“Chee! you’re some swell; aren’t you?” said the other. “We don’t have them things stopping at the house every day.”
“I am looking for my uncle, Mr. Willets Starkweather.”
“That’s no Jewish name. I don’t believe he lives in this house,” said the black-eyed girl, curiously.
“But, this is the number—I saw it,” said Helen, faintly. “And it’s Madison Avenue; isn’t it? I saw the name on the corner lamp-post.”
“Madison Avenyer?” gasped the other girl.
“Yes.”
“Yer kiddin’; ain’t yer?” demanded the stranger.
“Why—— What do you mean?”
“This ain’t Madison Avenyer,” said the black-eyed girl, with a loud laugh. “Ain’t you the greenie? Why, this is Madison Street!”
“Oh, then, there’s a difference?” cried Helen, much relieved. “I didn’t get to Uncle Starkweather’s, then?”