At ten-thirty they sprang from the car, near the dull, redding-brown ferry house, and looked around for the market with the true country atmosphere. Near the recreation pier were scattered a few wagons that suggested the hucksters who sometimes dared to invade the sacred precincts of her exclusive neighborhood, with heaps of over-ripe pineapples and under-ripe apples. Here and there were push carts, such as Mrs. Larry had seen that day when she had “slummed” through the great East Side in search of a wedding gift in old Russian brass. A few rickety stands completed the background, and these were heaped with sad-looking poultry, tubs of butter, and crates of eggs, bearing striking black and white signs that announced big cuts in prices. Hucksters, peddlers and sharp-featured tradesmen greeted them with strident price quotations. But Mrs. Larry’s glance sought in vain for the kindly farmer and his wife, the sort she could suddenly recall as handing her bits of home-made cake, pot cheese or a tiny nosegay of garden flowers in the days when she had gone to early market with her grandmother in a quiet Pennsylvania city. A neatly dressed man, with a semi-official air, who had evidently noticed their bewilderment, raised his hat and spoke courteously: “Is there anything special you want?” “No; nothing special--we thought we’d like to see one of the city markets.” “Well, you’re a little late to see the market at its best. I’ll explain, if you don’t mind. I’m on Borough President Marks’ committee and we are very anxious to interest New York housekeepers in these markets.” “But it’s not clean,” protested Mrs. Larry, driven to frankness by her disappointment. “It’s as clean as any open market can be kept. Everything is cleaned up and flushed every night, but you see people have been trading here since six-thirty this morning.” “As early as that?” exclaimed the astonished Claire. “Yes, the farmers are early birds. They are the first to arrive and the first to leave. They sell out in no time. One man brought in two loads weighing about five tons each, solid produce, and his wagons were empty in two hours. Among other things he sold six hundred bunches of celery at ten per cent. less than you can buy it at your fancy grocery store. He sold small heads of cabbage for four cents, large for eight, solid as rock and fine for cold slaw. You may pay the same in your store, but the heads are soft and wasteful. His cooking apples brought ten cents for a two-quart basket that grocers sell at fifteen or twenty, according to the customer. We’ve got rid of eight hundred pounds of fresh fish, brought direct from Monmouth, New Jersey, by a real fisherman. On Friday we’ll sell one thousand eight hundred pounds caught by the same man and his neighbors.” “Then these,” murmured Mrs. Larry, indicating the straggling wagons and push carts, “are not farmers?”