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"Look here, you kids," I yelled, "some of you will fall off if you get so close to the edge of the roof. Keep back." It had no effect. Apparently they looked not a bit frightened at the dizzy mass of clothes-lines below us. "Say, is there a candy-store on this block?" I asked in desperation. "Yes, sir," came the chorus. "Who'll go down and get me a bottle of ginger ale?" I asked.
The screwdriver was brought, and with it I removed the lock, got into the carriage, and told the driver to take me to Paterson by the hill-road one of the most beautiful roads in America. "Paterson!" exclaimed Budge. "Oh, there's a candy-store in that town, come on, Toddie." "Will you?" thought I, snatching the whip and giving the horses a cut. "Not if I can help it.
"Oh, she called her Fanny; and said what a nice big girl she was growing to be." "And so you went down to the square with her?" "Yes, ma'am." "And what then?" "We walked about there for a little while, and then the lady told me to wait while she took Fanny to the candy-store to buy some candy. I waited, and waited ever so long; but she didn't come back; and then I cried."
"If Bill DARES to introduce that girl to Father, he's taking his life in his hands." "But surely that was the idea the scheme the wheeze, wasn't it? Or do you think there's any chance of his weakening?" "Weakening! You should have seen him looking at her! It was like a small boy flattening his nose against the window of a candy-store." "Bit thick!" Lucille kicked the leg of the table.
The two fat men were so frightened that they fell flat on their stomachs. The barber shinnied up his pole, and hung on for dear life to the top. The baker-man tumbled into the watering-trough, and all the rest rushed higgledy-piggledy into the houses and stores. The Toyman picked up Hepzebiah, Marmaduke, and Jehosophat, hurried them into the candy-store, and shut the door tight.
Times had changed for Kedzie indeed when the little beggar from the candy-store who had cried once when Skip Magruder, the bakery waiter, refused to take her to the movies twice in one Sunday, was crying now because her miser of a husband forbade her a turbine yacht as a plaything. She was crushed with chagrin and she felt completely absolved of the last obligation.
She had a job in a candy-store, a room in a flat with the family of a delicatessen merchant; she had as many flirtations as she could carry, and an increasing waiting-list. What more could woman ask? And all this was in far upper Third Avenue. She had not yet been down to First Street. In fact, she was in New York two weeks before she got as far south as 100th Street.
Graham came back a moment later after his coat, with such studied nonchalance that the other boys, eternally suspicious as police reporters grow to be, looked at him narrowly, and Thomas asked him, also with studied nonchalance: "The candy-store girl, or the one in the laundry office?" "Business, young fellow, business," returned Graham loftily. "I guess the Chronicle knows when it has a good man.
A Ford, in reverse, sounded as though it were shaking to pieces, then recovered and rattled away. In the Greek candy-store was the whine of a peanut-roaster, and the oily smell of nuts. There was no other sound nor sign of life. She wanted to run, fleeing from the encroaching prairie, demanding the security of a great city. Her dreams of creating a beautiful town were ludicrous.
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