It is surprising, when one stops to think about it, how delightful a mere street-car ride downtown really is. As Rosie sat there with her plain but faithful friend on one side--hereafter she must always try to be especially kind and gentle to Janet--and on the other her sporty, grown-up escort, she had one of those rare moments of perfect content and happiness. Old gentlemen smiled at her absent-mindedly as she brushed aside the green streamers which the wind was forever blowing across her face; young girls examined her critically; a mother across the way distracted the attention of a weeping child by pointing her finger and saying: "Oh, Eddy, look over there at that pretty little girl! She's lookin' straight at you, and what'll she say if she sees you cryin'!"... It was really a lovely, lovely world, and Rosie honestly and truly hoped that everybody in it was happy. They reached the boat at that delightful moment when the bell is ringing and the deckhands are threatening to pull in the gang-plank in spite of the rushing crowds still arriving. By the time they had pushed their way to the upper deck, the gang-plank was in, the band was striking up a gay march, and with a lurch and a turn the _Island Princess_ was off. "O-oh!" murmured Rosie happily, and Janet demanded tensely, of no one in particular: "Isn't this just grand!" Mothers and wives bustled about to get folding chairs and campstools, but the young folk, scorning so soon to sit down, promenaded arm in arm. Tucking Rosie's hand under his elbow, George joined the ranks of the promenaders, and Janet and Tom Sullivan followed his lead at a respectful distance. At the stern, seated off by themselves, was a group of picnickers who hailed George as an old friend and waved at him inviting arms and handkerchiefs. "Let's go over and say 'Howdy,'" George suggested. There were some ten of them, girls and young fellows about George's own age. George took off his hat to them all and, with a flourish, presented Rosie. "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce to you my lady friend, Miss Rosie O'Brien. Rosie, won't you shake hands with my friend, Mr. Callahan, and Miss Higgins, and Miss McCarthy, and Miss Mahony, ..." Rosie, feeling eighteen years old and perfectly beautiful, went the rounds to an enchanting chorus of, "Pleased to know you, Miss O'Brien," "You sweet little thing!" "Excuse me, Miss Rosie, but I must say George Riley knows how to pick out a pretty girl!..." George then presented Janet, and Janet, too, went the rounds, looking like a sleep-walker with tight-set muscles and staring eyes. "And this," concluded George, giving Tom Sullivan a little push, "is Matt Sullivan's boy. You fellows all know Matt--he's on the East End run." With blinking eyes and a crimson embarrassment that mounted to ears and scalp, Tom passed about a nerveless, sodden hand.