At the bottom of the Crescent, to his great relief, Peter found that Cat's Meat's master was not on the stand. He wouldn't have hurt Mr. Grace's feelings for the world. He was free to jump into a spanking hansom. Cat's Meat may have seen him; but Cat's Meat couldn't tell. Surely, at his age, he must have been glad to escape the long crawl to Paddington. The younger horse in the hansom stepped out gaily, making his hoofs ring smartly against the cobblestones. “Cherry, Cherry, Cherry,” they seemed to be saying. Taking short-cuts by side-roads, now following gleaming tram-lines, now dashing through mean streets, past public houses in plenty, they sped till they struck Paddington and drew up in the glass-roofed station. And then the drifting motion of the train and the unbelievable greenness of the country--the glimpses of silver water, quiet meadows and cottages in which people were born and died, and never traveled! And the holiday crowds on the platforms! The girls in summer dresses--the superb cleanness and coolness of them, and the happiness! It was exciting. The wheels beneath his carriage drummed out one word, “Cherry, Cherry, Cherry.” He didn't know even yet whether he wanted to see her. The train achieved the surprise of the century--it arrived early. He examined the expectant faces of the people; neither Harry nor the Faun Man was there. He refused to hang about; his legs ached to be moving. Picking up his bag, he set out to walk, hoping he would meet them. Streets were garish--flowers in gardens, foamy toilets of women, college blazers and rowing colors, and, over all, swift white clouds and the fiercely gleaming sun. From under wide river-hats girls laughed up into men's tanned faces. Everyone was young or, because the world was golden, seemed to be young. Peter wanted some one to laugh with. Walking down the middle of the street, the crowd moved in pairs, a man and a woman together, almost invariably. The old gray town, like Peter, looked lonely in this hubbub of jostling love and merriment.