They
will be doing so to-morrow, too; but it seems more mournful to think
about the people a hundred years hence.
When we got back to Jersey City, and stood on the front end of the
ferryboat, Manhattan was piling up all her jewels into the cold
green dusk. There were a few stars, just about as many as there are
passengers in a Reading smoker. There was one big star directly over
Brooklyn, and another that seemed to be just above Plainfield. We
pondered, as the ferry slid toward its hutch at Liberty Street, that
there were no stars above Manhattan. Just at that moment--five
minutes after seven--the pinnacle of the Woolworth blossomed a ruby
red. New York makes her own.
III
You never know when an adventure is going to begin. But on a train
is a good place to lie in wait for them. So we sat down in the
smoker of the 10 A.M. Eastern Standard Time P.R.R. express to
Philadelphia, in a receptive mood.
At Manhattan Transfer the brakeman went through the train, crying in
a loud, clear, emphatic barytone: "Next stop for this train is North
Philadelphia!"
We sat comfortably, and in that mood of secretly exhilarated mental
activity which is induced by riding on a fast train. We were looking
over the June _Atlantic_. We smiled gently to ourself at that
unconscious breath of New England hauteur expressed in the
publisher's announcement, "_The edition of the Atlantic is carefully
restricted.
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