The stalls were laden with them and row after row of scaly monsters hung from huge hooks in the walls. Men, women and boys were scaling and cleaning fish all along the curbings.
“Soon there will be only women and boys for the work,” thought Judy sadly, “and maybe it will not be so very long before there will be only women.”
Cabbages and cauliflowers were bought next (cauliflowers that Puddenhead Wilson says are only cabbages been to college); Brussels sprouts, too; and spinach enough to furnish red blood for the whole army, Judy thought; then chickens, turkeys and grouse; a great smoked beef tongue, and a hog head for souse. The little green wagon was running over now and its rather rickety wheels creaked complainingly.
Old Tricot and Judy started homeward at as rapid a rate as the load would allow. Judy insisted upon helping push, and indeed her services were quite necessary over the rough cobbles. When they reached the smooth asphalt, she told Père Tricot she would leave him for a moment and stop at the American Club in the hope of letters awaiting there for her.
How sweet and fresh she looked as she waved her hand at the old man! Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes shining, and her expression so naïve and happy that she looked like a little child.
“Ah, gentile, gentile!” he murmured. His old heart had gone out to this brave, charming American girl. “And to think of her being friends with Madame the Marquise!” he thought. “That will be a nut for the good wife and Marie to crack.”
He pushed his cart slowly along the asphalt, rather missing the sturdy strength that Judy had put into the work. Then he sat on a bench to rest awhile, one of those nice benches that Paris dots her thoroughfares with and one misses so on coming back to United States.
Paris was well awake now and bustling. The streets were full of soldiers. Old women with their carts laden with chrysanthemums were trudging along to take their stands at the corners. The air was filled with the pungent odors of their wares. Old Tricot stretched himself:
“I must be moving! There is much food to be cooked to-day. It is time my Mam’selle was coming along. Ah, there she is!” He recognized the jaunty blue serge jacket and pretty little velour sport hat that Judy always knew at which angle to place on her fluffy brown hair. “But how slowly she is walking! And where are her roses? Her head is bent down like some poor French woman who has bad news from the trenches.”