He
had filled out. His clothes were wonderful. And his voice, when he
spoke, had just that same musical quality.
'So you and Joe have fixed it up? Capital! Shall we all go and lunch
somewhere?'
'Got an appointment,' said Joe. 'I'm late already. Be here at two
sharp, Mary.' He took up his hat and went out.
The effect of Eddy's suavity had been to make Mary forget the position
in which she now stood to Joe. Eddy had created for the moment quite an
old-time atmosphere of good fellowship. She hated Joe for shattering
this and reminding her that she was his employee. Her quick flush was
not lost on Eddy.
'Dear old Joe is a little abrupt sometimes,' he said. 'But--'
'He's a pig!' said Mary, defiantly.
'But you mustn't mind it. New York makes men like that.'
'It hasn't made you--not to me, at any rate. Oh, Eddy,' she cried,
impulsively, 'I'm frightened. I wish I had never come here. You're the
only thing in this whole city that isn't hateful.'
'Poor little girl!' he said. 'Never mind. Let me take you and give you
some lunch. Come along.'
Eddy was soothing. There was no doubt of that. He stayed her with
minced chicken and comforted her with soft shelled crab. His voice was
a lullaby, lulling her Joe-harassed nerves to rest.
They discussed the dear old days. A carper might have said that Eddy
was the least bit vague on the subject of the dear old days.
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