Jacob A. Riis 1849–1914. The Battle with the Slum. 1902.
Page 448
| always, and have a good time.” With that she tore the paper from the cage. |
| The parrot, after all, made the speech of the occasion. He considered the garret; the potato-field on the fire-escape, through which the sunlight came in, making a cheerful streak on the floor; Mrs. Ben Wah and her turban; and his late carrier: then he climbed upon his stick, turned a somersault, and said, “Here we are,” or words to that effect. There-upon he held his head over to be scratched by Mrs. Ben Wah in token of a compact of friendship then and there made. |
| Joy, after all, does not kill. Mrs. Ben Wah wept long and silently, big, happy tears of gratitude. Then she wiped them away, and went about her household cares as of old. The prescription had worked. The next day the “notice” vanished from the wall of the room, where there were now two voices for one. |
| I came back from Europe to find my old friend with a lighter step and a lighter heart than in many a day. The parrot had learned to speak Canadian French to the extent of demanding his crackers and water in the lingo of the habitant. Whether he will yet stretch his linguistic acquirements to the learning of Iroquois I shall not say. It is at least possible. The two are inseparable. The last time I went to see them, no one answered my knock on |