Then she walked out,
and her father locked the door.
Kedzie saw that the elevator-boy saw that she had been crying, but
what was one shame extra? She had no pride left now, and no father
and no mother, no anybody.
Adna refused the offices of the pages who clutched at the baggage.
He went to the cashier and paid the blood-money with a grin of hate.
Then he gathered up his women and his other baggage and set out
for the station. He would leave all the baggage there while he
hunted a place to stop.
They could not find the tunnelway, but debouched on the street.
Crossing Vanderbilt Avenue was a problem for village folk heavy
laden. The taxicabs were hooting and scurrying.
Adna found himself in the middle of the street, entirely surrounded
by demoniac motors. His wife wanted to lie down there and die. Adna
dared neither to go nor to stay. Suddenly a chauffeur of an empty
limousine, fearing to lose a chance to swear at a taxi-driver,
kept his head turned to the left and steered straight for the spot
where the Thropps awaited their doom.
Adna had his wife pendent from one arm and a valise or two from
the other. Kedzie carried a third valise. Her better than normal
shoulders were sagged out of line by its weight.
When Adna saw the motor coming he had to choose between dropping
his valise or his wife. Characteristically, he saved his valise.
In spite of his wife's squawking and tugging on his left arm, he
achieved safety under the portico of the Grand Central Terminal.
Pages:
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65