She is really the best type of the two.
American, you say, both of them, and a fine pair they are, and he tells me he pulled a surf-boat in your coast-guard when he was a lad of twenty, then took up fishing, and then went into Fulton Market, helping at a stall, and now he is up here with two delivery wagons and four assistants and is a member of a fish union, whatever that is.
It's astonishing! And yet I have met him many a time pushing his baby-carriage around the block." "Yes," Kitty answered, putting on a shovel of coal, "and I'll lay ye a wager, Mr.O'Day, that Polly Codman will be drivin' through Central Park in her carriage before five years is out; and she deserves it, for there ain't a finer woman from here to the Battery." "I am quite sure of it, Mistress Kitty.

That is where the American comes in--or, perhaps it is the New Yorker.

I have not been here long enough to find out." Of all these neighbors, however, it was Timothy Kelsey, the hunchback, largely because of his misfortunes and especially because of his vivid contrast to all the others, who appealed to him most.

Tim, as has been said, kept the second-hand book-shop, half-way down the block on the opposite side of the street.

He was but a year or two older than O'Day, but you would never have supposed it had Tim not told you--and not then unless you had looked close and followed the lines of care deep cut in his face and the wrinkles that crowded close to his deep, hollowed-out eyes.