Presently they looked at each other.  Violet had a brown birthmark on her neck as large as a silver half-dollar.  William fixed his eyes upon it.  William Pry had inordinately bowed legs.  Violet allowed her gaze to linger unswervingly upon them.  Face to face they stood thus for moments, each staring at the other.  Etiquette would not allow them to speak; but in the Caoutchouc City it is permitted to gaze without stint at the trees in the parks and at the physical blemishes of a fellow creature.

At length with a sigh they parted.  But Cupid had been the driver of the brewery wagon, and the wheel that broke a leg united two fond hearts.

The next meeting of the hero and heroine was in front of a board fence near Broadway.  The day had been a disappointing one.  There had been no fights on the street, children had kept from under the wheels of the street cars, cripples and fat men in negligee shirts were scarce; nobody seemed to be inclined to slip on banana peels or fall down with heart disease.  Even the sport from Kokomo, Ind., who claims to be a cousin of ex-Mayor Low and scatters nickels from a cab window, had not put in his appearance.  There was nothing to stare at, and William Pry had premonitions of ennui.

But he saw a large crowd scrambling and pushing excitedly in front of a billboard.  Sprinting for it, he knocked down an old woman and a child carrying a bottle of milk, and fought his way like a demon into the mass of spectators.  Already in the inner line stood Violet Seymour with one sleeve and two gold fillings gone, a corset steel puncture and a sprained wrist, but happy.  She was looking at what there was to see.  A man was painting upon the fence:  “Eat Bricklets —­They Fill Your Face.”

Violet blushed when she saw William Pry.  William jabbed a lady in a black silk raglan in the ribs, kicked a boy in the shin, bit an old gentleman on the left ear and managed to crowd nearer to Violet.  They stood for an hour looking at the man paint the letters.  Then William’s love could be repressed no longer.  He touched her on the arm.

“Come with me,” he said.  “I know where there is a bootblack without an Adam’s apple.”

She looked up at him shyly, yet with unmistakable love transfiguring her countenance.

“And you have saved it for me?” she asked, trembling with the first dim ecstasy of a woman beloved.

Together they hurried to the bootblack’s stand.  An hour they spent there gazing at the malformed youth.

A window-cleaner fell from the fifth story to the sidewalk beside them.  As the ambulance came clanging up William pressed her hand joyously.  “Four ribs at least and a compound fracture,” he whispered, swiftly.  “You are not sorry that you met me, are you, dearest?

“Me?” said Violet, returning the pressure.  “Sure not.  I could stand all day rubbering with you.”