"Better than I can tell you, Mrs Williams, in all sorts
of ways. But it's good to be back, too. Very good!" Lorne
threw up his head and drew in the pleasant evening air
of midsummer with infinite relish while his eye travelled
contentedly past the chestnuts on the lawn, down the
vista of the quiet tree-bordered street. It lay empty in
the solace of the evening, a blue hill crossed it in the
distance, and gave it an unfettered look, the wind stirred
in the maples. A pair of schoolgirls strolled up and down
bareheaded; now and then a buggy passed.
"There's room here," he said.
"Find it kind of crowded up over there?" asked Mr Williams.
"Worse than New York?"
"Oh, yes. Crowded in a patient sort of way--it's enough
to break your heart--that you don't see in New York! The
poor of New York--well, they've got the idea of not being
poor. In England they're resigned, they've got callous.
My goodness! the fellows out of work over there--you can
SEE they're used to it, see it in the way they slope
along and the look in their eyes, poor dumb dogs. They
don't understand it, but they've just got to take it!
Crowded? Rather!"
"We don't say 'rather' in this country, mister," observed
Stella.
"Well, you can say it now, kiddie."
They laughed at the little passage--the traveller's
importation of one or two Britishisms had been the subject
of skirmish before--but silence fell among them for a
moment afterward.
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