The girl's attention was first fixed by the strange
contrast between his massive jaw and short neck which
spoke the physical strength of an ox, and the slender
gracefully tapering fingers of his small hand. The
wrist was small, the fingers almost feminine in their
lines.

He caught her look of curious interest and to her
horror, smiled and walked straight to her seat.

There was no mistaking his determination to speak.
It was useless to drop her eyes or turn aside. He
would certainly follow.

She blushed and gazed at him in a timid,
helpless fashion while he bent over her seat and
whispered awkwardly:

"You look kind and obliging, miss--could you help
me a little?"

His tone was so genuine in its appeal, so
distressed and hesitating, it was impossible to resent
his question.

"If I can--yes," was the prompt answer.

"You won't mind?" he asked, fumbling his hat.

"No--what is it?"