After leaving her uncle's office the fancy seized Gloria to walk home
instead of taking a car. She would find Treeless Street and explore
it--perhaps meet the neat little figure of the District Nurse somewhere
in its dismal depths. She wanted to know more of this new manner of
helping people an hour a day. It was characteristic of Gloria to indulge
her fancies and to find out what she wished to know. She walked slowly
away, searching every cross street for the special one she wanted.
They were all dismal streets for a little way, but none of them
were absolutely devoid of trees. Scanty grass-spots relieved their
dreariness, and the swarms of children were comfortably enough dressed.
It was some little time before Gloria reached Treeless Street, but when
she did, she knew it at once. Without hesitation she turned into it.
Topply tenement after tenement--was there no end to them? Was there no
end to the children with little old faces? Babies trundled other babies
in rickety carts; the clamor of sharp little voices filled the street.
Gloria, in a new world, threaded her way among the children and thought
her new thoughts. They were confused, unwelcome thoughts, but she
entertained them valiantly.
“Think of coming here every day, perhaps, and living right along!”
A small boy in grotesque man-trousers, reefed and rolled, intruded
himself and his baby-charge in her way. Gloria gazed down into the
boy's face with a sort of fascination. He was so small, yet had such a
protecting way with the baby.
“What is your name, little man?” she asked. “Dinney. What's the name o'
youse?”
Gloria ignored the question.
“Is this your little brother?” gently.
“Well, I guess!” said the boy.
“Can he walk?” more gently still.
“Yep, o' course--I mean when his legs gets stronger he'll walk, won't
youse, Hunkie? De doctor-woman says as wot he needs is plenty o' milk.
Wid its coat on--Hunkie ain't never had none wid its coat on till de
doctor-woman come.”
“Its coat on?” murmured Gloria. Then by an inspiration she knew that
the boy meant cream--milk with the cream on. A sob rose unannounced in
Gloria's throat as she looked again at the mite in the cart who would
walk when his legs were stronger.
“Who is the doctor-woman?” she asked; but as she asked the question she
knew the answer and said, “Is she the District Nurse?”
“Yes, she is. She's good to my mother, and Hunkie's the baby. Rosy does
nice things, too. She showed Rosy how to be nice. Me mother's got de
consumption.” The boy spoke as though discreetly proud of the fact.
“And who is Rosy?” Gloria asked.
“Sure--de girl wot lives 'cross de hall. She's got eyes like your eyes,
she has.”
Across the hall on Treeless Street. A girl with eyes like hers! It was
like finding herself there. Gloria shivered. She had a sudden inward
vision of herself living in Treeless Street.
A little crowd of interested children had gathered. One, bolder than
the rest, had drawn unpleasantly close, and was smoothing Gloria's soft
white dress with timid little fingers. Gloria wondered why she did not
draw away, but stood still instead.
“Are youse a doctor-woman? W'ere's yer bag? Yer ain't t'rew yer bag
away?”
[Illustration: “And who is Rosy?”]
“Huh! She ain't no doctor-woman.” This from Dinney, who had the
advantage of early acquaintance. “She's on'y a cuttin' roun' de street.
Youse better not be smudgin' up her dress, Carrots--gwan off, now! All
o' youse gwan an' let de lady 'lone. Me 'n' Hunkie's de on'y ones as she
wants roun'.”
Dinney and Hunkie escorted Gloria to the end of the street and back.
Gloria returned on the opposite side with the idea of more thoroughly
exploring. But she might as well have kept to the one side; both sides
were alike in tenements and children--dreariness and poverty. There was
no choice. It was with a long breath of relief that Gloria emerged again
upon the main street. She filled her lungs with the cleaner air, and
gazed with a new admiration at the well-to-do buildings.
The grotesque little figure of Dinney tramping back into Treeless Street
with his rattling cart lurching behind him, was all that remained of
what seemed to Gloria now must have been a dream. She glanced up at
the street's name, at its juncture with the main street, and started
suddenly, in very astonishment. The name she read pointed playful,
jeering letters at her. She had always known there was a street in
Tilford by that name--but not this, _this_ street! Pleasant Street!
Gloria walked the rest of the way as in a dream.
* * * * *
“Uncle Em, aren't tenements unsafe to live in,” Gloria asked at supper,
“when they lean every which way? Oughtn't there to be a law to tear them
down?” Gloria was too intent on her own musings to intercept the swift
glance her guardian gave her.
“Supposing one tumbled down, with little children in it and outside it!
What did they name that awful street Pleasant Street for?”
Aunt Em's comely face wore a queer expression. She began to speak, then
stopped.
“Don't you want to hear what kind of a runabout I ordered on the way
home, Rosy-Posie?” What freak of fate made Uncle Em call her Rosy-Posie?
Gloria winced as if with pain at thought of the girl Rosie--with eyes
like hers--on Treeless Street.
“There's a girl named Rosie with eyes like mine, on Pleasant Street!”
she cried. “A boy told me so. I hate that street!” She got up suddenly
and went away.
The two left behind exchanged glances. Aunt Em's eyes were troubled.
“Walter, whatever started the child up to go round exploring streets?”
she said.
“Goodness knows! But don't get worked up over nothing.”
“Poor child--you know I've always felt just the way she does, Walter.”
Aunt Em's gentle sigh came once more.
The next morning Aunt Em appeared in Gloria's room before that leisurely
young person had decided to get up. She was lying in one of the pleasant
intervals between dozes, drowsily conscious that the sunshine was
streaming across her feet in a warm flood, and that somewhere children
were playing.
'“Lazy girl!” cried Aunt Em in the door. The lazy girl turned without
surprise. She was used to early visits. “Perhaps you might like to know
the time of day--”
“Oh, say it's 'most bedtime, auntie, then I won't have to get up at
all!”
“Nine o'clock!”
Gloria laughed. “Call that late! Why, it might be ten, eleven, twelve!
Besides, I had to make up for my nightmares--auntie, I spent nearly all
night walking up Treeless Street. I couldn't get out; I thought I'd got
to stay there always. The little ragamuffins wouldn't any of them tell
me the way out, not even Dinney. I wouldn't have believed it of Dinney!”
Aunt Em's face smiled down at the girl among the tumbled pillows. “Poor
dear! You have so many troubles!” Aunt Em sympathized in gentle irony.
Gloria sat up straight. “You're making fun! Well, I don't suppose I
can complain. It isn't to be wondered at that you can't believe I'd be
troubled at other folks' troubles. Honest, auntie, I never was till
yesterday on that street!”
“Aren't you ever going to talk about anything else, Rosy-Posie?”
“Don't say 'Rosy,' or you'll set me off again! I won't mention it again
to-day if you'll promise to go down there with me some day, Aunt Em. If
you won't, I shall go with the District Nurse. I'm going into one of
those houses and see if it feels as bad as it looks.”
“You can't go very soon, my dear, for we are going out West with Uncle
Walter to-night.”
“Auntie!--honest?” Gloria was on her feet in a sudden access of energy.
Drowsiness and laziness were past things. The trips that she and Aunt Em
took occasionally with her guardian were her delight; it was always an
occasion of gratitude when a “case” called him away during the long
summer vacation.
“We decided last night, dear. You know how Uncle Walter loves to take us
along.”
“Will it be a nice long case? Say yes!”
“Yes,” smiled the elder woman, “three or four weeks, probably, and maybe
longer. You never can tell how long lawyers will be, threshing out
justice.”
“Where? Where? Oh, I call this fine!” Gloria was pulling out the
contents of a bureau drawer. “Where are we going, auntie?”
“To Cheyenne. Gloria, what in the world are you up to?”
“Packing. Cheyenne! I'll dress in a jiffy, auntie, and when I've got my
trunk packed I'll pack you.”