The broad, paved way, where thousands had wandered during the day, was all but deserted. Here a belated visitor hurried toward a gateway. There an attendant, his labors over, raced away to catch a home-bound car.
Down by the shore a score of camp fires were gleaming. For the first time in many years Indians were camping on Chicago’s water front. The wavering light of their fires turned their tepees into ghost-homes of the long ago.
Farther south other fires gleamed about the temporary homes of other wild men from faraway lands. All these were a part of the great show.
But it was none of these that had caught and held the little French girl’s attention.
Before them loomed the Midway. With lights out, its fantastic structures, standing out black against the sky, seemed huge beasts come to life from the past and now crouching by the roadway in their sleep.
As if feeling something of this, Jeanne quickened her pace. But not for long.
“Here!” she exclaimed. “Down here it is!”
She turned sharply to the right, hurried forward twenty steps, then halted before a door.
“If it is closed!” she breathed. “Can it be? Yes, perhaps. See! The electric light is out.
“No, no. There is some one!”