It seemed rather odd for these two well-dressed and well-grown girls to be convoyed by such a "hop-o'-my-thumb" as the flower-seller. But the latter got Nan and Bess to an "isle of safety" in a hurry, and would then have darted away into the crowd without waiting to be thanked, had not Nan seized the handle of her basket.
"Wait!" she cried. "Don't run away."
"Hey!" said the flower-seller, "I ain't got time to stop and chin-chin. I got these posies to sell."
"Sell us two," Nan commanded. "Wait!"
"Aw right. 'F you say so," said the small girl. "Fifteen a bunch," she added quickly, shrewdly increasing by a nickel the regular price of the stale boutonnières.
Nan opened her purse to pay for both. Bess said, rather timidly: "I should think you would be afraid of getting run over every time you cross the street—you're so little."
"Aw—say!" responded the strange girl, quite offended. "What d'ye think I am—a kid? I live here, I do! I ain't country, and don't know me way 'round."
"Meaning that we are, I suppose?" laughed Nan.
"Well," drawled the girl, "it sticks out all over you. I can tell 'em a block away. An' I bet you're lost and don't know where you're goin'. You two didn't come here to be pitcher actors, did ye?"
"Why—no!" gasped Bess.