“Isn’t he a young man to have lived so long?”
“What’s the matter with you? he didn’t live, he just slept.”
“They say he is an officer in the army yet.”
“Well, people will be gulled!”
Thus were the expressions bandied about, and fell upon the ears of Cobb in a harsh and unpleasant manner. He was not flattered by the remarks he heard. Already, it seemed, there was a desire to doubt his identity.
As they neared the center of the hall, someone in the crowd cried: “Junius Cobb! Junius Cobb! Three cheers for Junius Cobb!” And the building rang and echoed back the salutation. Surely this was flattering. His reception, after all, was not without sincerity on the part of many of that vast throng.
A step or two more, and Cobb and Rawolle entered an electric drag, while Lyman bade them good-night, or rather good-morning, and hurried away to report.
Away, and at a rapid gait, sped the drag, its wheels of rubber giving no sound on the elastic pavement of the street, its headlight flashing out a brilliant beam, while ever and anon the driver caused a muffled-toned gong, whose sound was low and musical, to indicate the approach of the carriage.
Looking from the window on his side, Cobb saw to what extent street illumination had progressed in a hundred years. At every fifty feet, on either side, were arc lamps; and this at two in the morning, when those of the shops were extinguished. No gas lights were visible. It was a September morning, but the air was mild and balmy, and it seemed like a morning in early spring. Many people were upon the street, and the electric drags, with their flashing lights and musical gongs, were passing in every direction.