soon whisked the girls to their destination, and they got out at Twenty-third Street. As they climbed the steps to the street level, Tavia suddenly uttered a surprised cry. “Look, will you, Doro?” she said. “Right ahead!” “G. K.!” exclaimed her friend, for there was the young man mounting the stairs, lugging his two heavy suitcases. “Suppose he goes to the very same hotel?” giggled Tavia. “Well—maybe that will be nice,” Dorothy said composedly. “He looks nice enough for us to get acquainted with him—in some perfectly proper way, of course.” “Whew, Doro!” breathed Tavia, her eyes opening wide again. “You’re coming on, my dear.” “I am speaking sensibly. If he is a nice young man and perfectly respectable, why shouldn’t he find some means of meeting us—if he wants to—and we are all at the same hotel?” “But——” “I don’t believe in flirting,” said Dorothy Dale, calmly, yet with a twinkle in her eyes. “But I certainly would not fly in the face of Providence—as Miss Higley, our old teacher at Glenwood, would say—and refuse to meet G. K. He looks like a really nice young man.” “Doro!” gasped Tavia. “You amaze me! I shall next expect to see the heavens fall!” “Don’t be ridiculous,” said her friend, as they reached the exit of the tube station and stepped out upon the sidewalk. There was the Westerner already dickering with a boy to carry his bags. “_He_ likes to throw money away, too!” whispered Tavia. “I suppose we must be economical and carry ours.” “As there seems to be no other boy in sight—yes,” laughed her friend. “That young man gets the best of us every time,” complained Tavia under her breath. “He is typically Western,” said Dorothy. “He is prompt.” But then, the boy starting off with the heavy bags in a little box-wagon he drew, the young man whose initials were G. K., turned with a smile to the two girls. “Ladies,” he said, lifting his hat again, “at the risk of being considered impertinent, I wish to ask you if you are going my way? If so I will help you with your bags, having again cinched what seems to be the only baggage transportation facilities at this station.” For once Tavia was really speechless. It was Dorothy who quite coolly asked the young man: “Which is your direction?” “To the Fanuel,” he said.