WHAT WILL BECOME OF ANNIE?
Spring had come back to Leadam Street. The
moist cobblestones had steamed in the new sun
all the afternoon; sparrows were sweeping up to the
eaves, trailing strings and long straws after them;
from the back porches of the flats were loud, awaking,
tinny sounds, breaking the long silence. The
clank of the cable-cars was borne over the roofs,
clearly now in the damp, heavy atmosphere; from
somewhere came the jingle of a street piano. Floating
down the mild afternoon, came the deep, mellow
note of some big propeller, loosing her winter moorings
at last and rousing to greet the tug that would
tow her out of the narrow river. Kelley, the police-*man,
strolled along the sidewalk, with his hands
locked behind him, his nose in the air, sniffing
eagerly and pleasurably. He had left off his skirted
