"If only," thought Mary Louise, bitterly, "there was such a
thing as a back yard in this city--a back yard where I could squat
on the grass, in the sunshine and the breeze-- Maybe there is.
I'll ask the janitor."
She bound her hair in the turban again, and opened the door.
At the far end of the long, dim hallway Charlie, the janitor, was
doing something to the floor with a mop and a great deal of sloppy
water, whistling the while with a shrill abandon that had announced
his presence to Mary Louise.
"Oh, Charlie!" called Mary Louise. "Charlee! Can you come
here just a minute?"
"You bet!" answered Charlie, with the accent on the you; and
came.
"Charlie, is there a back yard, or something, where the sun
is, you know--some nice, grassy place where I can sit, and dry my
hair, and let the breezes blow it?"
"Back yard!" grinned Charlie. "I guess you're new to N' York,
all right, with ground costin' a million or so a foot. Not much
they ain't no back yard, unless you'd give that name to an
ash-barrel, and a dump heap or so, and a crop of tin cans. I
wouldn't invite a goat to set in it."
Disappointment curved Mary Louise's mouth. It was a lovely
enough mouth at any time, but when it curved in
disappointment--ell, janitors are but human, after all.
"Tell you what, though," said Charlie.
Pages:
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177