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Stratton-Porter, Gene, 1863-1924

"Freckles"

At sight of the Angel's father he
had stepped back as far from her as he could, leaned the wheel against
him, and snatched off his hat.
The Angel turned on him with triumphing eyes.
She was highly strung and not accustomed to being thwarted. "Did You see
that?" she demanded. "Now are you satisfied? Will you come, or must I
call a policeman to bring you?"
Freckles went. There was nothing else to do. Guiding his wheel, he
walked down the street beside her. On every hand she was kept busy
giving and receiving the cheeriest greetings. She walked into the
parlors exactly as if she owned them. A clerk came hurrying to meet her.
"There's a table vacant beside a window where it is cool. I'll save it
for you," and he started back.
"Please not," said the Angel. "I've taken this man unawares, when
he's in a rush. I'm afraid if we sit down we'll take too much time and
afterward he will blame me."
She walked to the fountain, and a long row of people stared with all the
varying degrees of insolence and curiosity that Freckles had felt they
would.


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