On the grass-grown roof, a cock had taken his
stand, with an air of protective patronage to the feathered
inhabitants beneath.
Sukey stood at the narrow window gazing out on the dreary and melancholy
scene, while he heaved an occasional sigh.
"If this is what you call gitten an education I don't want it," he
drawled at last. "I would rather go back to Ohio and hunt for deer or
black bear, than enjoy such amusement as this is."
"Oh, it will get better," said Fernando.
"It has great room for growing better."
"But it might be worse."
"Yes, we might be at sea."
Their landlady, a portly woman with two marriageable daughters, did all
in her power to make their stay pleasant. She praised Baltimore for its
beauty and health, its picturesqueness and poetry. It was surely
destined to be the greatest city in the United States.
When they were alone, Sukey pointed to the mud heaps and duck pools and
gravely asked:
"Do they show the poetry and picturesk of which she speaks? Is that old
chaise a sign of health or prosperity?"
"Be patient, Sukey; we have seen little or none of Baltimore."
"Plague take me if I haven't seen more than I want to see of it now,"
growled Sukey.
At last the weather cleared a little, and the sun shone brilliantly on
the pools of water and muddy street. The young gentlemen strolled forth
to look about the town.
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