In New York the sky is bluer, and the grass is
greener, and the girls are prettier, and the steaks are thicker,
and the buildings are higher, and the streets are wider, and the
air is finer, than the sky, or the grass, or the girls, or the
steaks, or the air of any place else in the world. Ain't they?"
"Oh, now," protested Sam, "quit kiddin' me! You'd be lonesome for
the little old town, too, if you'd been born and dragged up in
it, and hadn't seen it for four months."
"New to the road, aren't you?" asked Pearlie.
Sam blushed a little. "How did you know?"
"Well, you generally can tell. They don't know what to do with
themselves evenings, and they look rebellious when they go into
the dining-room. The old-timers just look resigned."
"You've picked up a thing or two around here, haven't you? I
wonder if the time will ever come when I'll look resigned to a
hotel dinner, after four months of 'em. Why, girl, I've got so I
just eat the things that are covered up--like baked potatoes in
the shell, and soft boiled eggs, and baked apples, and oranges
that I can peel, and nuts."
"Why, you poor kid," breathed Pearlie, her pale eyes fixed on him
in motherly pity.
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