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Updated: May 18, 2025
Neither Fred nor Dorothy had any especial reason on any given day to try to alter their relations; so the law of inertia asserted itself and matters continued as they had begun. It was, perhaps, a chance remark of Tetlow's that was the remote but efficient cause of a change, as the single small stone slipping high up on the mountain side results in a vast landslide into the valley miles below.
Fred Norman, at these vulgar vigils, took the measure of his own self-abasement to a hair's breadth. But he kept on, with the fever of his infatuation burning like a delirium, burning higher and deeper with each baffled day. At noon, one day, as he swung into Broadway from Cedar street, he ran straight into Tetlow. It was raining and his umbrella caught in Tetlow's.
When Tetlow's agitation could bear the uncertainties of that silence no longer, he went on: "Fred, you mustn't forget how young and inexperienced she is. She's been foolish, but nothing more. She's as pure as when she came into the world. And it's the truth that she wanted to come back. I saw it as soon as I began to talk with her." "What are you chattering about?" said Norman fiercely.
She's been here since yesterday." "You brought her back?" demanded Norman. "She wanted to come. I simply " Norman made a silencing gesture. Tetlow's faltering voice stopped short. Norman stood near the table, his hands deep in his trousers' pockets, his gaze fixed upon the hat and jacket.
"Tetlow's a good fellow. Anything he said would be what he honestly believed anything he said about me." "He pleaded that he was doing it for your good," she went on with scorn. "They always do like the people that write father wicked anonymous letters. He this man Tetlow he said he wanted me for the sake of my love for you to save you from yourself." Norman glanced at her with amused eyes.
"By the way," continued Norman, "if Galloway says he's too ill to come or anything of that sort tell him I'd not care to undertake the affairs of a man too old or too feeble to attend to business, as he might die in the midst of it." Tetlow's face was such a wondrous exhibit of discomfiture that Norman laughed outright.
Away out to the wilds of Roxbury I found my way perhaps half an hour's ride on the electric car from Dover Street. I grew an inch taller and broader between the corner of Cedar Street and Mr. Tetlow's house, such was the charm of the clean, green suburb on a cramped waif from the slums. My faded calico dress, my rusty straw sailor hat, the color of my skin and all bespoke the waif.
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