CHAPTER XIII

AT THE VLY MARKET


It was a bright sunny morning, but very cold, and snow lay packed hard
and firm in the streets of New York, which, narrow as they were,
afforded little opportunity for the sun's rays to penetrate with
sufficient strength to warm the shivering pedestrians who were hurrying
down Maiden Lane in the direction of the Vly Market. At the farthest end
of the street were the shops, and one of these, "The Sign of the Cross
Swords," stood within a stone's throw of the market itself. It was a
small affair, with little grimy window-panes, where were displayed
knives, scissors, and razors, with locks and keys of many odd sorts. At
the door stood a half-grown boy, stamping his feet to keep warm, as he
droned out in sing-song fashion: "Walk in, gentlefolk, and have your
razors ground; we have all manner of kitchen furniture in cutlery
within, also catgut and fiddle strings at most reasonable rates."

But these attractions did not appear to bring many customers inside the
little shop, as the passersby seemed chiefly eager to gain the Vly
Market, where the stalls were crowded with purchasers who were getting
the good things there displayed to indulge in keeping New Year's day
with the proper spirit of festivity; and the shop-boy was about to slip
inside for the comfort of warming his fingers and toes, when a tall,
slender fellow in fisherman's dress accosted him.