And you could hardly blame 'em. Them back-number costumes of hers looked odd enough mixed in with all the harem effects and wired-neck ruffs that the others wore down to work. But when it come to doin' her hair Ruby was in a class by herself. No spit curls or French rolls for her! She sticks to the plain double braid, wound around her head smooth and slick, like the stuff they wrap Chianti bottles in, and with her long soup-viaduct it gives her sort of a top-heavy look. Sort of dull, ginger-colored hair it is too. Besides that she's a tall, shingle-chested female, well along in the twenties, I should judge, and with all the earmarks of bein' an old maid. So shock No. 2 is handed me when I discovers how the high-shouldered young husk with the wide-set blue eyes, that I'd seen hangin' round the Arcade on and off, was really waitin' for Ruby. Uh-huh! I stood and watched 'em sidle up to each other and go driftin' out into Broadway hand in hand. A swell pair they'd make for a Rube vaudeville act! Honest, with a few make-up touches, they could have walked right on and had the gallery with 'em! Believe me, I couldn't miss a chance to josh Ruby some on that. I shoves it at her next day when I comes back early from lunch and finds her brushin' her sandwich crumbs into the waste basket. "Now don't spring any musty first-cousin gag on me," says I; "for it don't go with the fond, palm-pressin' act. Steady comp'ny, ain't he?" Which was where you'd expect her to turn pink in the ears and let loose a giggle. But not Ruby. She's a solemn, serious-minded party, Ruby is. "Do you mean Mr. Lindholm?" says she. "Heavings!" says I. "Do you have relays of 'em? I'm referrin' to the stocky-built young Romeo that picked you up at the door last night." "Oh, yes," says she placid, "Nelson Lindholm. We had Sanskrit together." "Eh?" says I. "Sans-which? What kind of a disease is that?" "It's a language," explains Ruby. "We were in the same class. I thought it might help me in my foreign mission work. I'm sure I don't know why Nelson took it, though. He was studying electrical engineering." "Maybe it was catchin', at that," says I. "Where was all this?" "At the Co-ed," says Ruby. "But then I'd known Nelson before. He's from Naukeesha too." "Come again," says I. "From what?" "Naukeesha," repeats Ruby, just as if it was some common name like Patchogue or Hoboken. "Is that an island somewhere," says I, "or just a mixed drink?" "Why," says she, "it's a town; in Wisconsin, you know." "Think of that!" says I. "How they do mess up the map! What's it like, this Naukeesha?" And for the first time Ruby shows some traces of life. "It's nice," says she, "real nice. Not at all like New York." "Ah come, not so rough!" says I. "What you got special against our burg here?"