The Little Red Chimney | Page 9

line."
"The joke," observed the Candy Man, "is old, but worth repeating. But
did I understand you to say another friend? And am I to infer----?"
"You are far too keen for a Candy Man," said the Reporter, laughing.
"Mrs. G.P. is friendly with the wealthy branch of our family. She
regards my Cousin Augustus as a son. Now I think of it, your Miss
Bentley cannot be her niece. She could scarcely fall out of a street car.
A victoria or a limousine would be necessary in her case."
The Candy Man did not see his way clear to disclaim proprietorship in
Miss Bentley, so let it pass. Certainly, on other grounds his Miss
Bentley, to call her so, could not be Mrs. Gerrard Pennington's niece.
Not that she lacked the charm to grace any position however high, but
her simplicity and friendliness, the fact that she walked in the country
with a stoutish relative who was intimate with the family of the park
superintendent, the marketing he had witnessed, all went to prove his
point.
Yet on the occasion of a fashionable noon wedding at the stone church
near the Y.M.C.A. corner, all this impressive evidence was brought to
naught. In the crush of machines and carriages the Candy Wagon was
all but engulfed in high life. When the crowd surged out after the bridal

party, the congestion for a few minutes baffled the efforts of the corps
of police.
The Candy Man, looking on with much amusement at the well-dressed
throng, presently received a thrill at the sound of a clear young voice
exclaiming, "Here is the car, Aunt Eleanor--over here."
The haughtiest of limousines had taken up its station just beyond the
Candy Wagon, and toward this the owner of the voice was piloting a
majestic and breathless personage. If the Candy Man could have
doubted his ears, he could not doubt his eyes. Here was the grace, the
sparkle, the everything that made her his Miss Bentley, the Girl of All
Others--except the grey suit. Now she wore velvet, and wonderful
white plumes framed her face and touched her bright hair. No, there
was no mistaking her. Reviewing the evidence he found it baffling.
That absurd exclamation about lighthouses alone might be taken as
indicating an unfamiliarity with the humbler walks of life.
The Reporter was at this time in daily attendance upon a convention in
progress in a neighbouring hall, and he rarely failed to stop at the
carriage block and pass the time of day on his way to and fro.
"Ah ha!" he exclaimed, on one of these occasions, after perusing in
silence the first edition of the Evening Record; "I see my Cousin
Augustus, on his return from New York, is to give a dinner dance in
honour of Mrs. Gerrard Pennington's niece."
"I appreciate your innocent pride in Cousin Augustus, but may I inquire
if by chance he possesses another name?" The Candy Man spoke with
uncalled-for asperity.
"Sure," responded the Reporter, with a quizzical glance at his
questioner; "several of 'em. Augustus Vincent McAllister is what he
calls himself every day."
CHAPTER FOUR
In which the Candy Man again sees the Grey Suit, and Virginia

continues the story of the Little Red Chimney.
It was Saturday afternoon, possibly the very next Saturday, or at most
the Saturday after that, and the Candy Wagon was making money. The
day of the week was unmistakable, for the working classes were getting
home early; fathers of families with something extra for Sunday in
paper bags under their arms. And the hat boxes! They passed the Candy
Man's corner by the hundreds. Every feminine person in the big
apartment houses must be intending to wear a new hat to-morrow.
There was something special going on at the Country Club--the Candy
Man had taken to reading the social column--and the people of leisure
and semi-leisure were to be well represented there, to judge by the
machines speeding up the avenue; among them quite probably Miss
Bentley and Mr. Augustus McAllister.
This not altogether pleasing reflection had scarcely taken shape in his
mind, when, in the act of handing change to a customer, he beheld Miss
Bentley coming toward him; without a doubt his Miss Bentley this time,
for she wore the grey suit and the felt hat, jammed down any way on
her bright hair and pinned with the pinkish quill. She was not alone. By
her side walked a rather shabby, elderly man, with a rosy face, whose
pockets bulged with newspapers, and who carried a large parcel. She
was looking at him and he was looking at her, and they were both
laughing. Comradeship of the most delightful kind was indicated.
Without a glance in the direction of the Candy Wagon they passed.
Well,