"Well, then, show me the way and don't be a fool!"
"I'd scorn to be it, sir. This is the way!" said the lad, taking the lead.
They walked on several squares, and then the boy stopped, and pointing down a cross-street, said:
"There, governor; there you are."
"There! Where? Why that's a handsome street!" said Old Hurricane, gazing up in admiration at the opposite blocks of stately brown-stone mansions.
"That's it, hows'ever! That's Rag Alley. 'Tain't called Rag Alley now, though! It's called Hifalutin Terrace! Them tenements you talk of were pulled down more'n a year ago and these houses put up in their place," said the newsboy.
"Dear! dear! dear! what changes! And what became of the poor tenants?" asked Old Hurricane, gazing in dismay at the inroads of improvement.
"The tenants? poor wretches! how do I know? Carted away, blown away, thrown away, with the other rubbish. What became of the tenants?
"'Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea-ty!'
I heard that spouted at a school exhibition once, governor!" said the lad, demurely.