Jennie mumbled her question.
Said the crossing policeman:
"Getcher car on Wabash, ride to 'umpty-second, transfer, get
off at Blank Street, and walk three blocks south."
Then he put the whistle back in his mouth, blew two shrill
blasts, and the horde of men, women, motors, drays, trucks, cars,
and horses swept over him, through him, past him, leaving him
miraculously untouched.
Jennie landed on the opposite curbing, breathing hard. What
was that street? Umpty-what? Well, it didn't matter, anyway. She
hadn't the nickel for car fare.
What did you do next? You begged from people on the street.
Jennie selected a middle-aged, prosperous, motherly looking woman.
She framed her plea with stiff lips. Before she had finished her
sentence she found herself addressing empty air. The middle-aged,
prosperous, motherly looking woman had hurried on.
Well, then you tried a man. You had to be careful there. He
mustn't be the wrong kind. There were so many wrong kinds. Just
an ordinary looking family man would be best. Ordinary looking
family men are strangely in the minority. There are so many more
bull-necked, tan-shoed ones. Finally Jennie's eye, grown sharp
with want, saw one. Not too well dressed, kind-faced, middle-aged.
She fell into step beside him.
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