and vegetables piled up in baskets and crates on the pavement. Grapes
give off a delectable savour in the golden air. Elderly ladies are out
in force to do the marketing, and their eyes are bright with the
bargaining passion. Round the windows of a ten-cent store, most
fascinating of all human spectacles, they congregate and compare notes.
A fruit dealer has an ingenious stunt to attract attention. On his cash
register lies a weird-looking rotund little fish--a butter fish, he
calls it--which has a face not unlike that of Fatty Arbuckle. Either
this fish inflates itself or he has blown it full of air in some
ingenious manner, for it presents a grotesque appearance, and many
ladies stop to inquire. Then he spoofs them gently. "Sure," he says,
"it's a jitney fish. It lives on the cash register. It can fly, it can
bite, it can talk, and it likes money."

At the corner of Wylie Street stands an old gray house with a mansard
roof and gable windows. Against it is a vivid store of fruit glowing in
the sun, red and purple and yellow. Here, or on Vineyard Street, one
turns off to enter the quaint triangular settlement of Francisville.

THE UNIVERSITY AND THE URCHIN

[Illustration]

Sunday afternoon is by old tradition dedicated to the taking of Urchins
out to taste the air, and indeed there is no more agreeable pastime. And
so, as the Urchin sat in his high chair and thoughtfully shovelled his
spoon through meat chopped remarkably small and potatoes mashed in that
curious fashion that produces a mass of soft, curly tendrils, his
curators discussed the question of where he should be taken.

It was the first Sunday in March--mild and soft and tinctured with
spring. "There's the botanic garden at the University," I suggested.
The Urchin settled it by rattling his spoon on the plate and sliding
several inches of potato into his lap. "Go see garden!" he cried. With
the generous tastes of twenty-seven months he cares very little where he
is taken; he can find fascination in anything; but something about the
word "garden" seemed to allure him. So a little later when he had been
duly habited in brown leggings, his minute brown overcoat, and white hat
with ribbons behind it, he and his curators set out. The Urchin was in
excellent spirits, for he had been promised a ride on a trolley car--a
glorious adventure. In one pocket he carried his private collection of
talismans, including a horse-chestnut and a picture of a mouse. A