To her surprise, Florence found herself going through her act the second time like a seasoned actor. As her voice went out over the air, no one listening in would have guessed that she was just another girl from the tall timber of Isle Royale.
When Jeanne had repeated her dance of the flames and the curtain was run down for the last time, the two girls said goodbye to that jolly, friendly company and to their new friend in the red sweater. After that they strolled out to the brightly lit streets of New York at night.
“Look at the people,” Florence exclaimed.
“They act as if they did not mean to go home till morning.”
When they neared their hotel they heard a cracked voice calling, “Extra! Extra! All about—”
“There!” Florence exclaimed, “There’s our old newsboy. I must buy one more paper.”
As she took the paper she slipped a silver half dollar into his bony hand. He stared at her for a moment, then coming close he said in a low voice, “Don’t stay too long, child. Don’t stay too long.”
“He’s right,” she said to Jeanne, as they entered their room a moment later. “Look! It is midnight. New York has been whirling us ’round and ’round.”
“Ah, yes,” Jeanne sighed. “But it has been glorious.”
“Yes,” Florence agreed. “For all that, I’m glad we’re starting back to Isle Royale and the Wanderer tomorrow. I want to hear the wash of the waves on the rocky shore and the seagull’s scream. I want to waken in the night and catch the hoarse hoot of the fog horn on Passage Island. I want to smell the cool damp of balsam and spruce trees and watch the sun go down over Green Stone Ridge. That’s life for me.”