“Get in front of me. I’ll hold them back.”
“But why all this?” Petite Jeanne tried to gesture, only to end by prodding a fat man in the stomach.
“This,” laughed Florence, “is Harvest Jubilee Night. A city of three million invited all its citizens to come down and enjoy themselves in six city blocks. Bands are to play. Radio stars are to be seen. Living models will be in all the store windows.
“The three million are here. They will hear no bands. They will see no radio stars, nor any living models either. They will see and hear only themselves.”
“Yes. And they will feel one another, too!” the little French girl cried, as the crush all but pressed the breath from her lungs. The look on her face was one of pure fright. Florence, too, was thinking serious thoughts. That which had promised only a bit of adventure in the beginning bade fair to become a serious matter. Having moved down the center of a block, they had intended turning the corner. But now, caught in the tremendous crush of humanity, by the thousands upon thousands of human beings who thronged the streets, carried this way and that by currents and counter-currents, they were likely to be carried anywhere. And should the crush become too great, they might well be rendered unconscious by the vise-like pressure of the throng.
This indeed was Harvest Jubilee Night. The leading men of this city had made a great mistake. Wishing to draw thousands of people to the trading center of the city, they had staged a great fete. As Florence had said, men and women of note, actors, singers, radio stars were to be found on grand stands erected at every street crossing. All this was wonderful, to be sure! Only one fact had been lost sight of: that hundreds of thousands of people cannot move about freely in the narrow space of six city blocks.
Now, here were the laughing, shouting, crowding, groaning, weeping thousands. What was to come of it all? Petite Jeanne asked herself this question, took one long quivering breath, then looked up at her stout companion and was reassured.
“We came here for a lark,” she told herself. “We must see it through.
“I only hope,” she caught her breath again, “that I don’t see anyone in this crowd who makes me trouble. Surely I cannot escape him here!” She was thinking of the dark-faced man with the evil eye.
“Keep up courage,” Florence counseled. “We’ll make it out of here safe enough.”