Ten minutes had passed. If the traffic wasn’t too thick on Broadway O’Malley could make it in less than twenty. But the traffic _was_ thick—it was the middle of the day; if he was stalled or had to make a detour it might run toward half an hour. He might be—The door of the restaurant opened and out crept the mouse. The cat rose up, soft and stealthy, with her claws ready. As I crossed the street I sent a look both ways—not a taxi in sight, not a cop, only the whole thoroughfare tangled up with drays and delivery wagons. There was nothing for it but to stop him, first put out the velvet paw and then shoot the claws. Jumping quick on the curb I came up alongside of him, a smile on my face that felt like the grin you get when you make a joke that no one sees. "Why, _hullo_," I said, going at him with my hand out, "I couldn’t at first believe it—but it _is_ you." He drew up quick, all on the alert, looking at me with hard, ferret eyes. "Who are you?" he said, fierce and forbidding. "What do you want?" I put my head sideways, and tried to take the curse off the smile, changing it to a sort of trembly sweetness. "Why, _don’t_ you know me? I can’t be changed that bad. It’s Rosie." I didn’t know what his Christian name was and anyway, if I had it wouldn’t have helped—a man like Willitts changes his name as often as he does his address. But I had to call him something, so when I saw the anger rising in his eyes, I said, all broken and tender like the deserted wife in the last act: "Dearie, don’t pretend you don’t remember me—it’s Rosie from the old country." He began to look savage, also alarmed: "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never saw you before in my life." He made a movement to pass on, but I drew up close, wiped off the smile, and put on the look of true love that won’t let go. "Oh, dearie, don’t say that. Haven’t I worn the soles off my shoes hunting for you ever since, ever since—" Gee, I didn’t know how to finish it, then it came in a flash. I moaned out, "ever since we parted." "Look ’ere, young woman," he said, low, with a face on him like a meat ax, "this doesn’t go with me. Now get out; get off or I’ll ’ave you run in." I knew he wouldn’t do _that_; he’d hand over the jewels first. I raised up my voice in a wail and said: "Oh, dearie, you’re faking; I won’t believe it. You can’t have forgot—back in the old country, me and you." A messenger boy, slouching by, heard me and drew up, hopeful of some fun. Willitts saw him and began to look like murder would be added to his other offenses. I gave a glance up the street—still only drays and wagons, not a taxi in sight. Fatima with Sister Anne reporting from the tower, had nothing over me for watchful waiting. "It’s Rosie," I whined, "it’s your own little Rosie. If I don’t look the same it’s the suffering you’ve caused me and Gawd knows it."