She put her tiny stock of toys and goods in order, got her breakfast and then sat down to wait for two things. One was the postman who, she hoped, would bring her a letter from her sailor son. The other was for customers, especially a customer who would buy the Woolly Dog.
It was almost noon when a man passed through the street on which Mrs. Clark’s store stood. This man wore very good clothes, and he carried a cane with a gold head. He looked to be a very rich man, and he was.
“But I don’t see why a rich man is walking through our poor street,” said Lizzie to Sammie.
“Maybe he’s looking for a washerwoman for his wife,” suggested Sammie. Many came to the street for that purpose.
However, Mr. Theodore Blakeley, for that was his name, had not come to Hoyt Street to look for a laundress. He had never been in that street before—in fact, he hardly knew its name or that there was such a street—and his coming to it was a sort of accident.
That morning he had started out in his automobile to go down town to business. He did not like to travel in trolley cars, and as for a jitney, he had never ridden in one in his life!
But even rich men, in autos, have their troubles, and the trouble that came to Mr. Blakeley was that, half way to his office, something made a hole in one of the tires. It was punctured near Hoyt Street, where Mrs. Clark had her shop.
“I shall have to change a tire, sir,” said the chauffeur, touching his hat to Mr. Blakeley.
“Hum! That means delay, I suppose. I think I’ll walk on. It isn’t far, is it, James?”
“No, sir, not if you take the short cut through Hoyt Street.”