There are about five million
white hats and dresses in this borough. There are five billion girls
wearing 'em----!" "Yes; but the _wicker basket_" breathed Brown. "How do
you account for _that?_... And, anyway, you annoy me, Smith. Why don't
you get out of the car and go somewhere?"
"I want to know where you are going before I knock your head off."
"I don't know," replied Brown, serenely.
"Are you actually attempting to follow that girl?" whispered Smith,
horrified.
"Yes.... It sounds low, doesn't it? But it really isn't. It is something
I can't explain--you couldn't understand even if I tried to enlighten
you. The sentiment I harbor is too lofty for some to comprehend, too
vague, too pure, too ethereal for----"
"I'm as lofty and ethereal as you are!" retorted Smith, hotly. "And I
know a--an ethereal Lothario when I see him, too!"
"I'm not--though it looks like it--and I forgive you, Smithy, for losing
your temper and using such language."
"Oh, you do?" said Smith, grinning with rage.
"Yes," nodded Brown, kindly. "I forgive you, but don't call me that
again. You mean well, but I'm going to find out at last what all this
maddening, tantalizing, unexplained and mysterious feeling that it all
has occurred before really is. I'm going to trace it to its source; I'm
going to compare notes with this highly intelligent girl."
"You're going to _speak_ to her?"
"I am.
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