George sat down on the dirty cement steps that connected his dwelling
with the sidewalk, and drew Julia between his knees.

"I've got to go away, baby," said he soberly.

"And ain't choo going to take me to the Park--_never_?" asked Julia, with
a trembling lip.

George freed a lock of her hair that had gotten caught in her collar,
with clumsy, gentle fingers.

"Mama's mad at me, and I'm going away for a while, Babe," said he,
clearing his throat. "But you be a good girl, and I'll come take you to
the Park some day."

Something in the gravity of his tone impressed Julia.

"But I don't want you to go away," she said tearfully. George got up
hastily.

"Come on, walk with Pop to the car," he commanded, and Julia trotted
contentedly beside him to Market Street. There she gave him a child's
soft, impersonal kiss, staring up at the buildings opposite as she did
so. George jumped on a cable car, wedged his bag under his knees as he
took a seat on the dummy, and looked back at the little figure that was
moving toward the dingy opening of O'Farrell Street, and at the spring
sunshine, bright on the child's hair.