"Sure, I know how it is. I was saying to a fellow just the other day, 'Why, gosh all fish-hooks!' I was saying, 'it seems like it's harder to keep in touch with a fellow here in New York than if he lived in Chicago--time you go from the Bronx to Flatbush or Weehawken, it's time to turn round again and go home!' Well, Hunt's married--you know, to that same girl that was with us at lunch that day--and he's got a nice little house in Secaucus. He's still with Lowry. Good job, too, assistant bookkeeper, pulling down his little twenty-seven-fifty regular, and they got a baby, and let me tell you she makes him a mighty fine wife, mighty bright little woman. Well, now, say! How are _you_ getting along, Miss Golden? Everything going bright and cheery?" "Yes--kind of." "Well, that's good. You'll do fine, and pick up some good live wire of a husband, too--" "I'm never going to marry. I'm going--" "Why, sure you are! Nice, bright woman like you sticking in an office! Office is no place for a woman. Takes a man to stand the racket. Home's the place for a woman, except maybe some hatchet-faced old battle-ax like the cashier at our shop. Shame to spoil a nice home with her. Why, she tried to hold up my vacation money, because she said I'd overdrawn--" "Oh, but Mr. _Schwirtz_, what can a poor girl do, if you high and mighty men don't want to marry her?" "Pshaw. There ain't no trouble like that in your case, I'll gamble!" "Oh, but there is. If I were pretty, like Rose Larsen--she's a girl that stays where I live--oh! I could just eat her up, she's so pretty, curly hair and big brown eyes and a round face like a boy in one of those medieval pictures--" "That's all right about pretty squabs. They're all right for a bunch of young boys that like a cute nose and a good figger better than they do sense-- Well, you notice I remembered you, all right, when you went and forgot poor old Eddie Schwirtz. Yessir, by golly! teetotally plumb forgot me. I guess I won't get over _that_ slam for a while." "Now that isn't fair, Mr. Schwirtz; you know it isn't--it's almost dark here on the porch, even with the lamps. I couldn't really see you. And, besides, I _did_ recognize you--I just couldn't think of your name for the moment." "Yuh, that listens fine, but poor old Eddie's heart is clean busted just the same--me thinking of you and your nice complexion and goldie hair and the cute way you talked at our lunch--whenever Hunt shut up and gave you a chance--honest, I haven't forgot yet the way you took off old man--what was it?--the old stiff that ran the commercial college, what was his name?" "Mr. Whiteside?" Una was enormously pleased and interested. Far off and dim were Miss Magen and the distressing Mrs. Lawrence; and the office of Mr. Troy Wilkins was fading.