“Yes.”

“Gosh!”

She unlocked it, threw in the clutch, shifted, moved. “Say!” was wrung from Nick helplessly. She waved at him. “Good-bye, Pan.” He stared, stricken. She was off swiftly, silently; flashed around a corner; was hidden by the trees and shrubs.

He stood a moment. He felt bereaved, cheated. Then a little wave of exaltation shook him. He wanted to talk to someone. “Gosh!” he said again. He glanced at his wrist. Five-thirty. He guessed he’d go home. He guessed he’d go home and get one of Ma’s dinners. One of Ma’s dinners and talk to Ma. The Sixty-third Street car. He could make it and back in plenty time.

Nick lived in that