Gloria and Treeless Street | Page 2

guess one, then?"
"A--jimmy!"
"Gracious!" laughed the Small Person. "Do I look as bad as that? No," growing suddenly quite grave, "you will have to guess again. I'll give you a cue--absorbent cotton."
"Absorb--" began Gloria in surprise, but stopped. The bag was open under her eyes. She caught a confused glimpse of bottles and rolls of something carefully done up in white tissue, of a dark blue pasteboard box with a red cross on the visible end, of curiously-shaped scissors.
"See any jimmy?" queried the one beside her.
"No, but I don't know what I do see."
"My dear--there's our car! Let me introduce you. The workbag, if you please, of the District Nurse, Mary Winship. I have not the pleasure--"
"Gloria Abercrombie," bowed Gloria politely, but her eyes danced. She liked this small, neat Mary Winship. They got into the car together.
"I live right across the street," Gloria added, when they were safely seated.
"So do I! I've seen you over there rocking a magnificent gray cat. Does it feel good?"
"The cat--Abou Ben Adhem? He's the warmest, softest thing!"
"No, sitting. I hardly ever do it, so I'm not a good judge. You always look so rested over there--it rests me to see you."
The pleasant laugh jostled with the lurching of the car; it had the effect of being tremulous with some emotion, but there was nothing tremulous about the placid face beside Gloria.
"You poor dear!" Gloria burst out impetuously. "How tired to pieces you must get! I've pitied you every one of these hot days."
"Don't!" smiled the other. "Pity my poor folks. Why, here's my street so soon!" She clambered down with her heavy bag and nodded back.
Gloria watched her trip away. The street she had stopped at was not a pleasant looking one; Gloria had time to see that it was lined with houses that leaned toward each other in an unattractive manner. And the children--the swift impression Gloria got was of a street lined, too, with little unattractive children.
"Not a tree on it," she mused as the car jolted her on to Uncle Em's. "Think of no trees! And whole mobs of children, and such a day as this!" It was terribly hot. "I wonder what a District Nurse is? Well, I like 'em!"
Arrived at the great building among whose offices was that of Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, Gloria's thoughts were turned into a new channel. She remembered that she had come down town on important business, and it was up two flights in this office building where she was to transact it. Uncle Em was Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law.
She took the elevator and was presently at the right door. She went in unceremoniously; it was one of her favorite visiting-places. Mr. McAndrew looked up and gravely bowed.
"Take a seat, madam, and I will be at liberty in a few moments," he began politely. But "Madam's" small, white hand, placed over his lips, interrupted. "You are at liberty now--this minute, Uncle Em!" said Gloria.
The man at the desk shrugged his shoulders, then, helping her to a comfortable seat on the arm-chair, said:
"All right. What is it, Rosy Posie?"
"Uncle Em, am I rich?"
"Er--what's that? Oh, well," judiciously, "you'll do."
"Very rich? How rich, Uncle Em?"
The big swing-chair revolved with rapidity, to the peril of the young lady on its arm. The face of Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, expressed surprise.
"What's the drive?" he asked.
"That's what I want to know. How am I to drive? Uncle Em, see here. I want a runabout--wait, please wait! A nice, shiny runabout, that I can 'run' myself. I'll take you some of the time. Now, when can I have it?"
"You talk as if I had one concealed about me somewhere, and could produce it at a moment's notice."
"All right, hand over my nice, shiny little auto!" laughed the young woman. "Honest, I'm in earnest, Uncle Em. I dreamed I had one last night, and I intended to ask you at breakfast, but I was sound asleep. Don't say anything for answer just now. Just think about it, then drop into the place where they keep 'em, on your way to supper, and order one! That's all--I'll let you off easy!"
Gloria got up and wandered about the little room. Its barrenness reminded her of Treeless Street, lined with little children, and her busy thoughts traveled back to that.
"What's a District Nurse, Uncle Em?" she asked suddenly; "with a rusty-black bag full of bottles and absorbent cotton? There's one across the street from us."
"Bag or nurse?"
"Both. She's a dear, but what does she do?"
"Why," explained Uncle Em, "she visits the poor and takes care of them if they are sick, you know. It's rather a new institution here in Tilford, but seems to be working finely. The city pays the nurse's salary, or else it's done by private subscriptions."
"But I don't see how one nurse gets