“Oh! it’s true, it’s true! What’ll they say when they see me? Oh! my soul and body! Oh! my!”
“You’ll have to tell where you live,” said Jessica, following the other into the vehicle and smiling at her eagerness.
“Course. I know how. This is the way they do it, I’ve seen ’em, lots of times, waiting outside the theaters and such. The ladies they steps in, just like I did, and they speaks up at the coachy and they says: ‘Home’! Or maybe, ‘Waldorf ’Storia,’ or ‘Fifth Avenoo,’ or wherever ’tis. ‘Hark. Hear me! Driver, 221 Avenoo A. Back tenement, top floor.’”
It might have been that palatial Waldorf Astoria, to which she had referred, rather than one of the dingiest abodes on that street which was named by a letter, and that Madam Dalrymple had said was too humble for any Waldron to know about. Yet here was Jessica going to it, must go, or be guilty of a rudeness less “Waldrony” than even that knowledge of poor Avenue A; and it never entered her mind that she could send the hunchback home, unattended. Though, indeed, it is doubtful if she could, for the hackman would not, in that case, have felt at all sure of his fare.
Fortunately, Ephraim knew little and cared less for any street distinctions. He was simply and wholly disgusted by this whole outing. The horse he bestrode was never meant for a saddle; his groom’s livery was uncomfortable in the matter of fit—as well as pride; the restless Buster was extremely difficult to lead, where peril of the streets was constantly menacing, and only love for “Little Captain” prevented his turning about and making straight for Washington Square, even though he had to ask directions thither at every block.
“My name’s Sophy Nestor. What’s yours? Ain’t this jolly? I’m the gladdest ever was ’t that horse of yours knocked me down. My! But didn’t the cop want to hurry me off to the hospital! No, ’twasn’t him, though, ’twas your own plaguy self! Do you know what a hospital is? It’s a place where they take folks to cut off their legs and things. We poor folks is what keeps the hospitals goin’. Them doctors they catch us and cut us just to learn how the rich folkses’ insides are made. ’Cause that way, Granny says, we’re just as good as the rich ones, our insides are. But, maybe, you didn’t know. Else, you’d never ha’ said it. What’d you say it was? Oh! I’m so happy! I never, never was so happy in my life! Won’t the children in our court and all along the block just stare their eyes out when they see me come ridin’ home in a reg’lar carriage! I never thought I’d be inside one, never in all my life. What’d you say it was?”
“I hadn’t said, but it’s Jessica Trent. And is it possible that right here in this city full of all sorts of wagons that you’ve never ridden before?”
The carriage had now passed eastward through the city and even to the Westerner’s untrained sight the streets looked more crowded, the buildings poorer and dingier, and the passing throngs altogether different from those upon Fifth Avenue. But she observed less of the surroundings than of this chattering girl beside her. So misshapen, so wretchedly clothed, and so radiantly happy! She had longed for a playmate of her own age but she had not dreamed of one like this.
In a few moments they had exchanged the fullest confidences. Sophy had listened wide-eyed and, at first, unbelieving, to Jessica’s story of a home where one couldn’t even see another house, because it was so far away; but she had gradually accepted the fact and was lost in admiration of a girl who could live such a wonderful life yet be so friendly and nice to a mere flower-girl from “Avenoo A.”
When they reached that dilapidated block where Sophy lived, and with a great air that young person had ordered the driver to stop, she turned to Jessica and said: