“Why, how strange!” said Nora, “I remember him, too. Of course you ’ll send him the pictures.”
“Now I ’ll take your name and address.”
The man seemed to hesitate. “It’s only so that I can send the pictures,” explained Brenda. “I will try to send them as soon as they are printed.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” replied the man. “We live on Derby Street in Salem, down near the water. My wife and the baby is there all the time; but I go peddling.”
The man was good-looking, and strong-appearing, and in some way peddling seemed an incongruous occupation for him. Or, as Nora put it, after they had wheeled away from him, “Peddling seems lazy work for a strong, decent-looking man like that.”
“He certainly is strong,” responded Brenda. “If it had n’t been for him, I should probably have a broken ankle and a broken wheel at this very minute. I must tell papa all about him. Perhaps he can get something better for him to do.”
“Shall you tell him about the fortune-tellers, too?” asked Nora, mischievously.
“I cannot see that that is necessary,” said Brenda, crossly.
