And, with great enjoyment, they begin careering
over the room.
The nimble Niura, always the first to announce all the news,
suddenly jumps down from the window sill, and calls out,
spluttering from the excitement and hurry:
"A swell carriage...has driven up...to Treppel ...with
electricity... Oi, goils...may I die on the spot...there's
electricity on the shafts."
All the girls, save the proud Jennie, thrust themselves out of the
windows. A driver with a fine carriage is indeed standing near the
Treppel entrance. His brand-new, dashing victoria glistens with
new lacquer; at the ends of the shafts two tiny electric lights
burn with a yellow light; the tall white horse, with a bare pink
spot on the septum of its nose, shakes its handsome head, shifts
its feet on the same spot, and pricks up its thin ears; the
bearded, stout driver himself sits on the coach-box like a carven
image, his arms stretched out straight along his knees.
"Oh, for a ride!" squeals Niura. "Oh, uncle! Oh you swell
coachman!" she cries out, hanging over the window sill. "Give a
poor little girlie a ride.
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