Neither did it strike him as incongruous that he should have seen her
first in the grocery kept by Mr. Simms, who catered to the needs of such
as got their own breakfasts, and whose boiled ham was becoming famous,
because it was really done. He went back to the experience, dwelling
with pleasure upon each detail of it, even his annoyance at the grocer's
daughter, who exchanged crochet patterns with the tailor's wife, after
the manner of a French exercise, and ignored him. It was early and
business had not yet begun on the Y.M.C.A. corner; still he could not
wait forever. The grocer himself, who was attending to the wants of a
lean and hungry-looking student, had just handed his rolls and smoked
sausage across the counter, with a cheery "Breakfast is ready, ring the
bell," when the door opened and the Girl of All Others came in.

She was tallish, but not very tall, and somewhat slight. She wore a grey
suit--the same which had suffered this afternoon from contact with the
street, and a soft felt hat of the same colour jammed down anyhow on her
bright hair and pinned with a pinkish quill--or so it looked. The face
beneath the bright hair was---- But at this point in his recollections
the Candy Man all but lost himself in a maze of adjectives and adverbs.
We know, at least, how the long-legged child ran to help, and finally
went off hand in hand with her, and what the Miser said of her, and
after all the best the Candy Man could do was to go back to the
Reporter's phrase.

He had withdrawn a little behind a stack of breakfast foods where he
could watch her, wondering that the clerks did not drop their several
customers without ceremony and fly to do her bidding. She stood beside
the counter and made overtures to a large Maltese cat who reposed there
in solemn majesty. Beside the Maltese rose a pyramid of canned goods,