“He told you right. Come along; I’ll take you there.”
“Be yeou goin’ thet way, then?”
“Sure; that’s where I work.”
“Sho! Yeou don’t say! Maybe yeou kin tell me where I kin find some of them thar bulls and bears what folks talk about.”
“You want to visit the Stock Exchange. I’ll get you an admission ticket from my boss.”
“Will yeou? That’s kind of yeou.”
“Where do you expect to stop while you’re in town?” asked Jack, thinking he might direct Mr. Hockins to a cheap but respectable hotel.
“Waal, I’ll tell yeou. I’m goin’ over to Brooklyn to try and hunt up a niece of mine I hain’t seen sense she was married, nigh on to twenty year ago. Her name was Sarah Dusenbury, but she married a Price. She’s got a grown-up darter thet works one of them highfalutin writin’ machines like this,” and Mr. Hockins dropped his bag and proceeded to give a comical illustration of how one clicks the keys of a typewriter.
“Her name isn’t Millie Price, is it?” exclaimed Jack, with some interest.
“Why, haow did yeou guess thet? Thet’s the gal’s name, sure.”