“Well, you have got sportin’ blood, Ira,” says I.  “Sure, there’s nothin’ to stop your waitin’ if you don’t block the traffic.  But maybe it’ll be an hour or more.”

“I don’t care,” says he.  “And—­and let’s go and have a glass of soda first.”

Course, I couldn’t go away and leave things all up in the air like that; so after Ira’d blown himself we wanders up to the cabaret joint and I helps him stick around.

It’s some lively scene in front of Looey’s at that time of night too; with all the taxis comin’ and goin’ and the kalsomined complexions driftin’ in and out, and the head waiters coppin’ out the five-spots dexterous.  And every little while there’s something extra doin’; like a couple of college hicks bein’ led out by the strong-arm squad for disputin’ a bill, or a perfect gent all ablaze havin’ a debate with his lady-love, or a bunch of out-of-town buyers discoverin’ the evenin’ dress rule for the first time and gettin’ peeved over it.

But nothin’ can drag Ira’s gaze from that revolvin’ exit door for more’n half a minute.  There he stands, watchin’ eager every couple that comes out; not excited or fidgety, you understand, but calm and in dead earnest.  It got to be midnight, then half past, then quarter to one; and then all of a sudden there comes a ripplin’, high-pitched laugh, and out trips a giddy-dressed fairy in a gilt and rhinestone turban effect with a tall plume stickin’ straight up from the front of it.  She’s one of these big, full-curved, golden brunettes, with long jet danglers in her ears and all the haughty airs of a grand opera star.  I didn’t dream it was the one we was lookin’ for until I sees Ira straighten up and step out to meet her.

“Nellie,” says he, sort of choky and pleadin’.

It’s a misfire, though; for just then she’s turned to finish some remark to a fat old sport with flat ears and bags under his eyes that’s followin’ close behind.  So it ain’t until she’s within a few feet of Higgins that she sees him at all.  Then she stares at him sort of doubtful, like she could hardly believe her eyes.

“Nellie,” he begins again, “I’ve been wanting to tell you how it was that——­”

“You!” she breaks in.  And with that she throws her head back and laughs.  It wa’n’t what you might call a pleasant laugh, either.  It sounds cold and hard and bitter.

That’s the extent of the reunion too.  She’s still laughin’ as she brushes by him and lets the old sport help her into the taxi; and a second later we’re left standin’ there at the edge of the curb with another taxi rollin’ up in front of us.  I notices that Ira’s holdin’ something in his hand that he’s starin’ at foolish.  It’s the satin box with the seventeen-fifty ring in it.

“Well,” says I, as we steps back, “returns all in, ain’t they?”

“Not by a long shot!” says Ira.  “Dinged if I don’t know someone that’ll be glad to take a ring from me, and that’s Maggie!”