There are quadrillions of wicker baskets."
"Not," said Brown, "with the contents of this one."
"Why not?"
Smith instinctively turned to look at the basket balanced daintily on the
girl's knees.
He strove to penetrate its wicker exterior with concentrated gaze. He
could see nothing but wicker.
"Well," he began angrily, "what _is_ in that basket? And how do _you_
know it--you lunatic?"
"Will you believe me if I tell you?"
"If you can offer any corroborative evidence----"
"Well, then--there's a cat in that basket."
"A--what?"
"A cat."
"How do you know?"
"I don't know how I know, but there's a big, gray cat in that basket."
"Why a _gray_ one?"
"I can't tell, but it _is_ gray, and it has six toes on every foot."
Smith truly felt that he was now being trifled with.
"Brown," he said, trying to speak civilly, "if anybody in the five
boroughs had come to me with affidavits and told me yesterday how you
were going to behave this morning----"
His voice, rising unconsciously as the realization of his outrageous
wrongs dawned upon him, rang out above the rattle and grinding of the
car, and the girl turned abruptly and looked straight at him and then at
Brown.
The pure, fearless beauty of the gaze, the violet eyes widening a little
in surprise, silenced both young men.
She inspected Brown for an instant, then turned serenely to her calm
contemplation of the crowded street once more.
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