Even into the granite cañon of lower Broadway spring can find a way. In the fifty-first story of the latest triumph in skyscraping a six-dollar-a-week stenographer filled her drinking-tumbler with water and placed it, with two pansies floating atop, beside her typewriting machine. In Wall Street an apple-woman with the most ancient face in the world leaned out of her doorway with a new offering, forced but firm strawberries that caught a backward glance from the passing tide of finders and keepers, losers and weepers. Two sparrows hopped in and out among the stone gargoyles of a municipal building. A dray-driver cursed at the snarl of traffic and flecked the first sweat from his horse's flanks. A gaily striped awning drooped across the front of the White Flag steamship offices, and out from its entrance, spring in her face, emerged Miss Miriam Binswanger; at her shoulder Irving Shapiro attended. "Honest, Mr. Shapiro, I--I just don't know what I would have done except for you." "I told you Harry Mansbach would fix you up." She clasped her wrist-bag carefully over the bulk of a thick envelope and turned her shining face full upon him. "On deck A, too, right with the best!" He steered her by a light pressure of her arm into the up-town flux of the sidewalk. "If I was a right smart kind of a fellow I never would have helped you to get those cabins." "Oh, Mr. Shapiro!" "But that's me every time, always working against myself." "Well, of all the nerve!" And her voice would belie that she knew his delicate portent. "If not for me, maybe you couldn't have gotten those reservations and you would have to stay at home. That's where I would come in, see?" "Well, of all things!" "But that's me every time. Meet a girl one day, take a fancy to her, and off she sails for Europe the next." "Honest, Mr. Shapiro, you're just the limit!" She would have no more hold of his arm, but at the next Subway hood paused in the act of descending and held out her hand. "I'm just so much obliged, Mr. Shapiro." He removed his hat, standing there holding it in the crook of his arm, the bright sunlight on his wavy hair. "Aw, now, Miss Binswanger, is this the way to leave a fellow?" "Sure, it is! Anyways, don't you have to go to work?" "I should let my work interfere with my pleasure! Anyway, that's the beauty of my line--I work when I please, not when my boss pleases." "I got to go shopping and straight home, Mr. Shapiro. Just think, two weeks from yesterday we sail, and we got enough sewing and packing to be done at our house to keep a whole regiment busy." He withdrew her from the tangle of pedestrians and into the entrance of a corner candy-shop. "Aw, now, what's your hurry?" he insisted, regarding her with smiling, invitational eyes. "Well, of all the nerve!" She would not meet his gaze, and swung her little leather wrist-bag back and forward by its strap.