Ralph eyed the pendulous fruit dubiously. He had never seen anything
like it before.
"Looks some like skinned sweet taters," he said to himself. "Are they
good?" he queried aloud.
"Verra goot; go nice wiz shinger braad."
"All right. Give me three," and he parted with another five cents,
then bit into the fruit without more ado.
The girl tried in vain to smother her laughter.
"Zat nota ze way. You peel um--so." She accompanied her words by
stripping the skin from one. "Now; be ready fo' eat."
Ralph turned away with his relish for new delicacies embittered by
another reminder of his worldly deficiencies.
"I never know'd before how ignorant we mountain folks are. Even that
foreign girl as can hardly talk at all, laughed at my way of doing."
He dropped the bananas into the paper bag holding the gingerbread, and
frowned heavily. Then he set his lips firmly together. "I will not
let 'em down me this way. I'll learn their ways or die a trying."
After enunciating this resolve, he felt better. Presently he sat down
on a door step at the entrance to an alley and ate his lunch with a
better appetite.
"These--what was it she called 'em?--these bernanas ain't so bad after
all," he said to himself. "Taste a little like apples, seems like."
While he sat there some bells began ringing furiously and a steam fire
engine rushed by. The smoke, flame, roar and speed, stirred his blood,
while the singular, not to say splendid, appearance of the outfit, with
its bright brass work and powerful horses, was at once fascinating and
terrible.
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