It was at a later hour that same day that our young friend, Willful Will, met unexpectedly with Miss Arlington, the lady whose acquaintance he had made the previous day.

She was walking quietly along Seventh street, a little frequented avenue, and seemed as if expecting some one. There were indications of a slight petulance at his or her failure to appear.

“Hallo!” cried Will, under his breath. “Seems to me I’ve seen that figure-head afore. Blest if it ain’t the gal that shook me yesterday! Isn’t she got up gallus?”

The young lady, whose rich and tasteful dress brought this exclamation from Will, recognized him at once as he advanced.

A smile crossed her face as she remembered the close of their former interview.

“Hope you’re not too proud to speak to a fellar,” said Will, as he walked boldly up. “’Tain’t in the woods we are now, that’s sure; but if you can box a chap’s ears there you can speak to him here.”

“I don’t think you deserve to be spoken to,” she answered, “after your conduct yesterday.”

“I dunno anything I done that wasn’t right to the mark,” said Will with a look of surprise. “If I stepped over the line anywhere I’m jist the feller to step back ag’in.”

“What did I box your ears for?” asked Miss Arlington, as Will walked gravely on beside her to her seeming amusement.

“For fun, maybe,” he replied. “I couldn’t see nothing I done. Guess you thought you had a country cove. See if I don’t give you the worth of your box.”

“Why, you are not cherishing ill-feeling, I hope?”

“No, but I’m death on gettin’ square. I’ll find out the chap that’s sweet on you yet, and if I don’t put a ring in his nose there’s no use talking.”

“That will do, sir,” she replied, with some feeling. “We had better part here. I cannot permit you to use such language.”

“Why, bless you, Jennie, I don’t mean a speck of harm in it,” said Will laughing. “Didn’t think you’d get your temper up so easy. I can’t help no more being imperdent than I can help breathing, and it don’t take folks long to find that out. Best do what I said t’other day; give that chap his walking-papers and set your cap for me.”

“Very well. I will let you know when I have made up my mind to that,” she replied, stopping as if to bring their interview to a close.

“All right, if you ain’t goin’ my way,” said Will. “I’d like to spend the day and show you round town a bit, but I got biz’ness to ’tend to, and you’ll have to let me off. Good-by. My respects to him.”

Will was away like a shot, leaving her surprised that she had consented to be interviewed by a shop boy, and one speaking so impertinently and with such shocking English in the public streets.

There was something behind all this in Jennie Arlington’s mind. She was drawn to Will Somers by an attraction whose nature it would have been difficult for her to define, but which was none the less strong for her ignorance of its origin.

She found herself questioning the source of this unusual feeling as she walked slowly on, and was puzzled at finding herself unable to account for it.

“Ain’t many gals like her in this village,” soliloquized Will. “A rich and proud one enough, I’ll bet, but she lets me talk to her straight from the shoulder. Dunno how it is but I’ve got a queer kind o’ hankering after her. ’Tain’t what they call fallin’ in love. That’s not my lay. But she’s got the upper holt on my fancy somehow, an’ I’ll swow if I know how— Haloo! Wonder if that’s the partick’ler chap now? There’s some feller jist j’ined her. Bet I’ve seen him afore, too. Like to turn back and twig the cut of his jib, but it wouldn’t be on the square. Guess I’ll toddle on.”

The person who had joined the young lady was a gentleman of attractive appearance. He was of good build, and had an engaging face, the expression of his full gray eyes and well formed mouth being that of great frankness. He was dressed neatly, but with no effort at display.

Their greeting displayed much warmth, and an animated conversation ensued between them. A half-hour afterward found them enjoying ices in a neighboring restaurant, and still busily conversing.

“And when will you be out to see me, John?” she asked, with a look in her eyes as if her heart hung upon his answer.

“Not for a week or so,” he replied, in a rich baritone voice. “I am eager enough, but we are just now unduly busy in the store.”

“Can’t you come out on Sunday? The country is beautiful now.”

“I will do my best,” he replied. “When our wedding-day comes, Jennie,” he added, tenderly, “I will make a permanent engagement. Your word will be law.”

“Yes, that’s the way all the men talk,” she replied, gayly. “Those are splendid resolutions, but they won’t wear. I have been making a study of married men. How about the promise you made me for to-day?”

“The promise? What promise?”

“There, if he has not gone and forgotten already!” She shook her head in affected surprise. “The forfeit you owe me. You were to pay it to-day. Don’t you know that is all I came in town for?”

“I wish you had been with me to jog my memory, for it has wandered,” he replied. “I thought it was a sheer desire to see my handsome face that brought you in.”

“Now, you tease!” she exclaimed, turning away. “But the forfeit? You shall not get off so easily.”

“Let me see if I have not some gift for you in my pocket,” he said, gravely. “It is a perilous thing to eat philopenas with a lady. I should have known better.”

He emptied the contents of his pockets on the table.

“A knife, a pencil, a price-list, a button, that sure emblem of bachelorhood. What shall I give my love?” He whistled in a low tone as he ran over an inventory of his pocket treasures.

“Not a knife, for true love’s sake. It is the worst of signs.”

“You put trust in signs, then? I should give you a lover’s knot,” he replied, as he continued jokingly to investigate his pockets. “Ah! I have it. Here is just the thing. The making of a bow, which you can wear and think of me.”

“I keep thinking of you without a bow,” she replied. “But I will take it. What a lovely shade! Did you choose that on purpose for me?”

He had drawn a strip of delicately-colored silk from his pocket.

“I might as well take the credit of it,” he replied. “I know you ladies think men are no judges of colors, but you see my taste there. Will that pay my forfeit?”

“Certainly,” she replied as she twined the silk round her hand and admired its play of color. “You are forgiven. I will make me a bow that will rouse the envy of all the ladies. But there, our ice is all afloat. Mr. Price will take it as a personal insult if we disdain his ices in this way.”

“And I must return to the store. The voice of the siren has lured me away too long.”

“I wish you could be lured away oftener,” she replied. “You are infatuated with that stupid old business. I do believe you prefer it to me.” She gave him a humorous look as they left the saloon in company.

They were now in the open street. Love-making must now confine itself to eye-glances and farewell pressure of the hands.

Meanwhile, Will had proceeded on his errand, meeting with another adventure in doing so.

On reaching the crossing at Eighth and Arch streets an old gentleman was just in advance of him. There was a line of vehicles. Trying to get through between them he was struck by a horse and thrown to the ground. He fell in such a position that he would inevitably have been run over by the wheels of the loaded wagon had not Will sprung hastily forward, and dragged him off the track.

“Come, old gentleman,” he said, as he assisted the old man to his feet. “’Tain’t safe fer you to be walking among wagon-wheels. Hope you ain’t hurt.”

He was industriously brushing the dust from the clothes of the fallen man. The latter was a well-dressed and rather handsome person, though showing plainly the advances of age.

“I am not hurt. I thank you for your quickness and kindness,” he said, as he looked Will searchingly in the face. “Where do you live, my boy? I must see you again.”

“I ain’t living now, I’m only staying,” said Will, as he brushed off the last speck of dirt.

“And where are you staying?”

“Wherever folks will let me.”

“Are you engaged in business?”

“Yes.”

“What business, and where?”

“Running a wholesale dry good store. No use saying where, ’cept you want to buy.”

“I want to know more of you, my lad, and to reward you for your kindness. Why will you not inform me?”

“’Cause most of folks think they know too much of me now, and I’m afeard that’d be your luck. And I ain’t taking rewards just now.”

Will was off without giving time for an answer. The old gentleman called a boy to him, and engaged him to follow his rescuer, and report at a place mentioned. Will was not going to escape his gratitude so easily.