There was a long stop after the levy for the ferries had left. The conductor went out on the platform and consulted with the ticket-chopper. He was scrutinizing his watch for the second time, when the faint jingle of an east-bound car was heard.
“Here she comes!” said the ticket-chopper. A shout, and a man bounded up the steps, three at a time. It was an engineer who, to make connection with his locomotive at Chatham Square, must catch that train.
“Hullo, Conrad! Nearly missed you,” he said as he jumped on the car, breathless.
“All right, Jack.” And the conductor jerked the bell-rope. “You made it, though.” The train sped on.
Two lives, heretofore running apart, were hastening to a union. The lovers had seen nothing, heard nothing but each other. His eyes burned as hers met his and fell before them. His head bent lower until his face almost touched hers. His dark hair lay against her blond curls. The ostrich feather on her hat swept his shoulder.
“Mögtest Du mich haben?” he entreated.
Above the grinding of the wheels as the train slowed up for the station a block ahead, pleaded the tenor:
Oh, promise me that you will take my hand,
The most unworthy in this lonely land—
Did she speak? Her face was hidden, but the blond curls moved with a nod so slight that only a lover’s eye could see it. He seized her disengaged hand. The conductor stuck his head into the car.
“Fourteenth street!”