"I didn't even see the people with _you_, and it wouldn't have made any
difference to me who they were."
He put his arm along the back of the bench behind me, but not touching
me.
"Where did you get the clothes you had on--the dress you're wearing
now?" he asked in a strained voice.
"Lolly lent them to me," I said. "She said mine were not fine enough."
After a pause he moved nearer to me, and I thought he was going to put
his arm about me, but he did not. He said in a low voice:
"You can have all the fine clothes you want."
"I wish I could," I returned, sighing; "but one can't dress very
beautifully on the salary I get."
"What do you get?" he asked, and I told him. Then he wanted me to tell
him all about myself--just what I had been doing, whom I had met,
what men, and to leave out nothing. I don't know why, but he seemed
to think something extraordinary had happened to me, for he repeated
several times:
"Tell me _everything_, every detail. I want to know."
So I did.
I told him of the Y. W. C. A. woman who had met me; of my failure
with the newspaper offices; of my long hunt for work; of the insults
and propositions men had made to me; of my work at the yards; and of
O'Brien, my "boss," who had taken me on trust and had been so good to
me.
He never interrupted me once, nor asked me a single question, but let
me tell him everything in my own way. Then when I was through, he took
his arm down, put his hands together, and leaned over, with his elbows
on his knees, staring out before him. After a while he said:
"Do you mean to tell me you _like_ living at this--er--Y. W. C. A.?"