“I love the way the New Yorkers hurry along all so intent on where they are going and so certain they are going to get there in the end,” said Ellen. “Neither one of us has a really working knowledge of the city so, no doubt, we will be lost one million times on the way to Abercrombie & Fitch’s.”
“Then we will just ask some genial Irish cop,” said Jane lightly. “I have never paid any attention to the ridiculous warnings of people who say, ‘Never talk to somebody you aren’t certain of.’ I flatter myself that I can tell at a glance whether a person is the kind of person to talk to or not.”
Deep in an argument in which Ellen favored getting gray flannel sport shirts and Jane khaki ones, the two girls got on the subway.
“We have been on here ten minutes, surely we will be there soon,” said Ellen glancing at her watch.
“So we would,” giggled the irrepressible Jane, “if we were going the right way. I noticed just now that we were on a car marked Bronx when we ought to be on a downtown express. I was going to give you to the next stop to notice it; after that of course I would have told you.”
“Next time we better not talk so much,” observed Ellen wisely as the girls rose to leave the car.
“Whew! I would like to come up for air. It’s so stuffy down here I can’t think which way we ought to go. If we just had some working hypothesis of where we are, then we might dope out some route to take,” lamented Jane.
Both girls looked round them with rather amused expressions. Finally, Ellen squealed and punched Jane. “There’s your genial Irish cop; go over and ask him how we must get to Abercrombie & Fitch’s.”
Jane marched over to the big fat policeman, plainly from Erin. He grinned invitingly at the world in general and, as she stopped in front of him, at her in particular.
“Yes, Mum,” he said.