Helen looked at Sadie suddenly. “How much would it take for the glasses?” she asked.
“I dunno. Ten dollars, mebbe.”
“And do you s’pose he could have that prescription now?” asked Helen, eagerly.
“Mebbe. But why for?”
“Perhaps I could—could get somebody uptown interested in his case who is able to pay for the spectacles.”
“Chee, that would be bully!” cried Sadie.
“Will you find out about the prescription?”
“Sure I will,” declared Sadie. “Nex’ time you come down here, Helen, I’ll know all about it. And if you can get one of them rich ladies up there to pay for ’em—Well! it would beat goin’ to a swell restaurant for a feed—eh?” and she laughed, hugged the Western girl, and then darted across the sidewalk to intercept a possible customer who was loitering past the row of garments displayed in front of the Finkelstein shop.
But Helen did not get downtown again as soon as she expected. When she awoke the next morning there had set in a steady drizzle—cold and raw—and the panes of her windows were so murky that she could not see even the chimneys and roofs, or down into the barren little yards.
This—nor a much heavier—rain would not have ordinarily balked Helen. She was used to being out in all winds and weathers. But she actually had nothing fit to wear in the rain.