"My dear, it was perfectly simple. You know there is rather a sharp corner at the end of the street? We were near it. I cut it a little sharper, that's all. Up went one runner, out went Master Wilson into a nice soft drift. I was sorry to lower Pilot's opinion of my driving, but it was really the only thing to do. But that is the last time I shall be sorry for Wilson Wibird. Odious little atomy!" Which shows that even strong men from the north do not always see themselves as others see them. CHAPTER XI ON THE RIALTO Cyrus rises early as a rule, though the definition of the adverb varies. Six is my hour; I hold it a good one, winter and summer. But if I have ever mentioned this to City friends who get up at eight, with the purring contentment that early risers feel and that late risers scorn, I do so no more, since hearing the following fragment of dialogue between two Cyrus women: Mrs. A.: "What time did it happen?" Mrs. B.: "Oh! we was all up. 'Twas four or five o'clock; 'twas late!" Collective Cyrus, that part of it at least that went to Madam Flynt's party, allowed itself an extra half hour the following morning; all but two people. With the earliest morning red, Mrs. Sharpe and Cissy leaped from their beds, prepared and swallowed a hasty breakfast, flung on their "things," and rushed out into the street. They wasted no time in speech beyond a few exclamatory remarks while dressing. No words were needed between them: they knew what they knew. Behooved that the World should know. In the street they separated, one going north, one south. Since we cannot follow both, let us take the mother. The first person Mrs. Sharpe met was Jim Ruff, the one-armed milkman, whistling his way cheerily along. Jim was born with one arm, and never could for the life of him see what folks wanted of two. In his off hours he was a nurse, and in great demand among old gentlemen of rheumatic tendencies who liked to have "a rub and a lift" at bed-time. Mrs. Sharpe leapt into the roadway, beckoning: Jim checked his horse. "Good morning, Jim! Only a pint this morning, please; we've had breakfast. Leave it inside the storm door, will you? Have you heard the news?" "Not a word!" Jim leaned over the dasher sociably. "Nice party, was it? The cream was all right anyway, I bet!" "Very nice! very nice!" Mrs. Sharpe waved the cream away hastily. "But what is the outcome, I ask you? What comes of dancing and jigging and feasting? _Destruction!_ Kitty Ross has eloped with Wilson Wibird!" "_What!_" People did not, as a rule, pay much attention to Mrs. Sharpe, but the milkman was startled out of his usual calm. "What you say, Mis' Sharpe?" "They have _eloped_!" she repeated. "Kitty Ross and Wilson Wibird! I saw them with these eyes. Isn't it awful? What did I always say? But I won't keep you, Jim!"