The grey house presented a gable end to the street, and stretched a
wing comfortably on either side. In one of these was a glass door, with
"Office Hours 10-1," which caused you to glance again at the sign on the
iron gate: "Dr. Prudence Vandegrift."

The other ell, which was of one story, had a double window, before
which a rose bush grew, and when the blinds were up you had sometimes a
glimpse of an opposite window, indicating that it was but one room deep.
From its roof rose a small chimney that stood out from all the other
chimneys, because, while they were grey like the house and its slate
roof, it was red.

Strolling by in a leisure hour the Candy Man had remarked it and
wondered why, and found himself continuing to wonder. Somehow that
little red chimney took hold on his imagination. It was a magical
chimney, poetic, alluring, at once a cheering and a depressing little
chimney, for it stirred him to delicious dreams, which, when they faded,
left him forlorn.

It was to Virginia he owed enlightenment. Virginia was the long-legged
child who had fished Miss Bentley's bag from beneath the Candy Wagon,
the indomitable leader of the Apartment House Pigeons, as the Candy Man
had named them.

The Apartment House did not exclude children, neither did it encourage
them, and when their individual quarters became too contracted to
contain their exuberance, they perforce sought the street. Like pigeons
they would descend in a flock, here, there, everywhere; perching in a
blissful row before the soda fountain in the drug store; or if the state