The girl flushed too. I am so grateful.... But how----" "Wait," said Brown; and, addressing Clarence in a softly alluring voice, he began cautiously to crawl along the fences toward that unresponsive animal. Presently he desisted, partly on account of a conspiracy engaged in between his trousers and a rusty nail. The girl was now beyond range of his vision around the corner. "Miss--ah--Miss--er--er--Betty!" he called. "Yes!" "Clarence has retreated over another back yard." "How horrid!" "How far down do you live?" She named the number of doors, anxiously adding: "Is Clarence farther down the block? Oh, please, be careful. Please, don't drive him past our yard. If you will wait I--I'll let myself into the house and--I'll manage to get up on the fence." "You'll ruin your gown." "I don't care about my gown." "These fences are the limit! Full of spikes and nails.... Will you be careful?" "Yes, very." "The nails are rusty. I--I am h-horribly afraid of lockjaw." "Then don't remain there an instant." "I mean--I'm afraid of it for you." There was a silence; they couldn't see each other. Brown's heart was beating fast. "It is very generous of you to--think of me," came her voice, lower but very friendly. "I ca-can't avoid it," he stammered, and wanted to kick himself for what he had blurted out. Another pause--longer this time. And then: "I am going to enter my house and climb up on the fence.... Would you mind waiting a moment?" "I will wait here," said Beekman Brown, "until I see you." He added to himself: "I'm going mad rapidly and I know it and don't care.... _What_-- a--girl!" While he waited, legs swinging, astride the back fence, he examined his injuries--thoughtfully touched the triangular tear in his trousers, inspected minor sartorial and corporeal lacerations, set his hat firmly upon his head, and gazed across the monotony of the back-yard fences at Clarence. The cat eyed him disrespectfully, paws tucked under, tail curled up against his well-fed flank--disillusioned, disgusted, unapproachable. Presently, through the palings of a back yard on Sixty-fifth Street, Brown saw a small boy, evidently the progeny of some caretaker, regarding him intently. "Say, mister," he began as soon as noticed, "you have tore your pants on a nail." "Thanks," said Brown, coldly; "will you be good enough to mind your business?" "I thought I'd tell you," said the small boy, delightedly aware that the information displeased Brown. "They're tore awful, too. That's what you get for playin' onto back fences. Y'orter be ashamed." Brown feigned unconsciousness and folded his arms with dignity; but the next moment he straightened up, quivering. "You young devil!" he said; "if you pull that slingshot again I'll come over there and destroy you!" At the same moment above the fence line down the block a white straw hat appeared; then a youthful face becomingly flushed; then two dainty, gloved hands grasping the top of the fence.