"'By, Jimmie! So long! Jimmie! You-hoo!"
Tramp. Tramp. Tramp-tramp-tramp.
"You-hoo! Jimmie! So long, Jimmie!"
At Fourteenth Street, and to the solemn stroke of one from a tower, she broke off suddenly without even a second look back, dodging under the very arms of the crowd as she ran out from it.
She was one and three-quarter minutes late when she punched the time-clock beside the Complaints and Adjustment Desk in the Bargain-Basement.
II
SIEVE OF FULFILMENT
How constant a stream is the runnel of men's small affairs!
Dynasties may totter and half the world bleed to death, but one or the other corner pâtisserie goes on forever.
At a moment when the shadow of world-war was over the country like a pair of black wings lowering Mrs. Harry Ross, who swooned at the sight of blood from a penknife scratch down the hand of her son, but yawned over the head-line statistics of the casualties at Verdun, lifted a lid from a pot that exuded immediate savory fumes, prodded with a fork at its content, her concern boiled down to deal solely with stew.