Jo shook hands with her.  Her hand was incredibly small, and soft, so that you were afraid of crushing it, until you discovered she had a firm little grip all her own.  It surprised and amused you, that grip, as does a baby’s unexpected clutch on your patronising forefinger.  As Jo felt it in his own big clasp, the strangest thing happened to him.  Something inside Jo Hertz stopped working for a moment, then lurched sickeningly, then thumped like mad.  It was his heart.  He stood staring down at her, and she up at him, until the others laughed.  Then their hands fell apart, lingeringly.

“Are you a school-teacher, Emily?” he said.

“Kindergarten.  It’s my first year.  And don’t call me Emily, please.”

“Why not?  It’s your name.  I think it’s the prettiest name in the world.”  Which he hadn’t meant to say at all.  In fact, he was perfectly aghast to find himself saying it.  But he meant it.

At supper he passed her things, and stared, until everybody laughed again, and Eva said acidly, “Why don’t you feed her?”

It wasn’t that Emily had an air of helplessness.  She just made you feel you wanted her to be helpless, so that you could help her.

Jo took her home, and from that Sunday night he began to strain at the leash.  He took his sisters out, dutifully, but he would suggest, with a carelessness that deceived no one, “Don’t you want one of your girl friends to come along?  That little What’s-her-name—­Emily, or something.  So long’s I’ve got three of you, I might as well have a full squad.”

For a long time he didn’t know what was the matter with him.  He only knew he was miserable, and yet happy.  Sometimes his heart seemed to ache with an actual physical ache.  He realised that he wanted to do things for Emily.  He wanted to buy things for Emily—­useless, pretty, expensive things that he couldn’t afford.  He wanted to buy everything that Emily needed, and everything that Emily desired.  He wanted to marry Emily.  That was it.  He discovered that one day, with a shock, in the midst of a transaction in the harness business.  He stared at the man with whom he was dealing until that startled person grew uncomfortable.

“What’s the matter, Hertz?”

“Matter?”

“You look as if you’d seen a ghost or found a gold mine.  I don’t know which.”

“Gold mine,” said Jo.  And then, “No.  Ghost.”

For he remembered that high, thin voice, and his promise.  And the harness business was slithering downhill with dreadful rapidity, as the automobile business began its amazing climb.  Jo tried to stop it.  But he was not that kind of business man.  It never occurred to him to jump out of the down-going vehicle and catch the up-going one.  He stayed on, vainly applying brakes that refused to work.

“You know, Emily, I couldn’t support two households now.  Not the way things are.  But if you’ll wait.  If you’ll only wait.  The girls might—­that is, Babe and Carrie—­”