The other ell, which was of one story, had a double window, before which a rose bush grew, and when the blinds were up you had sometimes a glimpse of an opposite window, indicating that it was but one room deep.  From its roof rose a small chimney that stood out from all the other chimneys, because, while they were grey like the house and its slate roof, it was red.

Strolling by in a leisure hour the Candy Man had remarked it and wondered why, and found himself continuing to wonder.  Somehow that little red chimney took hold on his imagination.  It was a magical chimney, poetic, alluring, at once a cheering and a depressing little chimney, for it stirred him to delicious dreams, which, when they faded, left him forlorn.

It was to Virginia he owed enlightenment.  Virginia was the long-legged child who had fished Miss Bentley’s bag from beneath the Candy Wagon, the indomitable leader of the Apartment House Pigeons, as the Candy Man had named them.

The Apartment House did not exclude children, neither did it encourage them, and when their individual quarters became too contracted to contain their exuberance, they perforce sought the street.  Like pigeons they would descend in a flock, here, there, everywhere; perching in a blissful row before the soda fountain in the drug store; or if the state of the public purse did not warrant this, the curbstone and the wares of the Candy Wagon were cheerfully substituted.  By virtue no doubt of her long legs and masterful spirit, Virginia ruled the flock.  Under her guidance they made existence a weariness to the several janitors on the block.

As in defiance of law and order they circled one day on their roller skates, down the avenue and up the broad alley behind the Y.M.C.A., round and round, Virginia issued her orders:  “You all go on, I want to talk to the Candy Man.”

Being without as yet any theories, consistently democratic, she regarded him as a friend and brother.  A state of society in which the position of Candy Man was next the throne, would have seemed perfectly logical to Virginia.

[Illustration:  VIRGINIA]

“You don’t look much like Tim,” she volunteered, dangling her legs from the carriage block.  Her hair was dark and severely bobbed; her miniature nose was covered with freckles, and she squinted a little.

“No?” responded the Candy Man.

“Tim was Irish,” she continued.

During business hours conversation of necessity took on a disjointed character.  Unless you had great power of concentration you forgot in the intervals what you had been talking about.  When a group of High School boys had been served and had gone their hilarious way Virginia began again.  “You know the house with the Little Red Chimney?” she asked.

The Candy Man did.

“Well, a nice old man named Uncle Bob lives there, and I asked him why that chimney was red, and he said because it was new.  A branch of a tree fell on the old one.  The tree where the squirrel house is, you know.”