Part 5 (1/2)
OUR LITTLE FRIEND VISITS GREENWICH VILLAGE AND MEETS A SCULPTOR, A POETESS, AND A PAINTER
You will remember that I have spoken in a previous story of the beautiful clam-sh.e.l.l which Rollo possessed, and which he admired very much. It was a gift from his Uncle George, and on it was painted a picture of a curving beach, a light-house, and a small yacht. Below the picture was the t.i.tle, ”Souvenir of Atlantic City.”
One day Rollo was sitting on his little cricket, holding up the sh.e.l.l to the light, and marvelling at the change this made in the colours.
His mother was busily engaged knitting washcloths for the missionary box which was to be sent to the natives of the Filbert Islands; for though she had moved to the city, Rollo's mother did not forget her duties toward Dr. Ordway, the minister at home, and through him, to the heathen children in the Filbert Islands.
”Do you know, Mother,” said Rollo, ”I believe that the man who painted this clam-sh.e.l.l was perhaps the greatest artist in the world. I have looked all through the vast collection at the Metropolitan Museum, and I do not find the mate to my clam anywhere.”
”Is it so?” said his mother. ”You seem very much interested in artistic things. I remember that years ago I too enjoyed the fine arts. You may recall the portrait of a kitten which I painted on the red plush sofa-cus.h.i.+ons at home.”
”Indeed I do!” cried Rollo. ”It was most artistic. Heigh-ho! I wish I was an artist!”
Just as he said these words, as if in answer to his wish, his Uncle George opened the door. ”What is that?” he said. ”You wish you were an artist? What kind of an artist do you wish to be?”
Rollo was puzzled. ”What kind?” he repeated. ”What kinds are there?”
”Many,” said his Uncle George. ”But perhaps before you make up your mind it would be well if you looked over the different kinds. How would you like to visit Greenwich Village with me where all the artists live?”
”Oh Goody-Gumpkins!” cried Rollo, for which his mother gently reproved him.
”I should love it,” said he. ”You are so kind, and I am so glad you are a broker, Uncle George, for you always seem to have plenty of time.”
”Nothing but,” said Uncle George. ”But come, if we are going, let us be off at once.”
”Hurrah,” cried Rollo. ”Good-bye, Mother!” and seizing his cap and thrusting his clam-sh.e.l.l into his pocket, he ran to join his uncle in the doorway.
”How do we go? Is it far?” he questioned when they had reached the street.
”We may as well take the stage,” said his uncle. ”It goes directly to the Village.”
Rollo's uncle raised his hand and the stage stopped politely.
”Thank you,” said Rollo as they climbed to the top. Soon the conductor came to them and held out a little machine, which seemed to nibble Rollo's fingers when he pushed the two dimes which his uncle had given him into the slot.
”He cannot hoodwink me,” said Rollo after the conductor had gone away.
”I saw the money drop through into his hand.”
”You are a bright lad,” said his uncle, which made Rollo very happy.
As they rode along Uncle George pointed out to him the eager faces of the thousands of Lithuanians, Greeks, and Polaks who make New York the greatest of American cities. Soon the stage rolled through a majestic stone archway.
[Ill.u.s.tration: SKETCHES BY HOGARTH, JR.
”How would you like to visit Greenwich Village?”]
”We are now entering the Village,” said Uncle George.
”Well, I will say it has a handsome front door,” said Rollo, ”but did you say 'Village,' Uncle George? It appears to me mightily like a part of the city.”
”So it would seem,” said his uncle, ”but appearances are deceitful.