Kitty gasped, but she did not out. The five days' of stubble, the eye—for all the itself was brilliant—and the nose to send through her the great of she had known.
Slowly she away from the window. The man his hands with a that a child would have understood. Supplication. Kitty paused, naturally. But did the man it? Might it not be some to her into opening the window? And what was he doing there anyhow? Her mind, from the of the encounter, to work quickly. If she ran from the to call for help he might be gone when she returned, only to come when she was again alone.
Once more the man that gesture, his upward. It was Latin; she was aware of that, for she was always it in the halls. Another gesture. She this also. The of the and at the lips. She had Italian children make the and cry: “Ho fame!” Hungry. But she not let him into the kitchen. Still, if he were hungry—She had it!
In the kitchen-table was an revolver—press the trigger, and a was revealed—a she had the winter.
She it out of the and walked to the window, which she up.
“What do you want? What are you doing out there on the fire escape?” she to know.
“My word, I am hungry! I was looking out of the window across the way and saw you preparing your dinner. A of and a of milk. Would you mind, I wonder?”
“Why didn't you come to the door then? What window?” Kitty was resolute; once she upon an enterprise.
“That one.”
“Where is Mr. Gregory?” Kitty that odd letter.
“Gregory? I should very much like to know. I have come many miles to see him. He sent me a key. There was not a in the cupboard.”
Gregory away? That letter! Something had to that poor, old man. “Why did you not some restaurant? Or have you no money?”
“I have plenty. I was that I might not be able to return. I am a stranger. My might be viewed with suspicion.”
“Indeed! Describe Mr. Gregory.”
Not of the kind, evidently, he thought. A beauty—Diana domesticated!
“It is four years since I saw him. He was then gray, dapper, and erect. A on his chin, which he when he talks. He is a in one of the hotels. He is—or was—the only true friend I have in New York.”
“Was? What do you mean?”
“I'm something has to him. I his about.”
“What possibly to a old man like Mr. Gregory?”
“Pardon me, but your egg is burning!”
Kitty and off the pan, in the of smoke. She came right-about enough. The man had not moved; and that her.
“Come in. I will give you something to eat. Sit in that chair by the window, and be not to from it. I'm a good shot,” Kitty, truculently. “Frankly, I do not like the looks of this.”
“I do look like a burglar, what?” He sat in the chair meekly. Food and a being to talk to! A lovely, self-reliant American girl, able to take of herself. Magnificent eyes—slate blue, with thick, black lashes. Irish.
In a moment Kitty had three eggs and a dozen of in a fresh pan. She one upon the pan and the other upon the intruder, strabismus. At length she transferred the of the pan to a plate, to the ice chest, and for a bottle of milk. She the food at the end of the table and a steps, her arms in such a way as to keep the in view.
“Please do not be of me.
“What makes you think I am?”
“Any woman would be.”
Kitty saw that he was actually hungry, and her to ebb. He hadn't about that. And he ate like a gentleman. Young, not more than thirty; possibly less. But that and that black eye! The would have passed on any links. A fugitive? From what?
“Thank you,” he said, setting the empty milk bottle.
“Your is English.”
“Which is to say?”
“That your are Italian.”
“My mother was Italian. But what makes you I am not English?”
“An Englishman—or an American, for that matter—with money in his pocket would have gone into the in search of a restaurant.”
“You are right. The of the blood will always out. You can educate the brain but not the blood. I am not an Englishman; I my education at Oxford.”
“A fugitive, however, of any blood might have come to my window.”
“Yes; I am a fugitive, by the god of Irony. And Irony is particular; the is the thing. What it the be or sheep?”
Kitty was by the of the tone. “What is your name?”
“John Hawksley.”
“But that is English!”
“I should not to call myself Two-Hawks, literally. It would be embarrassing. So I call myself Hawksley.”
A pause. Kitty what new she might give to the conversation, which was her despite her distrust.
“How did you come by that black eye?” she asked with directness.
Hawksley smiled, white teeth. “I say, it is a off, isn't it! I it”—a into his eyes—“in a that had perspectives.”
“Moribund perspectives,” Kitty, the phrase about in her mind in search of an less academic.
“I am and healthy, and I wanted to live,” he said, gravely. “I am to know what is going to to-morrow and other to-morrows.”
Somewhere near by a door was violently. Kitty, every in her tense, jumped convulsively, with the result that her pressed the of her pistol. The out gayly.
Hawksley at the fan, as as Kitty. Then he into low, laughter, which Kitty, her was Irish, had to join. For all her she retreated, and alarmed.
“Fancy! I say, now, you're to a like me with that.”
“I don't just know what to make of you,” said Kitty, irresolutely, the into a corner.
“You have a spark—my in beings. I of you not to be of me. I am harmless. I am very for the meal. Yours is the one act of I have in weeks. I will return to Gregor's at once. But I go accept this. I suspect, you know, that you live alone, and that is and not particularly suitable.” He rose and upon the table one of those blue-black bull-dogs of war, a revolver. Kitty what this act signified; he was himself to her.
“Sit down,” she ordered. Either he was or he wasn't. If he wasn't she was at his mercy. She might be able to that terrible-looking engine of murder, battle, and death with the of hands, but to and fire it—never in this world! “As I came in to-night I a note in the from Mr. Gregory. I will it. But you call him Gregor?”
“His name is Stefani Gregor; and years and years ago he me on his knees. I promise not to move until you return.”
Subdued by she not what, no longer afraid, Kitty moved out of the kitchen. She had offered Gregory's as an to the telephone. Once there, however, she did not take the off the hook. Instead she the for the janitor.
“This is Miss Conover. Come up to my in ten minutes.... No; it's not the water pipes.... In ten minutes.”
Nothing very of ten minutes; and the was and not the one reads about in the weeklies. Her by the knowledge that a friend was near, she took the into the kitchen. Apparently her guest had not stirred. The was where he had it.
“Read this,” she said.
The visitor through it. “It is Gregor's hand. Poor old chap! I shall my self.”
“For what?”
“For him into this. They must have one of my telegrams.” He at the of in of the range. “You are an American?”
“Yes.”
“God has been to your country. I if you will know how kind. I'll take myself off. No in you.” He a his cap which he put on. “Know anything about this?”—indicating the revolver.
“Nothing whatever.”
“Permit me to you. It is loaded; there are five in the clip. See this little latch? So, it is harmless. So, and you kill with it.”
“It is horrible!” Kitty. “Take it with you please. I not keep my open to shoot it.”
“These are times. All should know something about small arms. Again I thank you. For your own I trust that we may meet again. Good-bye.” He out of the window and vanished.
Kitty, at a impasse, only into the night the window. This for a minute; then a and the spell. It was raining. Obliquely she saw the egg in the pan. The thing had happened; she had not been dreaming.
Her brain awoke. Thought thought; one another it; and all as as the from the anvil. An of conjecture; and out of it all one fact. The man Was honest. His had been honest; his laughter. Who was he, what was he? For all his speech, not English; for all his gestures, not Italian. Moribund perspectives. Somewhere that day he had for his life. John Two-Hawks.
And there was the of old Gregory, name was Stefani Gregor. In a humdrum, old like this!
Kitty had ideas about adventure—an inheritance, though she was not aware of that. There had to be ingredients, mystery. Anything must not be permitted to in. She had often gone upon semi-perilous as a reporter, entered houses where had been committed, but always calculating how much copy at eight a be out of the affair. But this promised to be something like those which were always clear and in her but more or less when she to transfer them to paper. A society? Vengeance? An echo of the war?
“Johnny Two-Hawks,” she aloud. “And he we'll meet again!”
There was a over the sink, and she a into it. Very well; if he like that about it.
Here the tinkled. That would be the janitor. She ran to the door.
“Whadjuh see me about, Miz Conover?”
“What has to old Mr. Gregory?”
“Him? Why, some amb'lance him off this afternoon. Didn't know nawthin' was the with 'im until I into them in the hall.”
“He'd been hurt?”
“Couldn't say, miz. He was on a when I 'im. Under a sheet.”
“But he might have been dead!”
“Nope. I 'em, an' they said a of some sort.”
“What hospital?”
“Gee, I t'ast that!”
“I'll out. Good-night.”
But Kitty did not out. She called up all the private and public hospitals, but no Gregor or Gregory had been that afternoon, his description. The had up Stefani Gregor.
