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Updated: June 18, 2025
I understand there's one Titian-haired young lady who, by the way, has at least one husband who hasn't yet been divorced who is a sort of ringleader, though she rarely goes personally to her brokers' offices. She's one of those uptown plungers, and the story is that she has a whole string of scalps of alleged Sunday-school superintendents at her belt.
Accordingly, an hour later, she put on her street dress and went uptown to the address given in the advertisement. No. 127 was a handsome brown-stone house, not unlike the one in which Florence had been accustomed to live. It was a refreshing contrast to the poor tenement in which she lived at present. "Is Mrs. Leighton at home?" inquired Florence. "Yes, miss," answered the servant, respectfully.
"Well, let's git out o' this mob, er I'll begin ter beller an' mill, an' if they don't git out o' my way I'll cause sech a stampede thet it'll take ther police all day ter round 'em up ag'in." Ted said nothing to Bud about the paper he had discovered in his pocket, but picked up his valise. They then made their way to the street and rode uptown in a car, where they registered at a quiet hotel.
"Besides," said Sandy, "it is not likely that they would keep any passengers on board here at the levee." "Ride up? Free 'bus to the Planters'!" cried one of the runners on the levee, and before the other two lads could collect their thoughts, the energetic Sandy had drawn them into the omnibus, and they were on their way to an uptown hotel.
The crowd having dispersed uptown, a search was made for Kit, but he could not be found. "I wonder if some of that gang hasn't got square with us by some foul play on Kit," said Ted. "It would be like the coyotes. Kit was the smallest of the lot, and naturally the cowards would pick him."
"But we're left in something of a fix. This freight for Josh Jones and his father is needed. Some other stuff consigned to Big Wreck Cove ought to be there by to-night. And I can't get a man for love or money here to help us out. I tried while I was uptown." Zeb showed no hesitation. He shrugged his blue-jerseyed shoulders.
"You needn't tell me about work," said Susan. "The streets are full of wrecks from work and the hospitals and the graveyard over on the Island. You can always go to that slavery. But I mean a respectable life, with everything better." "Has one of those swell women from uptown been after you?" "No. This isn't a pious pipe dream." "You sound like it.
"Yes, he cou'n't tell anybody where to take him, and a doctor found that letteh on him print' outside with yo' uptown address; and so he put him in a cab an' sen' him yondeh, and sen' word he muz 'ave been sick sinze sev'l hours, an' get him in bed quick don't lose a minute." "And so he's in bed at my house!" I put in approvingly. "Ah, no!
No one could for an instant doubt the honesty and impartiality of this devoted middle-aged woman, who, surrendering the comforts and luxuries of her home uptown, to which she was well entitled by reason of her age, was devoting herself to a life of service. If a woman like that, thought the jury, was ready to vouch for Mock's good character, why waste any more time on the case?
"Hello, Uncle Mosha!" he cried. "What are you doing around here?" "Couldn't I come uptown oncet in a while if I would want to?" Uncle Mosha replied, somewhat testily. "Sure, sure," Aaron Kronberg hastened to say. "Did you eat yet?" "I never eat in the middle of the day," Uncle Mosha said. "I am up here on business." "On business?" Aaron repeated. "What for business?"
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