Her gayety was not at all the high spirits of Broadway, but
there were times when her kinship to Fifth Avenue knifed the foolish
hopes in his heart.
He had become a fast friend of Miss Whitford. Together they had
tramped through Central Park and motored up the Hudson in one of her
father's cars. They had explored each other's minds along with the
country and each had known the surprise and delight of discoveries, of
finding in the other a quality of freshness and candor.
Clay sensed in this young woman a spirit that had a way of sweeping up
on gay young wings to sudden joys stirred by the simplest causes. Her
outlook on life was as gallant as that of a fine-tempered schoolboy. A
gallop in the Park could whip the flag of happiness into her cheeks. A
wild flower nestling in a bed of moss could bring the quick light to
her eyes. Her responsiveness was a continual delight to him just as
her culture was his despair. Of books, pictures, and music she knew
much more than he.
The bus jerked down Fifth Avenue like a boat in heavy seas, pausing
here and there at the curb to take on a passenger. While it was
getting under way after one such stop, another downtown bus rolled past.
Clay came to a sudden alert attention. His eyes focused on a girl
sitting on a back seat. In the pretty, childish face he read a wistful
helplessness, a pathetic hint of misery that called for sympathy.
Arizona takes short cuts to its ends. Clay rose instantly, put his
foot on the railing, and leaped across to the top of the bus rolling
parallel with the one he was on.
Pages:
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64