Part 18 (2/2)

DEAR MYRA,--Here's the answer to your question.

I'm doing the inclosed, and doing it in West Tenth Street. Do you know the neighborhood? Old Greenwich Village, red, shabby, shoddy, common, and vulgar.

Mother and I are as happy as children. How are you?

Your letter is splendid. I am sure you will come to understand. When are you returning to New York?

As ever,

JOE BLAINE.

And he thought, ”Now I have something to show Sally Heffer!”

III

OTHERS: AND SALLY HEFFER

Joe filled a stiff cloth portfolio with a batch of 9/10s (abbreviation for home use), pulled his gray hat over his bushy hair, and went over and tapped the collapsible Slate on the shoulder.

”Yes, Mr. Joe.”

”Nathan,” cried Joe, excitedly, ”if there's a rush of subscribers while I'm gone, make 'em stand in line, and each wait his turn. But don't let them block the car tracks--string 'em around the corner.”

Nathan gazed at Joe like a lost soul.

”But I think, Mr. Joe,” he said, slowly, ”you place your hopes too high.

I don't like to be too gloomy, Mr. Joe, but I have my doubts about a rush.”

”Slate,” cried Joe, slapping the tragic bookkeeper a whack, ”you're inspiring!”

And he swung out to the street in the brilliant morning suns.h.i.+ne, ready to begin his canva.s.s.

”Next door,” he mused, ”is the place to start.”

There was a woman sitting on the stoop, a two-year-old girl in her arms. Joe paused and looked at the baby.

”h.e.l.lo, you.”

The baby looked at him a little doubtfully, and then laughed.

”Girl or boy?” asked Joe of the mother.

”Girl.”

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