The Washington times., 1903-06-28
By 4. S. RICHARDSON.

IT HE two houses stood so close to-
gether that their occupants
could shake hands through the
! windows. Not that such thing ever
happened. however Jerry Farrell had
his hands full with the switchboard In
the little house, and the red-faced
loud-voiced foreman saw to 1t that
there were no idle hands in the big
/ house
The little house was painted green
/ ish-gray and red, the colors of the ele-
waited railway company. Its one room
| held the switchboard. a round stove or
] four ridiculous. sprawling little legs, a
chair, some coarse prints on the walls.
few books. and Jerry.
! The big house which. In the city's
youth, had belonged 70 a prosperous
merchant. had on It's third floor an ar
| tifcial flower factory. Here were long,
narrow tables piled high with gay-hued
/ bits of silk. muslin, and velvet. the
/ foreman with the sharp. beady eyes, g
/ lot of italian women, old and young
/ who did not count. and-Nichette.
/ When the elevated had wormed its
iron way through the heart of the city
the Pearl Street bend had given no end
| Of trouble to the engineers. When at
/ last the work was finished. the struc-
I tural iron on the outside curve at this
/ point fairly scraped the brick walls of
/ the big house. Right on this curve il
was necessary to build a switch house.
/ because the first station below, being
In the heart of the financial district.
was used as a terminal during rush
hours. while the stretch OF track above
! the bend. being only two blocks long
before it curved north again, was a
nasty place for trains running two min
uets or less apart.
Because II was a nasty place, the
company placed Jerry Farrell in charge
Of the little house. Jerry had nerves
like steel and coo1~ head, despite his
merry smile
II was the same merry smile which
had warmed Nichette's heart one blus-
terry winters day as she stood at the
window during the noon hour 1t did
not take long for Nichette to eat her
frugal lunch, and after that the noon
hour hung heavily on her hands Being
the only French girl among dozens of
low-browed. elannish Italian women
was not an enviable position to Nj
Ghetto, who was only a few months
over from her beloved France. Doubt
less the Italians would have been friend
ly with her but II was she who drew
into a she'll She did not like their gut
teral ordinations, their none too neat
figures. and the garlic which scented
their lunches each and every day She
id not Ike the dark rooms on the mar
row East Side street. where her grand
mother and her brother lived. There
was nothing but noise and fat women
and children as thick as ants on the
sidewalk below their window Perhaps
away up town, where grandmother was
always too tired to take her. were wide
streets and trees and flowers and beau
tiful women such as one saw in Paris.
but she did not know the way. In Paris
she could go alone to any of the bouie-,
Yards and feast her eyes on the gay
sights.
All this had come into Nichette's
heart as she stood at the window watch
ing the snow doing its best to hide the
shining rails, only to be swept aside by
the little brush attached TO the next
engine that came flying down the track.
Yes. It was just SO with her life. Every