Hopkinsville Kentuckian. [volume] (Hopkinsville, Ky.) 1889-1918, 1911-03-21
~ MoLLY meMAsrER


man. stepped from the subway train
at Bowling Green. As he did so, his
heart began the irregular humping
which he had fought against during
the last few weeks ever since he had
first noticed the insidious attack
against that organ. But the light in
his eyes gave strength to his weak
ness, when arriving half way up the
stairs he caught sight Of the girls
wide, dropping hat.
She was standing where she had
stood six days out of the week-at
the sunny entrance to the station
On one arched arm she held fiat
basket Of flowers which were ar
ranged in a dainty assortment OF
boutonieres.
Good morning, Flower girl"
John Thornton raised. his hat.
"Good morning" came in low re-
spouse from beneath the shading hat.
The girls hand travelled over her
flowers and drew forth single red
rose.
"Do you like that?" She flashed
him a glance from her gray-green
eyes.
"Your taste is always excellent"
Thornton's voice betrayed a little of
emotion. Then quickly, Flower
girl, won't you change your mind
and let me come to see you?-it
seems as if | must"
The girls head bent lower over
her basket as she put the dime for
the flower into her bag. Presently
she looked up.
Tomorrow morning, | will put
my address around the stem of your
flower. | do not want anyone-to
see-oh-good morning.
Thornton turned away with a
mingling of jealousy and citation in
his heart. Another customer had
cut short his words with the girl.
He glanced back as he entered his
office building and scowled. The
other fellow was gazing under the
wide hat and he and the girl were
laughing while she handed him a
boutoniere of violets.
John Thornton had tried in vain
TO cast the flower girls image from
his thoughts. From the moment he
realized that her fascination was
gaining a hold in the serious threads
of his life he stumbled and went
blindly into the society of all women
who might capture his fancy but
not one even shaded the girl Of the
flowers. Her face, with its pure
oval line, the soft mass of curling
brown hear tied at the nape of her
neck and the slim figure in its old
brown frock seemed stamped on his
vision.
In his short snatches of conversa-
ton with her, he had learned little
save that she was ultra conservative.
John Thornton felt that so long
as he knew her slightly her image
would remain undimmed. And yet,
he was conscious of a strange fear at
thelthought Of knowing her on the
intimate ground of friendship. All
through the day his heart beat its
unsteady time and the next morn
ing when he was again in his Office
and the mere good morning had
been exchanged between them he
glanced at the address she had given
him.
"Miss Winton--" he unused, "and
she lives in Washington square
The card also told him that che
was at home only after three o'clock
on Sunday afternoons.
If the fact that a girl who sold
flowers at the subway station lived
in Washington square and had a
large brass knocker on her door,
seemed strange to John Thornton,
he threw the thought from his mind.
His nerves, however, were a triae
ragged and his forces on the alert
when the knocker on Miss Winton's
door fell beneath his hand.
Much to his disgust, the largo
room into which she took him was
full of people. The sense of strange
ness grew. He was introduced TO
and amusedly studied by several
more or less individual types. For
l. N