Off rushed Christopher, only to return breathless a moment or two later.
"Dad says I can go as long as it's with you. And he told me to tell you we needn't rush the trip. Here's money for our fares."
Christopher extended a fresh new bill.
"Pooh! Pooh! Nonsense!" growled McPhearson. "We'll not need that. I've money enough. Besides, we're only going in the bus."
"No matter. Dad said—"
"Come along," interrupted the Scotchman, catching up his bag of tools and cutting short further discussion. "If we stand here arguing we shall never get off at all."
Docilely Christopher followed him into the street where amid surging crowds they hailed the bus and began rolling up the avenue.
"New York couldn't get along very well without clocks, could it?" commented Christopher, as he looked down upon the maelstrom of hurrying humanity.
"Not very well," laughed his companion. "I suppose the majority of this rushing mob is aiming to arrive somewhere at a specified time. There are probably men with business engagements; women with dressmakers' and dentists' appointments; students hastening to lectures; people going for trains and cars. You may be reasonably certain it is the clock that is spurring them forward. Earlier in the day the throngs would have been denser than this, for then we should have seen the workers who pour into the city every morning. As it is there are quite enough of them. So it goes from dawn until dusk. Everybody moves on schedule and it is precisely because the day is cut up into this checkerboard of hours that we can fit our work and play together and accomplish so much in it."
"It doesn't leave us much time for play," suggested Christopher mischievously.