“You seem a very cheerful person.”
“Why, of course. Aren’t you?”
“Sometimes. But how you hobble along on that one skate! Why in the world don’t you use two, or go without entirely?”
“Well, you see, if I wore both, Towsley couldn’t have any. If he wore both and I none, there’d be nobody to teach him how. That’s why.”
“What—what did you say his name was?”
Miss Lucy was very thankful that the dirty little urchin was on the further side of Molly, who was quite clean, and that her own dainty garments could not be soiled by contact with his.
“He doesn’t know, exactly. The folks around call him ‘Towsley,’ ’cause his hair’s never combed, except once in a while when I take him in hand. It’s such a pretty yellow color, too, isn’t it? It seems a pity it couldn’t always be tidy, doesn’t it?”
Molly had a disconcerting habit of appealing to anybody near for confirmation of any opinion she expressed, and this was annoying to Miss Lucy. She considered it distinctly ill-bred, and whatever was ill-bred was disagreeable to her. She was very glad that she had reached the big marble steps which led up to her own front door, and she disengaged herself from Molly’s supporting arm with a brisk little motion which emphasized her words:
“This thing has gone far enough!”
But the girl from Side Street didn’t notice this. She rarely did notice unpleasant small things. She hadn’t time; being always so busy looking after the larger pleasant ones, of which her world seemed full.