And shoving Smith violently away he galloped after the cherry-colored car, caught it, swung himself aboard, and sank triumphant and breathless into the transverse seat behind that occupied by a wicker basket, a filmy summer frock, a big, white straw hat, and—­a girl—­the most amazingly pretty girl he had ever laid eyes on.  After him, headlong, like a distracted chicken, rushed Smith and alighted beside him, panting, menacing.

“Wha’—­dyeh—­board—­this—­car—­for!” he gasped, sliding fiercely up beside Brown.  “Get off or I’ll drag you off!”

But Brown only shook his head with an infatuated smile.

“Is it that girl?” said Smith, incensed.  “Are you a—­a Broadway Don Juan, or are you a respectable lawyer with a glimmering sense of common decency and an intention to keep a social engagement at the Carringtons’ to-day?”

And Smith drew out his timepiece and flourished it furiously under Brown’s handsome and sun-tanned nose.

But Brown only slid along the seat away from him, saying: 

“Don’t bother me, Jim; this is too momentous a crisis in my life to have a well-intentioned but intellectually dwarfed friend butting into me and running about under foot.”

“Intellectually d-d—­do you mean me?” asked Smith, unable to believe his ears. “Do you?”

“Yes, I do!  Because a miracle suddenly happens to me on Forty-second Street, and you, with your mind of a stockbroker, unable to appreciate it, come clattering and clamoring after me about a house party—­a common-place, every-day, social appointment, when I have a full-blown miracle on my hands!”

“What miracle?” faltered Smith, stupefied.

“What miracle?  Haven’t I been telling you that I’ve been having that queer sense that all this has happened before?  Didn’t I suddenly begin—­ as though compelled by some unseen power—­to foretell things?  Didn’t I prophesy the coming of this cross-town car?  Didn’t I even name its color before it came into sight?  Didn’t I warn you that I’d probably get into it?  Didn’t I reveal to you that a big straw hat and a pretty summer gown——­”

“Confound it!” almost shouted Smith, “There are about five thousand cherry-colored cross-town cars in this town.  There are about five million white hats and dresses in this borough.  There are five billion girls wearing ’em——!” “Yes; but the wicker basket” breathed Brown.  “How do you account for that?...  And, anyway, you annoy me, Smith.  Why don’t you get out of the car and go somewhere?”

“I want to know where you are going before I knock your head off.”

“I don’t know,” replied Brown, serenely.

“Are you actually attempting to follow that girl?” whispered Smith, horrified.

“Yes....  It sounds low, doesn’t it?  But it really isn’t.  It is something I can’t explain—­you couldn’t understand even if I tried to enlighten you.  The sentiment I harbor is too lofty for some to comprehend, too vague, too pure, too ethereal for——­”