“Thank you to hell,” said the Inger heartily. “Hope we’re on the same side,” he warmed to it. “Hope we’re in the same regiment!” he mounted with it.
As the two swung out on the sidewalk, he was silent with the vague mulling of this.
“Could we walk?” Lory suggested. “Is there time?”
He welcomed it. They went up Wabash Avenue with the slow-moving crowd.
It had been raining, and the asphalt between the rails, and the rails themselves, were wet and shining. The black cobblestones were covered thinly with glossy mud. Even the sidewalks palely mirrored the amazing flame of the lights.
It was another Chicago from the city which they had entered with the dawn. Here was a gracious place of warm-looking ways, and a time of leisure, and the people meant other than the people of the morning. The Inger moved among them, swam with them, looked on them all with something new stirring him.
Lory went silently. She had slipped her handkerchief cap away, and her hair was bright and uncovered in the lamplight. But she seemed not to be looking anywhere.
“You did get on to it there to-night, didn’t you?” he asked, wistfully.
“What do you mean?” she said.