"What d'ye mean, am I looking for the Bella Hirshkind Home?" he said. "Do you suppose I come up here all the way from Brooklyn Bridge to watch the trains go by?"
"I thought maybe you didn't know the way," Miss Duckman suggested. "You go along that there path and it's the first house you are coming to."
She pointed to the path skirting the railroad track, and Harris began to perspire as he found himself surrendering to an impulse of politeness toward this very young old lady. He conquered it immediately, however, and cleared his throat raspingly.
"I couldn't swim exactly," he retorted as he surveyed the miry trail indicated by Miss Duckman, "so I guess I'll walk along the railroad."
"You could do that, too," Miss Duckman said, "aber I ain't allowed to, on account the rules of the Home says we shouldn't walk along the tracks."
Harris raised his eyebrows.
"You don't mean to told me you are one of them indignant females?" he exclaimed.
"I belong in the Home," Miss Duckman replied, colouring slightly, and Rudnik felt himself being overcome by a wave of remorse for his bluntness. He therefore searched his mind for a sufficiently gruff rejoinder, and finding none he shrugged his shoulders.
"Well," he said at last, "there's worser places, lady."
Miss Duckman nodded.