As he left the safety of the big entrance yard, he’d already decided what to do. There was no point in trying to cross the park, which was like an arctic landscape, with the blizzard blowing as hard as ever. He didn’t even try to go down beside it. Instead, he walked west half a block and turned down Ninth Avenue. A few blocks south, and he’d be able to pick up the great diagonal of Broadway.

It wasn’t easy even to walk. The icy gusts almost blew him off his feet, the wind was so strong that the snow couldn’t settle in any normal pattern. In some places, it had driven the snow into drifts that were already above his head. In other places, where the wind had almost brushed it clean, he could see the ground.

The avenue was almost empty. People had tried to get to work—this was New York, after all—but most had been forced to give up. The El above him was silent, its tracks so solid with ice that, even had an engine tried to set out, its wheels would not have had enough grip to move.

After struggling down two blocks, however, Skip saw a welcome sight. A single carriage drawn by two patient horses had just turned into the avenue and was plowing its way slowly along. Skip didn’t hesitate for a moment. As the carriage passed, he nipped up beside the coachman. That individual was about to knock him off his cheeky perch and let him fall down into the roadway when a gruff voice from inside the carriage called out: “Let him be.”

“You’re lucky,” said the driver.

“Where’ve you come from?” asked Skip.

“Yonkers, Westchester County,” answered the coachman.

“That’s a long way,” said Skip.

“Been going since six this morning. I thought the horses would’ve died, but they kept at it. Big hearts.”

“Why not stay at home?”

“My gentleman in there has business in the city today. Says a blizzard ain’t goin’ to keep him from that.”

“It ain’t keeping me from mine either,” said Skip happily. That was the spirit of New York, the boy thought. He wouldn’t care to live anywhere else.

“No trains from Westchester?” he inquired.

“We crossed a bridge and saw one stuck fast in the snow. I reckon they all are, most likely.”

At Sixty-fifth Street, they picked up Broadway. When they reached the south-west corner of Central Park, the carriage started south down Eighth, and Skip jumped off. He wanted to follow the line of Broadway.