Out in the street he turned and shot a glance like a searchlight round behind him. It swept over me and took no notice, which was considerable of an encouragement. If it was warm in the station, it was sizzling outside. Men were carrying their coats on their arms, some of them using palm leaf fans, careful ones keeping to the edge of shade along the house fronts. But Willitts didn’t mind the sun; I guess when you’re making off with a fortune you’re indifferent to temperature—it’s another proof of mind over matter. After walking down Seventh Avenue for a few minutes he turned to the left and struck across a side street to Sixth. Half way down the block he went into a men’s furnishing store, and sauntering slow past the window, I saw him looking at collars. There was a stationer’s just beyond and I cast anchor there, by a counter near the door set out with magazines. A sales girl lounged up, chewing her gum like the heat had made her languid, and looking interested over my clothes. "Awful warm, ain’t it?" she said, and I answered, picking up a magazine: "It’s something fierce. I’ll take this one." "You got that one already," says she, pointing to the magazine I’d bought at Berkeley and was still clinging to. "Don’t you wanna try something new?" "Oh—it’s the heat; the sun gets my head woozy." I picked out another and gave her a dollar, the smallest change I had. As she was walking to the cash register, Willitts passed the door and I was out on the sill, moving cautious to the sidewalk. "Say," comes the girl’s voice from behind me, "what are you doin’? You ain’t got your change yet. You’d oughtn’t to be let out in this sun." "Keep it," I called back. "I was a working girl once myself." At the corner of Fifth Avenue he stopped and, a bus coming along, he haled it. "Lord," thought I, "if he gets into that without me I’ll have to run after it and they’ll arrest me for a lunatic." Being quite a ways behind, I had to make a dash for it, waving my magazine and hollering like the rubes from the country. He was up on the roof, and the bus was moving when I lit on the step, and was hauled in friendly by the conductor. We jolted downtown, me sitting sideways in a rear seat watching the stairs for Willitts’ legs. It wasn’t until we were below Twenty-third Street that they came into view, stepping lightly down. The bus heaved up against the curb and he swung off, me behind him. I was terribly scared that he’d begin to suspect me, and all I could think of that would look natural was to roll my eyes flirtatious at the conductor, who seemed to like it so much I was afraid he wouldn’t let me off.