Worth his While

Oh, how hot it was! Down in the narrow streets, where straight rows of little brick houses were crowded together there was not the faintest breeze, and even on the wharf where Benny Jordan sat swinging his bare feet over the water, it was scarcely cooler. Usually there were little waves splashing up against the green logs of the pier, but to-day only the faintest little ripples swished lazily against the piles and the boats lying farther out did not flap a sail.

“It’s no good staying here,” said Benny to himself, as he got up and stretched his arms over his head. “It’s just about as hot as it is at home. I wonder what there is for supper. My, but I’d like some ice cream! I haven’t had any for so long, and I reckon I never will have any again.” And at this very sobering thought Benny began to patter along over the sidewalk, almost forgetting that this was the hottest day of the season, entirely too hot for May, and that the big excursion steamer, which he had been waiting to see, would soon be in sight.

“’Tain’t any use to wait,” he said to himself, as if apologizing. “I’d only see the crowd, and what’s a crowd, anyhow?”

So he marched on up the street, passing the fruit stands and ill-smelling warehouses, until he turned into one of the small streets leading out of the thoroughfare, and presently he arrived at a small two-story brick house, one of a long row. So much alike were these buildings that it is a wonder Benny knew how to tell his own home without counting the doorways.