"Do you know," she said, when they were seated, "I,
too, feel as you do?"
"About the ice-cream?" retorted Dick.
"No," she laughed, "about having met you before."
"Indeed, I am glad."
"Glad?"
"Yes, that you feel as I do."
"Truly," she said, ignoring his reply, "you _do_ remind me of someone
I have seen somewhere. Oh, I know; it's that tramp printer of Mr.
Udell's, I--Why, what is the matter, Mr. Falkner? Are you sick? Let
me call someone."
"No, no," gasped Dick. "I'll be all right in a moment. It's my heart.
Please don't worry." He caught up a basket of pictures. "Here, let's
look at these. I find nothing that has a more quieting effect than the
things one finds on the center tables of our American homes."
Amy looked uneasy but began turning over the pictures in the basket.
There were some commonplace photos of commonplace people, a number of
homemade kodaks, one or two stray views of Yellowstone Park, the big
trees of California, Niagara Falls, and several groups that were
supposed to be amusing. "Oh, here's a picture of that printer," she
cried, picking up one which showed the interior of an old-fashioned
printing office, with a Washington hand-press and a shock-headed
printer's devil sitting on a high stool, his face and shirt-front
bespattered with ink. "That looks just like him. Why,--why, Mr. Falkner,
you've torn that picture! What _will_ Helen Mayfield say?"
"Awfully sorry," said Dick, "I'll find her another. It was very awkward
of me, I am sure.
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