“He smiled sweetly—his whole attitude was one of indulgent sympathy for a youthful crank, and I began to get more and more stirred up.
“‘Sir,’ I said, ‘I think you must be a stepfather.’
“‘Sometimes step-parents display more wisdom than real parents,’ he said, benevolently.
“I thought of the good stepmother Grandma had when a girl. He was right this time, and I was wrong, but this didn’t make me more comfortable in my mind. ‘There is no need of new pavements on Broadway, sir,’ I blurted out.
“‘We must make the business part of the city attractive,’ he said, ‘or strangers won’t come here.’
“‘Strangers must come,’ I said, bitterly, ‘the children can die.’
“‘There is no place for a park on River Street,’ he went on. ‘Property is held there at a high figure. No one would sell.’
“‘There is Milligan’s Wharf, sir,’ I replied. ‘It is said to be haunted, and no sailors will go there. You could make a lovely fenced-in park.’
“‘But there is no money,’ he said, blandly.
“Something came over me. I wasn’t angry on my own account. I have plenty of fresh air, for I am boating half the time, but dead children’s faces swam before me, and I felt like Isaiah and Jeremiah rolled in one.