“I’m as lofty and ethereal as you are!” retorted Smith, hotly.  “And I know a—­an ethereal Lothario when I see him, too!”

“I’m not—­though it looks like it—­and I forgive you, Smithy, for losing your temper and using such language.”

“Oh, you do?” said Smith, grinning with rage.

“Yes,” nodded Brown, kindly.  “I forgive you, but don’t call me that again.  You mean well, but I’m going to find out at last what all this maddening, tantalizing, unexplained and mysterious feeling that it all has occurred before really is.  I’m going to trace it to its source; I’m going to compare notes with this highly intelligent girl.”

“You’re going to speak to her?”

“I am.  I must.  How else can I compare data.”

“I hope she’ll call the police.  If she doesn’t I will.”

“Don’t worry.  She’s part of this strange situation.  She’ll comprehend as soon as I begin to explain.  She is intelligent; you only have to look at her to understand that.”

Smith choking with impotent fury, nevertheless ventured a swift glance.  Her undeniable beauty only exasperated him.  “To think—­to think,” he burst out, “that a modest, decent, law-loving business man like me should suddenly awake to find his boyhood friend had turned into a godless votary of Venus!”

“I’m not a votary of Venus!” retorted Brown, turning pink.  “I’ll punch you if you say it again.  I’m as decent and respectable a business man as you are!  And my grammar is better.  And, thank Heaven!  I’ve intellect enough to recognize a miracle when it happens to me....  Do you think I am capable of harboring any sentiments that might bring the blush of coquetry to the cheek of modesty?  Do you?”

“Well—­well, I don’t know what you’re up to!” Smith raised his voice in bewilderment and despair.  “I don’t know what possesses you to act this way.  People don’t experience miracles in New York cross-town cars.  The wildest stretch of imagination could only make a coincidence out of this.  There are trillions of girls in cross-town cars dressed just like this one.”

“But the basket!”

“Another coincidence.  There are quadrillions of wicker baskets.”

“Not,” said Brown, “with the contents of this one.”

“Why not?”

Smith instinctively turned to look at the basket balanced daintily on the girl’s knees.

He strove to penetrate its wicker exterior with concentrated gaze.  He could see nothing but wicker.

“Well,” he began angrily, “what is in that basket?  And how do you know it—­you lunatic?”

“Will you believe me if I tell you?”

“If you can offer any corroborative evidence——­”

“Well, then—­there’s a cat in that basket.”

“A—­what?”

“A cat.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t know how I know, but there’s a big, gray cat in that basket.”