exciting story book
you know you'll never have a chance to finish. You do get a peep into
tragedies and comedies, sometimes."

"My goodness!" I exclaimed. "I'm thankful I don't have to live in one
of those houses. It must be impossible ever to take a bath, or to get
engaged, properly."

Fortunately for my peace of mind, we didn't stop very long in that
fierce street, but cut across again, and came out in Fifth Avenue, of
which one seems to be born knowing a little more than of other streets
in America. Just as almost everyone in English novels lives in Park
Lane, so all the New Yorkers you read of live in Fifth Avenue; and I
should have been disappointed if Mrs. Ess Kay hadn't, because in that
case I should eventually have to go home without studying home life in
the States from the right standpoint.

At first, I didn't see where the grand houses I'd heard of, kept
themselves, for everywhere were smart shops, and public buildings,
and--so close now that we could put down our sunshades--mountainous
"sky-scrapers." The shops were beautiful, though Mrs. Ess Kay
apologised for them by saying that it was out of season, and I'd never
seen so much brilliance of colour or variety in a street. I tried to
search for the cause of this effect, but I couldn't define it. Perhaps
it was partly the clearness of the atmosphere, but there was a great
deal more than that. Everything you passed seemed to be pink, or pale
green or gold, or ivory white, or ultramarine blue; yet when you really
thought it out detail by detail, it wasn't. And though I'd considered
the sky-scrapers awful, from a distance, spinning along at their feet I
couldn't deny them a fantastic kind of attractiveness.

At our rate of speed, I hadn't to wait many minutes for the grand Fifth
Avenue houses; and oh, poor London--poor, dear London! I wanted to fly
back and tear down Buckingham Palace.

Mrs. Ess Kay had always talked about her "New York home," which made it
sound rather small and modest, so I was surprised when we stopped
before a huge, square pile, built of rich-looking, rough brown stones,
so nearly the colour of a Christmas plum pudding that it made me
hungrier than ever to look at it. The house is trimmed with three wide
bands of carving, made of the same kind of stone; and there are carved
bronze railings and lamps on the porch; and the front door is carved,
too, like the door of a cathedral.

We were let into a vestibule, all coloured mosaic and thi