e farther I walked the heavier
that blessed satchel of mine got. It weighed maybe ten or twelve pounds
at the corner of 42nd Street, but when I got as far as the open square
where the gilt woman is hurryin' to keep from bein' run over by Gen'ral
Sherman on horseback--that statue, you know--I wouldn't have let that
blessed bag go for less'n two ton, if I was sellin' it by weight. So
I leaned up against an electric light pole to rest and sort of get my
bearin's. Then I noticed what I'd ought to have seen afore, that the
street wa'n't paved with cobbles, as it used to be, but was smooth as
a stretch of state road down home. So I figgered that a bus was a safe
risk, after all. I waited ten minutes or more for one to come, and
finally I asked a woman who was in tow of an astrakhan-trimmed dog at
the end of a chain, if the omnibuses had stopped runnin'. When I fust
see the dog leadin' her I thought she was blind, but I guess she
was deef and dumb instead. Anyhow, all she said was 'Ugh!' not very
enthusiastic, at that, and went along. Ho! ho! So then I asked a man,
and he pointed to a bus right in front of me. You see, I was lookin' for
the horses, same as they used to be, and this was an automobile.

"I blushed, I guess, just to show that there was some red underneath
the green, and climbed aboard the omnibus. I rode along for a spell,
admirin' as much of the scenery as I could see between the women's hats,
then I told the skipper of the thing that I wanted to make port at 82nd
Street. He said 'Ugh,' apparently suff'rin' from the same complaint the
dog woman had, and we went on and on. At last I got kind of anxious and
asked him again.

"'Eighty-second!' says he, ugly. 'This is Ninety-first.'

"'Good land!' says I. 'I wanted Eighty-second.'

"'Why didn't you say so?' says he, lookin' as if I'd stole his mother's
spoons.

"'I did,' says I.

"'You _did_?' he snarls. 'You did not! If you did, wouldn't I have heard
you?'

"Well, any answer I'd be likely to make to that would have meant more
argument, and the bus was sailin' right along at the time, so I piled
out and did some more walkin', the other way. At last I reached your old
number, Stevie, and--Hey? Did you speak?"

"Don't call me 'Stevie,'" growled his nephew, rebelliously.

"Beg your pardon. I keep forgettin' that you're almost grown up. Well,
as I was sayin', I got to the house where you used to live, and 'twas
shut tight. Nobody there. Ho! ho! I felt a good