The day in town passed off pleasantly indeed. As Uncle George's business took him to a banker's in Wall Street, the D's enjoyed a walk through that wonderful thoroughfare, where fortunes are said to come and go in an hour, and where every one, in every crowded room of every crowded building, and on almost every foot of the crowded sidewalk, thinks, speaks, and breathes, "Money, money, money!" from morning till night. But Uncle's business was soon despatched; the anxious crowds and the "clerks in cages," as Dorry called the busy workers in the banks, were left behind. Then there were fresh sights to be seen, purchases to be made, and above all, the watch to be selected,—to say nothing of a grand luncheon at Delmonico's, where, under their busy appetites, dainties with Italian and French names became purely American in an incredibly short space of time.
TRINITY CHURCH AND THE HEAD OF WALL STREET.
Uncle George delighted in the pleasure of the D's. The more questions they asked, the better he liked it, and the more sure he became that his Don and Dot were the brightest, most intelligent pair of young folk under the sun. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the holiday as heartily as they did, excepting when Dorothy, toward the latter part of the afternoon, surprised him with a blank refusal to go nearly three hundred feet above the street.
You shall hear all about it:
They were homeward bound,—that is to say, they were on their way to the down-town ferry-boat that would carry them to the railroad station,—when Donald suddenly proposed that they should stay over till a later train.
"And suppose we walk on down to Wall Street, Uncle," he continued, "and go into Trinity Church. There's a magnificent view from the spire."
"Yes," was his uncle's rather frightened comment. "But the spire is more than two hundred and eighty feet high. What are you going to do about that?"