Rose of Dutcher's Coolly Part 22

Terrors thickened. Smells a.s.saulted her sensitive nostrils, incomprehensible and horrible odors. Everywhere men delved in dirt and murk, and all unloveliness. Streets began to stretch away on either side, interminable, squalid, filled with scowling, squaw-like women and elfish children. The darkness grew, making the tangle and tumult a deadly struggle.

Was this the city of her dreams? This the magnificent, the home of education and art.

The engine's bell seemed to call back "_Good cheer! Good cheer!_" The buildings grew mightier but not less gloomy; the freight cars grew fewer, and the coaches more numerous. It was an illimitable jungle filled with unrecognizable forms, over which night was falling.

The man with a hoop of clinking checks came through. He was a handsome, clean and manly fellow, and his calm, kindly voice helped Rose to choke down her dread.

"Baggage checked!--Baggage--Baggage checked to any part of the city--Baggage!"

In him she saw the native denizen to whom all these horrors were commonplace sensations, and it helped her. It couldn't be so bad as it looked to her.

"Chicago, _She-caw-go_!" called the brakeman, and her heart for a moment stood still, and a smothering sensation came upon her. She was at the gate of the city, and life with all its terrors and triumphs seemed just before her.

At that moment the most beautiful thing in the world was the smooth pasture by the spring, where the sheep were feeding in the fading light, and if she could, she would have turned back, but she was afloat, and retreat was impossible. She pressed on with the rest, wondering what she could do if Mary did not meet her.

Mary had hardly been more than an acquaintance at school, but now she seemed a staff to lean upon. Rose looked to her as a guide to a refuge, a hiding-place from all these terrors.

Out under the prodigious arching roof she stepped, into the tumult of clanging bells, of screeching, hissing steam and of grinding wheels. The shouts of men echoed here and there in the vaulted roof, mysteriously as in a cavern. Up the long walk, streams of people moved, each one laden, like herself, with a valise. Electric lamps sputtered overhead. She hurried on, with sensitive ears tortured by the appalling tumult, her eyes wide and apprehensive.

Her friend was not to be seen, and she moved on mechanically with the rest, keeping step beside an old man who seemed to be familiar with the station, and who kept off (without knowing it), the attentions of two human vultures, in wait for such as Rose.

They moved up the steps into the waitingroom before Rose gave up hope of her friend. So far she had gone securely, but could she find the house which was to be her home, alone?

She sat down for an instant on the long seat by the wall, and listened to the obscure thunder of the street outside. It was terrifying, confusing. Shrill screams and hoa.r.s.e shouts rose above a hissing, sc.r.a.ping sound, the clang of gongs and the click of shoe-heels.

Every voice was pitched to an unnatural key, like that of men in a mill.

The noise seemed hot, some way, like smitten iron and bra.s.s. No sound was familiar to her, nothing cool and reposeful. Her head throbbed and her tongue was dry. She had eaten little since early morning and she felt weak.

She looked far more composed and self-reliant than she was, and when her friend came swinging up to her she cried out: "O, Mary!" and her friend realized a little of her relief and grat.i.tude.

"O, here you are! I got delayed--forgive me. I'm all out o' breath."

(Here she kissed her.) "How well you look! Your complexion is magnificent. Give me your valise. We'll send for your trunk. Save twenty-five cents by having it done up town. This way--I'm glad to see you. How is Wisconsin?"

Mary Compton was tall, red-haired and strong. Her eyes were keen and laughing, and the tip of her chip hat and the swing of her skirts let everybody know how able she was to take care of herself--thank you! She had been the smart girl of a small town near Madison, and had come to the city, as her brother Dan had gone to Idaho, for the adventure of it.

It was quite like hunting bears.

"Shall we take the grip?"

Rose didn't know what she meant, but she said:

"Just as you like."

"I like to take the grip; it gives a fellow a little fresh air, if there is any at all."

A train of cable-cars came nosing along like vicious boars, with snouts close to the ground. Mary helped Rose upon the open forward car, which had seats facing outward. A young man lifted his hat and made room for them.

"h.e.l.lo, John!" said Mary, "aren't you a little early tonight? Rose, my friend Mr. Hardy. Mr. Hardy, Miss Dutcher."

The young fellow raised his hat again and bowed. He was a pleasant-faced young man in round straw hat and short coat. Mary paid no further attention to him.

"I've got you a room right next to mine," she said to Rose, who was holding to the seat with one hand and clinging to her hat with the other. The car stopped and started with vicious suddenness.

"You'd better hang on; the gripman is mad tonight," Mary explained.

"We're most to our street, anyway."

To Rose it was all a wild ride. The noise, the leaping motion of the cars and the perilous pa.s.sage of drays made it as pleasant to her as a ride behind a running team on a corduroy road.

They came at last to quieter s.p.a.ces, and alighted finally at a cross street.

"I'm pretty far up," said Mary, "but I want it decently quiet where I live. I have noise enough at the office."

Rose thought it indecently noisy. Peddlers were crying out strange sing-song cries; children romped, screaming in high-pitched furious voices; laundry wagons and vegetable wagons clattered about. There was a curious pungent odor in the air.

On the steps of the houses groups of young people, like Mary and John, sat on strips of carpet, and laughed and commented on the pa.s.sers-by.

Mary turned upon one fool who called a smart word at her:

"Left your manners in Squashville, didn't you, little man?"

They came at last to an imposing block of houses, situated at the corner. They entered the door and climbed a gas-lit stairway, which went round and round a sort of square well. They came at last to a door which closed all pa.s.sage, and Mary got out her key and opened it.

"Here we are!" she said cheerily.

The main hall was carpeted and ran past several doors, which were open.

In one room a young man in his s.h.i.+rt sleeves was shaving before a gla.s.s.

In another a girl was reading.

"h.e.l.lo!" called Mary.

"h.e.l.lo!" said the girl, without looking up.

"Here's my room, and this's yours." Mary pushed open a door at the end of the hall. It was a small room, papered in light buff and blue. It had an oak dresser and mirror, a couple of chairs and a mantel bed. It looked cheerful and clean, but very small. Mary put down her valise.

"I guess you'll find everything all right, water and towels. Wash up right off--dinner'll be ready soon."

Rose removed her hat and sat down, her head throbbing with the heat and noise. She heard the man at the gla.s.s whistling, and Mary was thumping about in her vigorous way.

The dash of cold water cleared her brain, but did not remove her headache. Her face was still flushed and her eyes expanded.

Mary coming back, looked at her a moment and then rushed upon her and hugged her.

"O what a beauty you are! I wish I had half what you've got."

Rose smiled faintly; she didn't care just that moment whether she looked well or ill.

"The boys will all be dead in love with you before dinner is over. Let me tell you about them." She softened her reed-like voice down and glanced at the transom furtively: "Never forget the transom when you're talking secrets," she explained.

"First, there's Mr. Taylor; he's from Colorado somewhere. He's a lawyer.

He's a fine fellow too--you'll like him. Then there's Mr. Simons; he's a Jew, but he's not _too much_ of a Jew. There's Alice Fletcher; she's queer and grumpy, but she reads a lot and she can talk when she wants to, and there's you and myself."