“‘Don’t do that. The creature will be lonely. Bring her in the house.’
“‘Well, it’s your hotel,’ said Mrs. Martin. ‘If you’re willing to have her, I will bring her in.’
“‘Put her in my bathroom. I’ll take care of her,’ said Miss Rosy Cheeks, whose name I found out later was Miss Patricia MacGill.
“‘No, thank you—you have enough to do without having a dog added to your cares,’ said my friend. ‘I’ll take care of the burden thrust upon us through going to hear Billy Sunday.’
“Miss MacGill, who was very fond of a joke, began to laugh, and looking down at me, said,
‘Welcome to New Rochelle, Billy Sunday.’
“We were walking all this time along streets lighted and with nice shops each side. I just lifted my weary head occasionally to glance at them; then suddenly the street was not so bright and, looking up, I saw that the shops were behind us, and we were in a region of pretty homes and gardens. I had a confused impression of being in a very grand neighborhood. It was nothing extraordinary, but I had been brought up in a very poor way, and up to that time the biggest house I had seen was the café and the railway stations. Soon we came to a corner where there were three houses joined together by broad verandas.
“There my two nice ladies turned in, went up a stone walk, crossed a veranda, and entered a big front door.
“‘Do you wish anything for the dog?’ asked Miss MacGill.
“‘No, thank you,’ said Mrs. Martin. ‘I know the kitchen and pantry are shut up, and the boys in bed, so I will do with what I have in my room.’