Being unused to feminine blandishments, he
succumbed.
Half an hour later a white veil fluttered intimately across a broad,
checked shoulder as two stealthy young people slipped under the window of
Mr. Clarke's private office and made their way to the street.
Dan gave the incident little further thought. He went mechanically about
his work, only pausing occasionally at his high desk behind the door to
pore over a sheet of paper. Had his employer glanced casually over his
shoulder, he might have thought he was still figuring on the plans of the
new finishing room; but a second glance would have puzzled him. Instead
of one large room there were several small ones, and across the front was
a porch with wriggly lines on a trellis, minutely labeled, "honeysuckle."
At a quarter of five Dan made as elaborate a toilet as the washroom
permitted. He consumed both time and soap on the fractious forelock, and
spent precious moments trying to induce a limp string tie to assume the
same correct set that distinguished Mac Clarke's four-in-hand.
Once on his way, with Growler at his heels, he gave no more thought to
his looks. He walked very straight, his lips twitching now and then into
a smile, and his gaze soaring over the heads of the ordinary people whom
he passed. For twenty-one years the book of life had proved grim
reading, but to-day he had come to that magic page whereon is written in
words grown dim to the eyes of age and experience, but perennially
shining to the eyes of youth: "And then they were married and lived
happily ever after.
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