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Updated: May 14, 2025
As her feet struck the pavement she looked up and down the street for what she sought. There it was the back of a fast-retreating man in a Balmacaan coat of Scotch tweed and a round, plush hat, turning the corner to Madison Avenue.
The town had one main street, like Lebanon, and in front of the post-office in a two-seated car sat a familiar figure. There was the Balmacaan coat and the round plush hat; and to Patsy, impulsive and heart-strong, it sufficed. She ran nearly the length of the street in her eagerness to reach him. "A brave day to ye!"
As she entered the elevator a young man stepped out a young man with a small, blond, persevering mustache, a rather thin, esthetic, melancholy face, and a myopic squint. He wore a Balmacaan of Scotch tweed and carried a round, plush hat. Patsy turned to the bell-boy. "Did that man arrive to-night?" "Yes, miss; I took him up." "What is his name do you know?" "Can't say, miss.
As far as she was concerned he had suddenly ceased to exist, and she was pursuing a Balmacaan coat and plush hat that were quite tenantless; or at most they were supported by the very haziest suggestion of a personality. The harder she struggled to make a flesh-and-blood man therefrom the more persistently did it elude her slipping through her mental grasp like so much quicksilver.
"That's all right," Patsy cut him short, "but but it would sound so much nicer outside, somewhere in the moonlight away from everybody. Wouldn't it, now?" This sudden amending of matter-of-factness with arch coquetry would have sounded highly amusing to ears less self-atuned than the erstwhile wearer of the Balmacaan.
A little bit of everything that made Patsy was wrapped in the smile she gave the man in the Balmacaan coat standing by the wheel-guard of the car before the town post-office, a hand on the front seat. "Maybe ye're not knowing it, but it's a rare good day for us both. If you'll only take me for a spin in your car I'll tell you what brings me and who I am if you haven't that guessed already."
Patsy contributed her share the while her mind was busy building over again into a Balmacaan coat and plush hat the semblance of a man. "Sure, I'm not saying I can make out his looks or the color of his eyes and hair, but he's real, for all that. Holy Saint Patrick, but he's a real man at last, and I'm liking him!" She smiled with deep contentment.
And with a tired little sigh she leaned back in the corner, closed her eyes, and relaxed her grip on mind and will and body. A series of jerks and a final stop shook her into a thinking, acting consciousness again; she was out of the taxi in a twinkling with the man paid and her eyes on the back of a Balmacaan coat and plush hat disappearing through a doorway.
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