“I’m from upstate ma’am,” stammered Bud.
“From where?”
“From Cooperstown.”
“Hum.... I’m from Buffalo. This is certainly the city for everyone being from somewhere else.... Well you’re probably a burglar’s accomplice, but I cant help it I’ve got to have that coal in.... Come in my man, I’ll give you a shovel and a basket and if you dont drop any in the passage
or on the kitchen floor, because the scrubwoman’s just left ... naturally the coal had to come when the floor was clean.... I’ll give you a dollar.”
When he carried in the first load she was hovering in the kitchen. His caving hungersniff stomach made him totter lightheadedly, but he was happy to be working instead of dragging his feet endlessly along pavements, across streets, dodging drays and carts and streetcars.
“How is it you haven’t got a regular job my man,” she asked as he came back breathless with the empty basket.
“I reckon it’s as I aint caught on to city ways yet. I was born an raised on a farm.”
“And what did you want to come to this horrible city for?”
“Couldn’t stay on the farm no more.”