“Shut up, you mutt!” said Joe, without heat. “A mutt you was born, and a mutt you’ll die!”
IV
East Broadway was the Fifth Avenue of the East Side. A wide street lined, not with tall tenements like the other streets, but with moderate sized brick houses with steep roofs and big chimneys. Nothing grand about them, but solid looking. One family to a house. In these houses lived the smart guys who lived directly off the poor boobs of the East Side: that is to say: doctors, lawyers, politicians, rabbis and prosperous storekeepers. Many of these guys were able to buy up the up-town blokes several times over, it was said, but they made out they lived simple and bragged about being East-Siders; it was good for business. They were smart guys all right, but Joe had no intention of stopping at East Broadway.
He was on his way to report to a lawyer who had hired him to secure evidence against a man, whose wife wanted to get a divorce. Having extended the scope of his operations, Joe had been able to procure himself a whole suit with long pants; also new shoes and a cap. He wore a white celluloid collar which he cleaned with a rag every morning. But he was already dissatisfied with the effect; his suit was beginning to look crummy, because he had no way of getting it cleaned and pressed. He wanted two suits.
The nights were cold now, and the people had retired indoors. While he was still some way off, therefore, Joe’s attention was attracted by a little group gathered below one of the old-fashioned stoops. From the way the people on the sidewalk were bending over, he perceived that something was the matter; and hastened forward. Sitting on the bottom step he beheld a funny-looking little woman, her knees as high as her chest, her skirts drawn up high enough to reveal a pair of new button shoes of soft leather, which toed in like a little girl’s. She was tenderly feeling of her ankle. Not at all a grand person, yet Joe instantly perceived she was of the up-town world. What a chance! he thought, energetically shouldering aside the women of the neighborhood who were bending over her. They fell back muttering: “Fresh!”
“Are yez hurted, lady?” Joe enquired, making his voice purr.
She lifted a pair of big, foggy grey eyes. “My ankle,” she murmured, “I put my foot in a crack, and twisted it badly. . . . I don’t know. . . . I’m afraid it’s sprained!”
“Send for the ambylance,” said a voice.
“Oh, no! no!” said the little woman like a scared child. “I want to go home!”
“Sure!” said Joe. “What you want is a cab.”