He'd go out in the snow, and get rid of himself. This was awful!
Bundled in a greatcoat, collar high, trousers rolled up, he ducked
out of the great marble and iron vestibule into the night. There
was no wind, and the snow was falling softly, steadily. The drive
was deserted, and he made his way across to the walk along the wall.
By the light of the lamp, blurred by the flakes till it looked like
a tall-stemmed thistle-ball, he looked at his watch. No matter
where Nellie had dined, she was a the concert by now, and a great
sigh of relief fluttered the flakes about his mouth.
He turned north, glad of the rise in the ground to walk against.
"By jinks!" he smiled grudgingly, "it's not so bad out here. We
city idiots, we--NEW MEN, with all our motors and subways, we are
forgetting how to prowl."
The world fell of to shadow a little beyond the shore-line, a mere
space of air and flakes. Ice swirled by its way to the sea, for
the tide was going out. He peered; he began to hear all sorts
of fine snow-muffled sounds; and suddenly, away out on the river,
something was going on--boats whistling and signaling, chatting
in their scientific persiflage, out in the dark and cold of the
night. "Lonesome, too!" Cameron laughed, and, boyishly, he tossed
a snow-ball into the space, as if he'd have something to say out
there, too! "I'm soft!" he groaned, clutching his arm.
Pages:
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394