Just then Roy came to a quick lunch room. His eye brightened as he caught sight of it, for he had had nothing to eat for several hours, and the salt breeze in the park had whetted an appetite already keen.
Roy entered and ate generously. He took his time about it. Now that he was relaxed, he found that he was really tired. When he came out of the restaurant he was amazed at the altered appearance of the street. The crowd had disappeared. Gone was the multitude of trucks, drays and motor-cars. A few belated pedestrians were hurrying along the street, and an occasional wagon rattled by. But now every hoof beat and every creak of wheel or wagon-body echoed through the deserted thoroughfare, flung back by the empty hives of buildings that had so recently swarmed with life. More than ever Roy thought of that rushing throng of humanity as a surging tide; but now it seemed as though a sluice-gate had somewhere been closed and only a few tiny trickles were seeping through.
But somehow the deserted thoroughfare seemed almost more attractive to Roy than it did when it was seething with traffic. There was so much he wanted to think about, so many things on every hand that demanded consideration; and connected thought was almost impossible when so many persons were rushing by and such a confusing babel of sound smote on the ear. So now he sauntered slowly up Broadway, thinking about his own situation, and pondering over the interesting things he had seen.
One by one lights shone forth in the great structures about him—lights so high that they seemed like yellow stars in the sky. Slowly the outlines of the individual buildings grew dim and uncertain as darkness came on. In place of the hulking massive structures of stone he had been looking at by daylight, Roy now found himself gazing at what seemed like fairy towers of twinkling, elfin lights. It was wonderful beyond description. But when Roy looked at the Singer and Woolworth Buildings, with their beautiful towers of ornate stone rising hundreds of feet above him and brilliantly illuminated by hidden lights, he was sure that he had never in his life seen anything so beautiful and so wonderful. He could find no words to express his delight. But he was conscious that the feeling of awe which had gripped him as he stared at these same colored shafts by day was gone. Now he felt only a sense of charm and delight.
He continued up Broadway until he came to the seething centre of life about City Hall. When he looked across the little park at the entrance of the Brooklyn bridge, and saw the bustling activity of Park Row, he could scarce believe that one short block could make so great a difference. Roy did not realize that Park Row was the heart of the night life of lower New York. Centred about it were the homes of many of New York’s great newspapers, where scores of workers had just gone on duty and where the “day’s work” was only fairly getting under way.
Roy made his way to the entrance of the Brooklyn bridge and watched in wonder the endless strings of trolley-cars swing round the terminal loops, the streams of pedestrians still pouring homeward toward Brooklyn, the line of carts still rattling up the cobbled roadway to the bridge. When he expressed his wonder to the bridge policeman at the information booth, that individual only smiled. For years he had watched the better part of a million people daily swarm to and fro across the bridge; and the tail-end of the evening rush, that seemed so impressive to Roy, was commonplace enough to him.
After a time the scene paled on Roy, and he started for home—his new home on the Lycoming. Knowing well the city’s geography, he did not retrace his steps but struck off directly for the western water-front, passing through a maze of deserted, dimly lighted, little streets that were flanked by dingy buildings of five or six stories. The contrast with the blazing centre of life he had just left was as striking as some sudden shift in scenes on the stage of a theatre. In the quiet and gloom Roy had abundant opportunity for thought. His mind returned to the problem immediately before him: how he should make good with Captain Lansford.
So engrossed in this problem did Roy become that he did not hear a stealthy footstep behind him, and was startled when a form appeared beside him, and a tough-looking fellow demanded a match.
“Sorry,” said Roy, “but I have no matches with me.”