The roar of the great city arose once more as the mighty tide of humanity again swept through its thoroughfares.
He went back to the gardeners' wagons, believing that he might earn another half-dollar. But when he saw other men waiting there hungrily, he turned away, thinking it only fair to give them a chance too.
He found a seat in the sun, and looked on while the flower-market was stripped by later purchasers. He wondered where the plants were all going, and then he remembered that the same flowers serve for the funeral and for the wedding. For the first time it struck him as strange that the plant which dresses a dinner-table to-day may gladden a sick-room to-morrow, and be bedded on a grave the day after.
At last he thought the hour had come when the post-office would be open again, and he set off for Fifth Avenue and Thirteenth Street.
When he reached the station he checked his walk. He did not dare go in, although the doors were open, and he could see other men and women asking questions at the little square windows. What if his questions should meet with the same answer as yesterday? What if he should have to spend another night in Union Square?
He nerved himself at last and entered. As he approached the window the clerk looked at him with a glance of recognition.
"McDowell Sutro, isn't it? Yes—there is a letter for you. Overweight, too—there's four cents extra postage to pay."
The young man's hand trembled as he put down the quarter left after paying for his regular breakfast. He seized the envelope swiftly, and almost forgot to pick up his change, till the clerk reminded him of it.
He tore the letter open. It was from Tom Pixley; it contained a post-office order for fifty dollars; and it began:
"MY DEAR MAC,—Go and see Sam Sargent, 78 Broadway, and he will get you a place on the surveyor's staff for the new line of the Barataria Central. I'm writing to him by this mail, and—"