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Updated: May 2, 2025
Kedzie Thropp had never seen Fifth Avenue or a yacht or a butler or a glass of champagne or an ocean or a person of social prominence. She wanted to see them. For each five minutes of the day and night, one girl comes to New York to make her life; or so the compilers of statistics claim. This was Kedzie Thropp's five minutes.
Dyckman shrank as if a blasphemy had been shouted. In a hideously short time Mrs. Thropp was saying, briskly: "Of course, honey, you've got no idea of puttin' on black for him." "If I believed in mourning, I would," Kedzie answered without delay, "but the true mourning is in the heart." Dyckman felt an almost uncontrollable desire to get away before he said something that might be true.
The three embraced automatically rather than heartily, and Kedzie came out of her mother's bosom chilled, though it was a warm night and Mrs. Thropp had traveled long. Also there was a lot of her. Kedzie gave her parents the welcome that the prodigal's elder brother gave him. She was thinking: "What will Jim Dyckman say when he learns that my real name is Thropp and sees this pair of Thropps?
Thropp saw Dyckman's smile, but did not dare to ask its origin. She asked, instead: "Would you be having a church wedding, do you think?" "Indeed not," said Dyckman, with such incision that Mrs. Thropp felt it best not to risk a debate. "Just a quiet wedding, then?" "As quiet as possible, if you don't mind." Kedzie sat speechless through all this.
After a deal of vain abuse of Gilfoyle for abducting their child and thwarting her golden opportunity, Adna asked at last, "What does Mr. Dyckman think of all this?" "You don't suppose I've told him I was married, do you?" Kedzie stormed. "Do I look as loony as all that?" "Oh!" said Adna. "Why, he doesn't even know my name is Thropp, to say nothing of Thropp-hyphen-Gilfoyle." "Oh!" said Adna.
She did not tell the servant where she was going. She did not know. She hardly cared. To Kedzie Thropp the waiting-room of the Grand Central Terminal was the terminus of human splendor. It was the waiting-room to heaven. And indeed it is a majestic chamber.
They visited the walrus in his den. But there was no word of Kedzie Thropp. The sea of people had opened and swallowed the little girl. Her mother wondered where she had slept and if she were hungry and into whose hands she had fallen. But there was no answer from anywhere.
While Kedzie stood watching the red-cap bestow the various parcels under his arms and along his fingers, a man bumped into her and murmured: "Sorry!" She turned and said, "Huh?" He did not look around. She did not see his face. It was the first conversation between Jim Dyckman and Kedzie Thropp.
Thropp's proper waiter hoped that he would be as extravagant with his tip as he was with his order. He feared not. His waiterly intuition told him the old man put in with more enthusiasm than he paid out. At last the meal was over. The Thropps were groaning. They had not quite absorbed the feast, but they had wrecked it utterly. Mr. Thropp found only one omission in the perfect service.
Now that they were licensed, Jim and Kedzie, being non-residents of New Jersey, must wait twenty-four hours before they could be married. They motored back to New York and went to the theater to kill the evening. The next afternoon Jim called for Kedzie, and they motored again to Jolicoeur for the ceremony. Mr. and Mrs. Thropp went along as witnesses and to make sure.
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