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Elective English—III

Notes Masie knew men – especially men who buy gloves. Without hesitation she looked him frankly
and smilingly in the eyes, and said:
”Sure. I guess you’re all right. I don’t usually go out with strange gentlemen, though. It isn’t
quite ladylike. When should you want to see me again?”
“As soon as I may,” said Carter. “If you would allow me to call at your home, I – “
Masie laughed musically. “Oh, gee, no!” she said, emphatically. “If you could see our flat once!
There’s five of us in three rooms. I’d just like to see ma’s face if I was to bring a gentleman friend
there!”

“Anywhere, then,” said the enamoured Carter, “that will be convenient to you.”
“Say,” suggested Masie, with a bright-idea look in her peach-blow face; “I guess Thursday night
will about suit me. Suppose you come to the corner of Eighth Avenue and Forty-eighth Street at
7:30. I live right near the corner. But I’ve got to be back home by 11. Ma never lets me stay out
after 11.”

Carter promised gratefully to keep the tryst, and then hastened to his mother, who was looking
about for him to ratify her purchase of a bronze Diana.
A salesgirl with small eyes and an obtuse nose, strolled near Masie, with a friendly leer.

“Did you make a hit with his nobs, Masie?” she asked, familiarly.
“The gentleman asked permission to call,” answered Masie, with the grand air, as she slipped
Carter’s card into the bosom of her waist.

“Permission to call!” echoed small eyes, with a snigger. “Did he say anything about dinner in
the Waldorf and a spin in his auto afterward?”
“Oh, cheese it!” said Masie, wearily. “You’ve been used to swell things, I don’t think. You’ve had
a swelled head ever since that hose-cart driver took you out to a chopsuey joint. No, he never
mentioned the Waldorf; but there’s a Fifth Avenue address on his card, and if he buys the supper
you can bet your life there won’t be no pigtail on the waiter who takes the order.”
As Carter glided away from the Biggest Store with his mother in his electric runabout, he bit his
lip with a dull pain at his heart. He knew that love had come to him for the first time in all the
twenty-nine years of his life. And that the object of it should make so readily an appointment
with him at a street corner, though it was a step toward his desires, tortured him with misgivings.
Carter did not know the shop girl. He did not know that her home is often either a scarcely
habitable tiny room or a domicile filled to overflowing with kith and kin. The street corner is
her parlour; the park is her drawing room; the avenue is her garden walk; yet for the most part
she is as inviolate mistress of herself in them as is my lady behind her tapestried four-walled
chamber.
One evening at dusk, two weeks after their first meeting, Carter and Masie strolled arm-in-arm
into a little, dimly-lit park. They found a bench, tree-shadowed and secluded, and sat there.
For the first time his arm stole gently around her. Her gold-bronze head slid restfully against
his shoulder.

“Gee!” sighed Masie, thankfully. “Why didn’t you ever think of that before?”
“Masie,” said Carter, earnestly, “you surely know that I love you. I ask you sincerely to marry
me. You know me well enough by this time to have no doubts of me. I want you, and I must have
you. I care nothing for the difference in our stations.”
“What is the difference?” asked Masie, curiously.

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