And he knelt once more and took up his work where he had left off.
Barbara stood by and watched him at it. "I would like to do his hands,
too," she thought, "when I can get round to it." They were very strong,
square, able hands. She found herself wishing to touch them. And since
this was a wish that she had never experienced for any other pair of
hands, she wondered at herself with a frank and childish wonder.

"Your taxi, Miss Barbara."

"Thank you, Bubbles."

She slipped out of her overall, and with swift touches adjusted her hat
at a small mirror. The secret-service agent once more rose from
his knees.

"Good-by," said Barbara, "and thank you, and don't forget."

"Never," said he.

She shook hands with him, and his firm strong clasp, literally
swallowing her own little hand, was immensely pleasant to her and of a
fine friendliness.

"Good-by, Bubbles. See you in the morning."

"Good-by, Miss Barbara."

She was gone. The man resumed his work. The boy watched.

"Harry."