The Little Red Chimney | Page 4

the counter, with a cheery "Breakfast is ready, ring the
bell," when the door opened and the Girl of All Others came in.
She was tallish, but not very tall, and somewhat slight. She wore a grey
suit--the same which had suffered this afternoon from contact with the
street, and a soft felt hat of the same colour jammed down anyhow on
her bright hair and pinned with a pinkish quill--or so it looked. The face
beneath the bright hair was---- But at this point in his recollections the
Candy Man all but lost himself in a maze of adjectives and adverbs. We
know, at least, how the long-legged child ran to help, and finally went
off hand in hand with her, and what the Miser said of her, and after all
the best the Candy Man could do was to go back to the Reporter's
phrase.
He had withdrawn a little behind a stack of breakfast foods where he
could watch her, wondering that the clerks did not drop their several
customers without ceremony and fly to do her bidding. She stood
beside the counter and made overtures to a large Maltese cat who
reposed there in solemn majesty. Beside the Maltese rose a pyramid of
canned goods, and a placard announced, "Of interest to light house
keepers." Upon this her eyes rested in evident surprise. "I didn't know
there were any lighthouses in this part of the country," she said half
aloud.
[Illustration: MARGARET ELIZABETH]

The Maltese laid a protesting paw upon her arm. It was not, however,
the absurdity of her remark, but the cessation of her caresses he
protested against. At the same moment her eyes met those of the Candy
Man, across the stack of breakfast foods. His were laughing, and hers
were instantly withdrawn. He saw her colour mounting as she
exclaimed, addressing the cat, "How perfectly idiotic!"
He longed to assure her it was a perfectly natural mistake, the placard
being but an amateurish affair; but he lacked the courage.
And then the grocer, having disposed of another customer, advanced to
serve her, and the grocer's daughter, it seemed, was also at leisure; and
though he would have preferred to watch the Girl of All Others doing
the family marketing in a most competent manner, a thoughtful finger
upon her lip, the Candy Man was forced to attend to his own business.
In selecting a basket of grapes and ordering them sent to St. Mary's
Hospital, he presently lost sight of her.
Once since then she had passed his corner on her way up the street.
That was all until to-night. It seemed probable that she lived in the
neighbourhood. Perhaps the Reporter would know.
Just here the recollection that he was a Candy Man brought him up
short. His bright dreams began to fade. The Girl of All Others should of
course be able to recognise true worth, even in a Candy Wagon, but
such is the power of convention he was forced to own to himself it was
more than possible she might not. Or if she did, her friends----
But these disheartening reflections were curtailed by the sudden
appearance of a stout, grey horse under the conduct of a small boy. The
shafts were lowered, the grey horse placed between them, and, after a
few more preliminaries, the Candy Wagon, Candy Man and all, were
removed from the scene of action, leaving the Y.M.C.A. corner to the
rain and the fog, the gleaming lights, and the ceaseless clang of the
trolley cars.
CHAPTER TWO

In which the Candy Man walks abroad in citizen's clothes, and is
mistaken for a person of wealth and social importance.
The Candy Man strolled along a park path. The October day was crisp,
the sky the bluest blue, the sunny landscape glowing with autumn's
fairest colours. It was a Sunday morning not many days after the events
of the first chapter, and back in the city the church bells were ringing
for eleven o'clock service.
In citizen's clothes, and well-fitting ones at that, the Candy Man was a
presentable young fellow. If his face seemed at first glance a trifle stern,
this sternness was offset by the light in his eyes; a steady, purposeful
glow, through which played at the smallest excuse a humorous twinkle.
After the ceaseless stir of the Y.M.C.A. corner, the stillness of the park
was most grateful. At this hour on Sunday, if he avoided the golf
grounds, it was to all intents his own. His objective point was a rustic
arbour hung with rose vines and clematis, where was to be had a view
of the river as it made an abrupt turn around the opposite hills. Here he
might read, or gaze and dream, as it pleased him, reasonably secure
from