“Sure, child.”
“I guess she will, too. Can I, mother? When the work’s all done?”
“Bless you, my lass, and that will never be. So there’s no use tarrying for such a time. And I don’t blame you for wanting to go. I’d admire to hear myself. But I guess it’s a long step from here and I don’t know the way, even I don’t. You’d have to ride in a street car and that costs money—which is one of the things I can least spare.”
At mention of the car, Mary Jane’s eyes sparkled.
On rare occasions—once when she went to market with her mother, at holiday time, and once when the wash had been too large and the patron’s home too distant for even her nimble crutches—she had enjoyed the luxury of travel by electricity. In imagination, she could still feel the swift rush of air against her cheek, could see the houses hurrying past, and hear the delightful ting-a-ling of the bell, as the motorman stopped to let the passengers on or off. She had not dreamed that it would be necessary for her to ride, in order to pay the visit she desired; but if it were—Oh! felicity!
The light in the eyes she loved decided the mother upon the indulgence. A car-ride meant a nickel, or part of one, at least, for even little Mary Jane; and a nickel would buy a loaf, and many loaves were needful where there were seven mouths to fill, and every mouth a hungry one. More than that, if William were out of work—
Mrs. Bump considered no further. Mary Jane should have the pleasure—no matter what happened afterward.
“Of course, you’ll ride! Why not? Don’t suppose I’d let you start off a-foot for such a length, do you? I’ve a notion that this Mt. Vernon Place is away at the other end the city. Leastwise, it must be a good bit from Dingy street, ’cause I never heard of it before, and I’ve been around the neighborhood considerable, with the wash, you know. Yes, you may go. Fly round right smart and get your clothes changed. What a fine thing it is that your other frock is clean, and I must say I did have good luck ironing it, last week.”
“You always do have good luck, mother Bump! You’re the very loveliest ironer in the world!” and the wooden feet clicked across the room that their owner might hug this famous laundress.
“And you’re a partial little girl, honey.”