you, Michael McCann. You are too honest and you care. It’ll either kill you or kill the honesty and I don’t know which would be worse.”
He raised his eyebrows. “And in less than one day you know so much about me? No. I don’t think so, Miss Timmy. I like getting money, you know.”
She snickered. “That’s why you’re spending it on a fancy place to live and new clothes.”
The clock outside struck one o’clock.
“Oh blast!” he said. “Would you mind stepping outside? I must get ready. I’m going to be late to see Daisy.”
“Will she raise a fuss?” asked Timona hopefully.
“No, not Daisy. She’s a good-natured girl.”
Hell’s bells.
Chapter 5
Mick left, looking uncomfortable in a stiff collar, a bowler hat and a lounging jacket with a matching waistcoat that was too tight across the chest, though perhaps that was in style. His trousers, hemmed too short, showed off his obviously new, buttoned boots with cloth tops. He’d made an attempt to tame and straighten his unruly copper hair. Definitely a mistake, thought Timona, who much preferred the curls.
She’d been visiting the Tuckers, and came down to say good bye. She watched him go, thinking how much better he looked in his more simple clothing. Timona did not think much of uncomfortable clothing and usually disdained fashion when it came to bulky pinching corsets, thick padding, or huge bustles. At least Mick didn’t appear to have a fondness for extremely loud checked trousers, a strange favorite of many young men she’d seen in New York.
“No,” said Mick sternly when Botty tried to follow him down the steps. The dog turned and slunk back up the stairs.
Timona tried to comfort Botty, but he ignored her and slipped back under the bureau.
After Mick left, Timona knew she had to stay busy, or her mind would dwell on the most unpleasant moments of the day before.
After bidding good-bye to the growling Botty, she walked down the four flights of stairs to knock on the widow’s door.
The frowning woman did not look interested in any more visitors, Timona was glad to see. Chances were Timona would be sleeping in Mick’s flat again. She grinned, delighted at the idea. The widow glared back at her smile, so instead of harassing the woman with a plea for help, Timona asked to see Henry Tucker.
She had only intended to get directions to the business district from Henry, but he offered to come along with her.
She hesitated, then agreed. “Yes please, Henry. You can be my guide.”
As they made their way down the street, he asked, “What does a guide do, miss?”
She thought for a moment. “When my papa and I go to other countries we hire native guides. They translate for us and help us get along with the people of the country. Sometimes they warn us about the dangerous animals in the area. Tell me, Guide Henry, what sort of wild creatures should I avoid in this country?”
Henry giggled, and she laughed along with him. She said, “Perhaps you can bring along a machete, and we can slice our way through the vines that overrun the deep jungle, where the sun never shines.”
They drew a few amused looks as they glided down the sidewalk, glancing all around and on the alert for lions and panthers and cobras. Henry warned they had a long trek, because Timona had no money for transportation.
“If we are successful in our journeys,” said Timona, “we shall be able to make a triumphant return home in high style.”
“Streetcar?” breathed Henry. He thin freckled face glowed. “We don’t have the money, but Ma won’t let me hold on to the sides. That’s to keep away from the conductors so’s you don’t have to pay. I love those streetcars, miss.”
“A streetcar at the very least,” she promised. “I have hopes for a hansom cab.”
“Oh.” Henry was speechless for two long blocks. His hands jammed into his britches’ pockets, he whistled softly to himself and critically examined every horse that passed
He raised his eyebrows. “And in less than one day you know so much about me? No. I don’t think so, Miss Timmy. I like getting money, you know.”
She snickered. “That’s why you’re spending it on a fancy place to live and new clothes.”
The clock outside struck one o’clock.
“Oh blast!” he said. “Would you mind stepping outside? I must get ready. I’m going to be late to see Daisy.”
“Will she raise a fuss?” asked Timona hopefully.
“No, not Daisy. She’s a good-natured girl.”
Hell’s bells.
Chapter 5
Mick left, looking uncomfortable in a stiff collar, a bowler hat and a lounging jacket with a matching waistcoat that was too tight across the chest, though perhaps that was in style. His trousers, hemmed too short, showed off his obviously new, buttoned boots with cloth tops. He’d made an attempt to tame and straighten his unruly copper hair. Definitely a mistake, thought Timona, who much preferred the curls.
She’d been visiting the Tuckers, and came down to say good bye. She watched him go, thinking how much better he looked in his more simple clothing. Timona did not think much of uncomfortable clothing and usually disdained fashion when it came to bulky pinching corsets, thick padding, or huge bustles. At least Mick didn’t appear to have a fondness for extremely loud checked trousers, a strange favorite of many young men she’d seen in New York.
“No,” said Mick sternly when Botty tried to follow him down the steps. The dog turned and slunk back up the stairs.
Timona tried to comfort Botty, but he ignored her and slipped back under the bureau.
After Mick left, Timona knew she had to stay busy, or her mind would dwell on the most unpleasant moments of the day before.
After bidding good-bye to the growling Botty, she walked down the four flights of stairs to knock on the widow’s door.
The frowning woman did not look interested in any more visitors, Timona was glad to see. Chances were Timona would be sleeping in Mick’s flat again. She grinned, delighted at the idea. The widow glared back at her smile, so instead of harassing the woman with a plea for help, Timona asked to see Henry Tucker.
She had only intended to get directions to the business district from Henry, but he offered to come along with her.
She hesitated, then agreed. “Yes please, Henry. You can be my guide.”
As they made their way down the street, he asked, “What does a guide do, miss?”
She thought for a moment. “When my papa and I go to other countries we hire native guides. They translate for us and help us get along with the people of the country. Sometimes they warn us about the dangerous animals in the area. Tell me, Guide Henry, what sort of wild creatures should I avoid in this country?”
Henry giggled, and she laughed along with him. She said, “Perhaps you can bring along a machete, and we can slice our way through the vines that overrun the deep jungle, where the sun never shines.”
They drew a few amused looks as they glided down the sidewalk, glancing all around and on the alert for lions and panthers and cobras. Henry warned they had a long trek, because Timona had no money for transportation.
“If we are successful in our journeys,” said Timona, “we shall be able to make a triumphant return home in high style.”
“Streetcar?” breathed Henry. He thin freckled face glowed. “We don’t have the money, but Ma won’t let me hold on to the sides. That’s to keep away from the conductors so’s you don’t have to pay. I love those streetcars, miss.”
“A streetcar at the very least,” she promised. “I have hopes for a hansom cab.”
“Oh.” Henry was speechless for two long blocks. His hands jammed into his britches’ pockets, he whistled softly to himself and critically examined every horse that passed
Similar Books
