on the handles of perambulators to listen, while their charges pulled faces of fear at the supple Anita.
We three sat on the curb close to the organ, our small heads reeling with the melodies that thundered from it. When Tony moved on, we rose and followed him. At the next corner he rested his organ on its one leg and looked down at us.
"You betta go home," he admonished, "your mamma not like."
"We're going to run the streets today," I said, manfully, "Mrs. Handsomebody is away at a funeral."
"A funer-al," repeated Tony, "she know—about dis?"
"No—" I replied, "but Mary Ellen does."
"She a beeg lady—dis Marie Ellen?"
"Oh, yes. She's awfully big. Bigger than you, and strong—"
"Oh, all right," said Tony, "but don' you get los'." We helped him to carry the organ. It was a new one he said, and very expensive to hire. We asked him endless questions we had always been wanting to ask—about Italy, and his parents, and sisters, and we told him about father in South America, and about the party that night for Mr. Watlin.
From street to street we wandered till we were
[139]
