"It's Mr. Levinsky, a friend of papa's."
Lucy gave me a long stare and lost all interest in me. "Don't you
like me at all? Not even a little bit?" I pleaded
She soon unbent and took to plying me with questions. Where did I
live? Was I a "customer peddler "like her papa? How long had I
been in America? (A question which a child of the East Side hears
as often as it does queries about the weather.) "Can you spell?"
"No," I answered. "Not at all?"
"Not at all!"
"Shame! But my papa can't spell, neither."
"Shut up, you bad girl you!" her mother broke in with a laugh.
"Vere you lea'n such nasty things? By your mamma? The
gentleman will think by your mamma."
She delivered her a little lecture in English, taking pains to
produce the "th" and the American "r," though her were "v's."
She urged me not to let the tea get cold. As I took hold of the tall,
thin, cylindrical glass I noted that it was scrupulously clean and
that its contents had a good clear color. I threw a glance around
the room and I saw that it was well kept and tidy
Mrs.
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