From the middle of his line, she could see, sometimes, the tail of Jimmie
Batch's glance roving for her, but to all purports his eye was solely for
his own replica in front of him, and at such times, when he marched, his
back had a little additional straightness that was almost swayback.

Nor was Gertie Slayback crying. On the contrary, she was inclined to
laughter. A little too inclined to a high and brittle sort of dissonance
over which she seemed to have no control.

"'By, Jimmie! So long! Jimmie! You-hoo!"

Tramp. Tramp. Tramp-tramp-tramp.

"You-hoo! Jimmie! So long, Jimmie!"

At Fourteenth Street, and to the solemn stroke of one from a tower, she
broke off suddenly without even a second look back, dodging under the very
arms of the crowd as she ran out from it.

She was one and three-quarter minutes late when she punched the time-clock
beside the Complaints and Adjustment Desk in the Bargain-Basement.




II

SIEVE OF FULFILMENT