For he was wanting to sit down beside Istra Nash, just be near her; he had to be!  So he ventured over and was instantly regarding all the rest as outsiders whom his wise comrade and himself were studying.

“Tell me, Mouse dear, why do you like the people here?  The peepul, I mean.  They don’t seem so very remarkable.  Enlighten poor Istra.”

“Well, they’re awful kind.  I’ve always lived in a house where the folks didn’t hardly know each other at all, except Mrs. Zapp—­she was the landlady—­and I didn’t like her very much.  But here Tom Poppins and Mrs. Arty and—­the rest—­they really like folks, and they make it just like a home....  Miss Croubel is a very nice girl.  She works for Wanamacy’s—­she has quite a big job there.  She is assistant buyer in the—­”

He stopped in horror.  He had nearly said “in the lingery department.”  He changed it to “in the clothing department,” and went on, doubtfully:  “Mr. Duncan is a traveling-man.  He’s away on a trip.”

“Which one do you play with?  So Nelly likes to—­well, make b’lieve—­’magine?”

“How did you—­”

“Oh, I watched her looking at you.  I think she’s a terribly nice pink-face.  And just now you’re comparing her and me.”

“Gee!” he said.

She was immensely pleased with herself.  “Tell me, what do these people think about; at least, what do you talk about?”

“Say!”

“’S-s-s-h!  Not so loud, my dear.”

“Say, I know how you mean.  You feel something like what I did in England.  You can’t get next to what the folks are thinking, and it makes you sort of lonely.”

“Well, I—­”

Just then Tom Poppins rolled jovially up to the couch.  He had carried his many and perspiring pounds over to Third Avenue because Miss Proudfoot reflected, “I’ve got a regular sweet tooth to-night.”  He stood before Istra and Mr. Wrenn theatrically holding out a bag of chocolate drops in one hand and peanut brittle in the other; and grandiloquently: 

“Which shall it be, your Highness?  Nobody loves a fat man, so he has to buy candy so’s they’ll let him stick around.  Le’s see; you take chocolates, Bill.  Name your drink, Miss Nash.”  She looked up at him, gravely and politely—­too gravely and politely.  She didn’t seem to consider him a nice person.

“Neither, thank you,” sharply, as he still stood there.  He moved away, hurt, bewildered.

Istra was going on, “I haven’t been here long enough to be lonely yet, but in any case—­” when Mr. Wrenn interrupted: 

“You’ve hurt Tom’s feelings by not taking any candy; and, gee, he’s awful kind!”

“Have I?” mockingly.

“Yes, you have.  And there ain’t any too many kind people in this world.”

“Oh yes, of course you’ re right.  I am sorry, really I am.”

She dived after Tom’s retreat and cheerfully addressed him: