After all, Sidney told K. first. One Friday evening, coming home late, as
usual, he found her on the doorstep, and Joe gone. She moved over
hospitably. The moon had waxed and waned, and the Street was dark. Even
the ailanthus blossoms had ceased their snow-like dropping. The colored
man who drove Dr. Ed in the old buggy on his daily rounds had brought out
the hose and sprinkled the street. Within this zone of freshness, of wet
asphalt and dripping gutters, Sidney sat, cool and silent.

"Please sit down. It is cool now. My idea of luxury is to have the Street
sprinkled on a hot night."

K. disposed of his long legs on the steps. He was trying to fit his own
ideas of luxury to a garden hose and a city street.

"I'm afraid you're working too hard."

"I? I do a minimum of labor for a minimum of wage.

"But you work at night, don't you?"

K. was natively honest. He hesitated. Then:

"No, Miss Page."

"But You go out every evening!" Suddenly the truth burst on her.

"Oh, dear!" she said. "I do believe--why, how silly of you!"

K. was most uncomfortable.