He drew back as the buzzing engine passed him, with something like awe. Then the moving village came to a stop and the passengers sallied forth to test their legs, wearied with long sitting.
There was humanity of all shades, from the haughty aristocrat of the Pullman, to the peasant of the immigrant car.
Jim had a sense of pleasure in beholding well-dressed folk again; yet it was merely an æsthetic pleasure, for he found, when he began to speculate on the possibilities of the throng before him, that he was more interested in those whose all was staked on the trip, than in those to whom it was only an excursion.
People of widely differing nationalities occupied the immigrant car. Jim wondered whether they would ever become Americans, according to his ideas of Americans, a people in which he had great pride and delight; and he shook his head doubtfully as he took them in.
Suddenly a small boy darted out of a car; an exceedingly small boy, thin to emaciation, who made his way through the crowd with that sprawling, active, dancing manner peculiar to thin small boys and spiders.
Jim half laughed at the little chap until he saw his face; then he realized at a glance that the matter was no laughing one for the boy.
At the same time he saw the shocking thinness of the little face, made into a wolf’s face by hunger; the mingled horror and desperation of the eyes; the big man would not have believed a child’s face could express emotions of such magnitude. He was wonder-stricken at the sight, and felt an instinctive sympathy for the fugitive.
It is a strange thing how fortune will sometimes guide with certainty, when reason shows no path.
The boy came unerringly toward Jim; Jim had a sort of prophetic insight that he would. Back behind him the urchin ran. “Don’t cher give me away, Mister!” he pleaded. Jim flapped a hand in answer.
At the time he was leaning against a corner of the station; a little back of him was a small lean-to shed where various truck was stored.