CHAPTER XV
WHICH INTRODUCES JOE AND THE OLD UN
The clocks were striking nine as, according to his custom of late,
Geoffrey Ravenslee trundled his barrow blithely along Thirty-eighth
Street, halting now and then at the shrill, imperious summons of some
small customer, or by reason of the congestion of early traffic, or to
swear whole-heartedly and be sworn at by some indignant Jehu. At length
he came to Eleventh Avenue and to a certain quarter where the whistle of
a peanut barrow was seldom heard, and peanuts were a luxury.
And here, in a dismal, small street hard by the river, behold Ravenslee
halt his gaily painted pushcart, whereat a shrill clamour arises that
swells upon the air, a joyous babel; and forth from small and dismal
homes, from narrow courts and the purlieus adjacent, his customers
appear. They race, they gambol, they run and toddle, for these customers
are very small and tender and grimy, but each small face is alight with
joyous welcome, and they hail him with rapturous acclaim. Even the few
tired-looking mothers, peeping from windows or glancing from doorways,
smile and nod and forget awhile their weariness in the children's
delight, as Ravenslee, the battered hat cocked at knowing angle,
proceeds to "business.
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