There was nothing in the words to make Mary fire up, but much in the way they were spoken, and she fired up accordingly.
“What do you mean?” she cried.
“Mean?” queried Joe.
“You’re hinting at something. If you have anything to say against Eddy, why don’t you say it straight out?”
“It’s a good working rule in life never to say anything straight out. Speaking in parables, I will observe that, if America was a monarchy instead of a republic and people here had titles, Eddy would be a certainty for first Earl of Pearl Street.”
Dignity fought with curiosity in Mary for a moment. The latter won.
“I don’t know what you mean! Why Pearl Street?”
“Go and have a look at it.”
Dignity recovered its ground. Mary tossed her head.
“We are wasting a great deal of time,” she said, coldly. “Shall I take down the rest of this letter?”
“Great idea!” said Joe, indulgently. “Do.”
A policeman, brooding on life in the neighbourhood of City Hall Park and Broadway that evening, awoke with a start from his meditations to find himself being addressed by a young lady. The young lady had large grey eyes and a slim figure. She appealed to the æsthetic taste of the policeman.
“Hold to me, lady,” he said, with gallant alacrity. “I’ll see yez acrost.”
“Thank you, I don’t want to cross,” she said. “Officer!”
The policeman rather liked being called “Officer.”
“Ma’am?” he beamed.
“Officer, do you know a street called Pearl Street?”
“I do that, ma’am.”
She hesitated. “What sort of street is it?”
The policeman searched in his mind for a neat definition.
“Darned crooked, miss,” he said.
He then proceeded to point the way, but the lady had gone.
It was a bomb in a blue dress that Joe found waiting for him at the office next morning. He surveyed it in silence, then raised his hands above his head.
“Don’t shoot,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
“What right had you to say that about Eddy? You know what I mean—about Pearl Street.”