the pit-第7节

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not　come　in　carriages；　or　whose　carriages　had　not　arrived。　　Tempers　were　lost；　women；　cloaked　to　the　ears；　their　heads　protected　only　by　fichus　or　mantillas；　quarrelled　with　husbands　or　cousins　or　brothers　over　the　question　of　umbrellas。　　The　vestibules　were　crowded　to　suffocation；　and　the　aigrettes　nodded　and　swayed　again　in　alternate　gusts；　now　of　moist；　chill　atmosphere　from　without；　and　now　of　stale；　hot　air　that　exhaled　in　long　puffs　from　the　inside　doors　of　the　theatre　itself。　　Here　and　there　in　the　press；　footmen；　their　top　hats　in　rubber　cases；　their　hands　full　of　umbrellas；　searched　anxiously　for　their　masters。

Outside　upon　the　sidewalks　and　by　the　curbs；　an　apparently　inextricable　confusion　prevailed；　policemen　with　drawn　clubs　laboured　and　objurgated：　anxious；　preoccupied　young　men；　their　opera　hats　and　gloves　beaded　with　rain；　hurried　to　and　fro；　searching　for　their　carriages。　　At　the　edge　of　the　awning；　the　caller；　a　gigantic　fellow　in　gold…faced　uniform；　shouted　the　numbers　in　a　roaring；　sing…song　that　dominated　every　other　sound。　　Coachmen；　their　wet　rubber　coats　reflecting　the　lamplight；　called　back　and　forth；　furious　quarrels　broke　out　between　hansom　drivers　and　the　police　officers；　steaming　horses　with　jingling　bits；　their　backs　covered　with　dark　green　cloths；　plunged　and　pranced；　carriage　doors　banged；　and　the　roll　of　wheels　upon　the　pavement　was　as　the　reverberation　of　artillery　caissons。

〃Get　your　carriage；　sir？〃　cried　a　ragged；　half…grown　arab　at　Cressler's　elbow。

〃Hurry　up；　then；〃　said　Cressler。　　Then；　raising　his　voice；　for　the　clamour　was　increasing　with　every　second：　〃What's　your　number；　Laura？　　You　girls　first。　Ninety…three？　　Get　that；　boy？　　Ninety…three。　　Quick　now。〃

The　carriage　appeared。　　Hastily　they　said　good…by；　hastily　Laura　expressed　to　Mrs。　Cressler　her　appreciation　and　enjoyment。　　Corthell　saw　them　to　the　carriage；　and　getting　in　after　them　shut　the　door　behind　him。　　They　departed。

Laura　sank　back　in　the　cool　gloom　of　the　carriage's　interior　redolent　of　damp　leather　and　upholstery。

〃What　an　evening！　What　an　evening！〃　she　murmured。

On　the　way　home　both　she　and　Page　appealed　to　the　artist；　who　knew　the　opera　well；　to　hum　or　whistle　for　them　the　arias　that　had　pleased　them　most。　Each　time　they　were　enthusiastic。　　Yes；　yes；　that　was　the　air。　Wasn't　it　pretty；　wasn't　it　beautiful？

But　Aunt　Wess'　was　still　unsatisfied。

〃I　don't　see　yet；〃　she　complained；　〃why　the　young　man；　the　one　with　the　pointed　beard；　didn't　marry　that　lady　and　be　done　with　it。　　Just　as　soon　as　they'd　seem　to　have　it　all　settled；　he'd　begin　to　take　on　again；　and　strike　his　breast　and　go　away。　　I　declare；　I　think　it　was　all　kind　of　foolish。〃

〃Why；　the　dukedon't　you　see。　　The　one　who　sang　bass〃　Page　laboured　to　explain。

〃Oh；　I　didn't　like　him　at　all；〃　said　Aunt　Wess'。　〃He　stamped　around　so。〃　　But　the　audience　itself　had　interested　her；　and　the　decollete　gowns　had　been　particularly　impressing。

〃I　never　saw　such　dressing　in　all　my　life；〃　she　declared。　　〃And　that　woman　in　the　box　next　ours。　　Well！　did　you　notice　_that！_〃　She　raised　her　eye…brows　and　set　her　lips　together。　　〃Well；　I　don't　want　to　say　anything。〃

The　carriage　rolled　on　through　the　darkened　downtown　streets；　towards　the　North　Side；　where　the　Dearborns　lived。　　They　could　hear　the　horses　plashing　through　the　layer　of　slushmud；　half…melted　snow　and　rainthat　encumbered　the　pavement。　　In　the　gloom　the　girls'　wraps　glowed　pallid　and　diaphanous。　　The　rain　left　long；　slanting　parallels　on　the　carriage　windows。　　They　passed　on　down　Wabash　Avenue；　and　crossed　over　to　State　Street　and　Clarke　Street；　dark；　deserted。

Laura；　after　a　while；　lost　in　thought；　spoke　but　little。　　It　had　been　a　great　eveningbecause　of　other　things　than　mere　music。　　Corthell　had　again　asked　her　to　marry　him；　and　she；　carried　away　by　the　excitement　of　the　moment；　had　answered　him　encouragingly。　　On　the　heels　of　this　she　had　had　that　little　talk　with　the　capitalist　Jadwin；　and　somehow　since　then　she　had　been　steadied；　calmed。　　The　cold　air　and　the　rain　in　her　face　had　cooled　her　flaming　cheeks　and　hot　temples。　She　asked　herself　now　if　she　did　really；　honestly　love　the　artist。　　No；　she　did　not；　really　and　honestly　she　did　not；　and　now　as　the　carriage　rolled　on　through　the　deserted　streets　of　the　business　districts；　she　knew　very　well　that　she　did　not　want　to　marry　him。　　She　had　done　him　an　injustice；　but　in　the　matter　of　righting　herself　with　him；　correcting　his　false　impression；　she　was　willing　to　procrastinate。　　She　wanted　him　to　love　her；　to　pay　her　all　those　innumerable　little　attentions　which　he　managed　with　such　faultless　delicacy。　　To　say：　〃No；　Mr。　Corthell；　I　do　not　love　you；　I　will　never　be　your　wife；〃　wouldthis　timebe　final。　　He　would　go　away；　and　she　had　no　intention　of　allowing　him　to　do　that。

But　abruptly　her　reflections　were　interrupted。　　While　she　thought　it　all　over　she　had　been　looking　out　of　the　carriage　window　through　a　little　space　where　she　had　rubbed　the　steam　from　the　pane。　　Now；　all　at　once；　the　strange　appearance　of　the　neighbourhood　as　the　carriage　turned　north　from　out　Jackson　Street　into　La　Salle；　forced　itself　upon　her　attention。　　She　uttered　an　exclamation。

The　office　buildings　on　both　sides　of　the　street　were　lighted　from　basement　to　roof。　　Through　the　windows　she　could　get　glimpses　of　clerks　and　book…keepers　in　shirt…　sleeves　bending　over　desks。　　Every　office　was　open；　and　every　one　of　them　full　of　a　feverish　activity。　　The　sidewalks　were　almost　as　crowded　as　though　at　noontime。　Messenger　boys　ran　to　and　fro；　and　groups　of　men　stood　on　the　corners　in　earnest　conversation。　The　whole　neighbourhood　was　alive；　and　this；　though　it　was　close　upon　one　o'clock　in　the　morning！

〃Why；　what　is　it　all？〃　she　murmured。

Corthell　could　not　explain；　but　all　at　once　Page　cried：

〃Oh；　oh；　I　know。　　See　this　is　Jackson　and　La　Salle　streets。　　Landry　was　telling　me。　　The　'commission　district；'　he　called　it。　　And　these　are　the　brokers'　offices　working　overtimethat　Helmick　deal；　you　know。〃

Laura　looked；　suddenly　stupefied。　　Here　it　was；　then；　that　other　drama；　that　other　tragedy；　working　on　there　furiously；　fiercely　through　the　night；　while　she　and　all　those　others　had　sat　there　in　that　atmosphere　of　flowers　and　perfume；　listening　to　music。　　Suddenly　it　loomed　portentous　in　the　eye　of　her　mind；　terrible；　tremendous。　　Ah；　this　drama　of　the　〃Provision　Pits；〃　where　the　rush　of　millions　of　bushels　of　grain；　and　the　clatter　of　millions　of　dollars；　and　the　tramping　and　the　wild　shouting　of　thousands　of　men　filled　all　the　air　with　the　noise　of　battle！　Yes；　here　was　drama　in　deadly　earnestdrama　and　tragedy　and　death；　and　the　jar　of　mortal　fighting。　　And　the　echoes　of　it　invaded　the　very　sanctuary　of　art；　and　cut　athwart　the　music　of　Italy　and　the　cadence　of　polite　conversation；　and　the　shock　of　it　endured　when　all　the　world　should　have　slept；　and　galvanised　into　vivid　life　all　these　sombre　piles　of　office　buildings。　　It　was　dreadful；　this　labour　through　the　night。　　It　had　all　the　significance　of　field　hospitals　after　the　battlehospitals　and　the　tents　of　commanding　generals。　　The　wounds　of　the　day　were　being　bound　up；　the　dead　were　being　counted；　while；　shut　in　their　headquarters；　the　captains　and　the　commanders　drew　the　plans　for　the　grapple　of　armies　that　was　to　recommence　with　daylight。

〃Yes；　yes；　that's　just　what　it　is；〃　continued　Page。　〃See；　there's　the　Rookery；　and　there's　the　Constable　Building；　where　Mr。　Helmick　has　his　offices。　　Landry　showed　me　it　all　one　day。　　And；　look　back。〃　　She　raised　the　flap　that　covered　the　little　window　at　the　back　of　the　carriage。　　〃See；　down　there；　at　the　end　of　the　street。　　There's　the　Board　of　Trade　Building；　where　the　grain　speculating　is　done；where　the　wheat　pits　and　corn　pits　are。〃

Laura　turned　and　looked　back。　　On　either　side　of　the　vista　in　converging　lines　stretched　the　blazing　office　buildings。　　But　over　the　end　of　the　street　the　lead…　coloured　sky　was　rifted　a　little。　　A　long；　faint　bar　of　light　stretched　across　the　prospect；　and　silhouetted　against　this　rose　a　sombre　mass；　unbroken　by　any　lights；　rearing　a　black　and　formidable　facade　against　the　blur　of　light　behind　it。

And　this　was　her　last　impression　of　the　evening。　　The　lighted　office　buildings；　the　murk　of　rain；　the　haze　of　light　in　the　heavens；　and　raised　against　it　the　pile　of　the　Board　of　Trade　Building；　black；　grave；　monolithic；　crouching　on　its　foundations；　like　a　monstrous　sphinx　with　blind　eyes；　silent；　grave；crouching　there　without　a　sound；　without　sign　of　life　under　the　night　and　the　drifting　veil　of　rain。



II


Laura　Dearborn's　native　town　was　Barrington；　in　Worcester　County；　Massachusetts。　　Both　she　and　Page　had　been　born　there；　and　there　had　lived　until　the　death　of　their　father；　at　a　time　when　Page　was　ready　for　the　High　School。　　The　mother；　a　North　Carolina　girl；　had　died　long　before。

Laura's　education　had　been　unusual。　　After　leaving　the　High　School　her　father　had　for　four　years　allowed　her　a　private　tutor　（an　impecunious　graduate　from　the　Harvard　Theological　School）。　　She　was　ambitious；　a　devoted　student；　and　her　instructor's　task　was　rather　to　guide　than　to　enforce　her　application。　　She　soon　acquired　a　reading　knowledge　of　Fre