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should take it. When I said, "Washington Square," he shook his head. "Ah, that's the Village," He said. "Now, miss, and geggin' yer pardon, no-o-obody, not even the poor souls who have to live there, can find their way around the Village. 'Tis worse than the trackless jungles of Africa I've no doubt you've seen in the movin' pitchers." I began laughing so hard that I was unable to tell him how to find our address. Tinney spoke up. "Perhaps we could ride over to New York with you and show you where we live."

"That you can, young ladies," he said. "Here, let me help you." With that, he jumped down from the dray and with a gesture of Old World courtesy helped us to climb up to the front seat. He drove off the wharf, haughtily ignoring the remarks that followed us. 

Soon we were crossing the Brooklyn Bridge. The skyline of the city rose ahead. It was a spectacular sight, the mass and grace of the buildings hurling themselves against