"
He said, hastily; "I always liked that name. I--I had an aunt
named that!"
"Oh--" started Nelly.
"She was fine to me when I was a kid, "Mr. Wrenn added, trying
to remember whether it was right to lie when in such need.
"Oh, it's a horrid name," declared Nelly. "Why don't you call
her something nice, like Hazel--or--oh--Dolores."
"Nope; Nelly's an elegant name--an _elegant_ name."
He walked with Nelly behind the others, along Forty-second
Street. To the outsider's eye he was a small respectable clerk,
slightly stooped, with a polite mustache and the dignity that
comes from knowing well a narrow world; wearing an overcoat too
light for winter; too busily edging out of the way of people and
guiding the nice girl beside him into clear spaces by
diffidently touching her elbow, too pettily busy to cast a
glance out of the crowd and spy the passing poet or king, or the
iron night sky. He was as undistinguishable a bit of the
evening street life as any of the file of street-cars slashing
through the wet snow.
Pages:
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343