had not gone to the baseball game with Fall River were in the
streets. In consequence, as I was passing the post-office, Miss
Briggs came down the steps, and we were face to face.

In her lovely eyes was an expression of mingled doubt and
indignation and in her hand freshly torn from the papers in which
I had wrapped it, was "The Log of the JOLLY POLLY." In action Miss
Briggs was as direct as a submarine. At sight of me she attacked.
"Did you send me this?" she asked.

I lowered my bag to the sidewalk and prepared for battle. "I didn't
think of your going to the post-office," I said. "I planned you'd
get it to-morrow after I'd left. When I sent it, I thought I would
never see you again."

"Then you did send it!" exclaimed Miss Briggs. As though the book
were a hot plate she dropped it into my hand. She looked straight
at me, but her expression suggested she was removing a caterpillar
from her pet rosebush.

"You had no right," she said. "You may not have meant to be
impertinent, but you were!"

Again, as though I had disappeared from the face of the earth, Miss
Briggs gazed coldly about her, and with dignity started to cross
the street. Her dignity was so great that she glanced neither to
the left nor right. In consequence she did not see an automobile
that swung recklessly around a trolley-car and dived at her. But
other people saw it and shrieked. I also shrieked, and dropping the
suit-case and the "Log," jumped into the street, grabbed Miss