Of what was transpiring around him, David seemed to be entirely unconscious and at last the fickle crowd became impatient.
"What's de matter wid you?" said a sarcastic voice.
"Speak out! Don't snuffle," exclaimed another.
"Tip us your tale," cried a fourth.
"Go on. Go on. We're waiting," called many more.
These impatient cries at last aroused David from his waking dream, he drew his hand over his eyes, and began his story.
For a time the strange narrative produced a profound impression. Heads drooped as if in meditation upon the mystery and meaning of life; significant glances were exchanged; tears trembled in many eyes; these torpid natures received a shock which for a moment awakened them to a new life.
But it was only for a moment. They were incapable of the sustained effort of thought, of ambition, or of will. Impressions made upon their souls were like those made on the soft folds of a garment by the passing touch of a hand.
To their besotted perceptions this scene was like a play in a Bowery theater, and now that the dramatic denouement had come, they lost their interest and sauntered away singly or in little groups. In a few moments there were only three figures left in the light of the flaming torch, They were those of the lumberman, David, and Mantel, who now drew near, took his friend by the hand and pressed it with a gentle sympathy.
"Where did you come from?" asked David in surprise, as he for the first time recognized his companion.