It was while they were chattering in this way that Master Laurence Coy came wandering along a side-street that crossed their route, and, catching sight of them, considered the idea of joining them. He had a weakness for Elsie, and an antipathy for Daisy, the latter feeling sometimes not unmingled with the most virulent repulsion; but there was a fair balance struck; in order to be with Elsie, he could bear being with Daisy. Yet both were girls, and, regarded in that light alone, not the company he cared to be thought of as deliberately choosing. Nevertheless, he had found no boys at home that morning; he was at a loss what to do with himself, and bored. Under these almost compulsory circumstances, he felt justified in consenting to join the ladies; and, overtaking them at the crossing, he stopped and spoke to them. “Hay, there,” he said, taking care not to speak too graciously. “Where you two goin’, talkin’ so much?” They paid not the slightest attention to him, but continued busily on their way. “My _dear_ Mrs. Smith!” Daisy exclaimed, speaking with increased loudness. “_I_ jus’ pozza_tiv_ely never have a _minute_ to my own affairs! If I doe’ get a rest from my housekeepin’ pretty soon, I doe’ know what on earth’s goin’ to become o’ my nerves!” “Oh, Mrs. Jones!” Elsie exclaimed. “It’s the same way with me, my dear. _I_ haf to have the _doctor_ for _my_ nerves, every morning at seven or eight o’clock. Why, my dear, I never——” “_Hay!_” Laurence called. “I said: ‘Where you goin’, talkin’ so much?’ Di’n’chu hear me?” But they were already at some distance from him and hurrying on as if they had seen and heard nothing whatever. Staring after them, he caught a dozen more “my dears” and exclamatory repetitions of “Mrs. Smith, you don’t say so!” and “Why, _Mis-suz_ Jones!” He called again, but the two little figures, heeding him less than they did the impalpable sunshine about them, hastened on down the street, their voices gabbling, their heads waggling importantly, their arms and hands incessantly lively in airy gesticulation. Laurence was thus granted that boon so often defined by connoisseurs of twenty as priceless—a new experience. But he had no gratitude for it; what he felt was indignation. He lifted up his voice and bawled: “HAY! Di’n’chu hear what I SAID? Haven’t you got ’ny EARS?” Well he knew they had ears, and that these ears heard him; but on the spur of the moment he was unable to think of anything more scathing than this inquiry. The shoppers went on, impervious, ignoring him with all their previous airiness—with a slight accentuation of it, indeed—even when he bellowed at them a second time and a third. Stung, he was finally inspired to add: “_Hay!_ Are you gone _crazy_?” But they were halfway to the next crossing.