“I can’t tell you,” said Willie. “It’s wonderful. It gives me a feeling I can’t express. But I know one thing. I shall never forget this scene. And I am a thousand times obliged to you for showing it to me.”
“I’m glad we happened to think of it,” said the purser. “It’s as good as a movie.”
“It’s a heap sight better,” commented Willie. “This is real.”
“I thought the movie was reel, too,” said Roy. “If it weren’t for the possibility of spoiling your fine uniform, Roy,” laughed Willie, “I’d soak you with one of those green bananas.” And he pointed to the pieces of unripe fruit on the pier that had dropped from the bunches while they were being handled.
“Do you know,” said the purser, after consulting his watch, “that it has been more than an hour since we left the Lycoming? It’s half-past one. I think we can safely get under way.”
They left the fruit pier, and striking directly away from the water-front, at once found themselves in a maze of small streets. Curious, indeed, was the transformation. All about them stood sky-scrapers, towering aloft hundreds of feet. Yet the little thoroughfares they were now penetrating were lined with low, old, brick buildings, mostly dwellings or dwelling-houses that had been converted into shops. They were small, low, dingy, ill-kept buildings of three or four stories with sloping roofs and dormer-windows. Their lines were good. Some of the doorways were still beautiful, despite the rough treatment they had had. It required little imagination to picture the time when these were the homes of well-to-do people.
They passed what had been a saloon, and probably still was, which bore on its window the name of Casey.
“Just look at that name,” said the purser. “That’s a relic of antiquity.”
“What do you mean?” asked Willie.
“Why, that is a reminder of a lost people,” laughed the purser.