division of the profits of the day; in the first we sleep in linen “as white as the wings of the dove,” in the second on pieces of smelly blankets; the first is redolent of attar of roses, Shakib’s favourite perfume, the second is especially made insufferable by that stench which is peculiar to every Hebrew hive. For these and other reasons, Khalid separates himself from his Semite fellow peddlers, and makes this time a bigger move than the first.
Ay, even to the Bronx, where often in former days, shouldering the peddling-box, he tramped, will he now push his orange-cart and his hopes. There, between City and Country, nearer to Nature, and not far from the traffic of life, he fares better both in health and purse. It is much to his liking, this upper end of the City. Here the atmosphere is more peaceful and soothing, and the police are more agreeable. No, they do not nickname and bully him in the Bronx. And never was he ordered to move on, even though he set up his stand for months at the same corner. “Ah, how much kinder and more humane people become,” he says, “even when they are not altogether out of the City, but only on the outskirts of the country expanse.”