"
Down the woodland path they passed side by side, headed for the little
station known as Stop 11. Sharlee was pleased that he had remembered
about the bricklayer; she could have been persuaded that his remark was
vaguely intended to convey some sort of thanks to her. But saying no
more of this, she made it possible to introduce casually a reference to
his vanished glasses.
"Yes," said he, "I knocked them off the bureau and broke them one day.
So I just let them go. They were rather striking-looking glasses, I
always thought. I don't believe I ever saw another pair quite like
them."
"But," said Sharlee, puzzled, "do you find that you can see perfectly
well without them?"
"Oh, yes; if anything, better." He paused, and added with entire
seriousness: "You see those spectacles, striking-looking as they were,
were only window-glass. I bought them at a ten-cent store on Sixth
Avenue when I was twelve years old."
"Oh! What made you do that?"
"All the regulars at the Astor Library wore them. At the time it seemed
to be the thing to do, and of course they soon became second nature to
me.
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