Waterbury and her husband with the glossy kinky ringlets and the long wavy mustache."How do you do?" she stammered.
"We didn't know you were aboard," said Mrs.Waterbury, a silly, duck-legged woman looking proudly uncomfortable in her bead-trimmed black silk.
"Yes--I'm--I'm here," confessed Susan.
"Going to the city to visit?"
"Yes," said Susan.She hesitated, then repeated, "Yes.""What elegant breakfasts they do serve on these boats! I suppose your friends'll meet you.But Mort and I'll look after you till they come.""Oh, it isn't necessary," protested Susan.The steamer was passing under the bridge.There were cities on both shores--huge masses of dingy brick, streets filled with motion of every kind--always motion, incessant motion, and change."We're about there, aren't we?" she asked.
"The wharf's up beyond the second bridge--the Covington Bridge,"explained Waterbury with the air of the old experienced globe-trotter."There's a third one, further up, but you can't see it for the smoke." And he went on and on, volubly airing his intimate knowledge of the great city which he visited once a year for two or three days to buy goods.He ended with a scornful, "My, but Cincinnati's a dirty place!"Dirty it might be, but Susan loved it, dirt and all.The smoke, the grime somehow seemed part of it, one of its charms, one of the things that made it different from, and superior to, monotonous country and country town.She edged away from the Waterburys, hid in her stateroom watching the panorama through the curtained glass of her promenade deck door.She was completely carried away.The city! So, this was the city! And her dreams of travel, of new sights, new faces, were beginning to come true.She forgot herself, forgot what she had left behind, forgot what she was to face.All her power of thought and feeling was used up in absorbing these unfolding wonders.
And when the June sun suddenly pierced the heavy clouds of fog and smoke, she clasped her hands and gasped, "Lovely! Oh, how lovely!"And now the steamer was at the huge wharf-boat, in shape like the one at Sutherland, but in comparative size like the real Noah's Ark beside a toy ark.And from the whole tremendous scene rose an enormous clamor, the stentorian voice of the city.That voice is discordant and terrifying to many.To Susan, on that day, it was the most splendid burst of music."Awake--awake!" it cried."Awake, and _live!_" She opened her door that she might hear it better--rattle and rumble and roar, shriek of whistle, clang of bell.And the people!--Thousands on thousands hurrying hither and yon, like bees in a hive."Awake awake, and live!"The noises from the saloon reminded her that the journey was ended, that she must leave the boat.And she did not know where to go--she and her bundle.She waited until she saw the Waterburys, along with the other passengers, moving up the levee.Then she issued forth--by the promenade deck door so that she would not pass the office.But at the head of the companionway, in the forward part of the deck, there the clerk stood, looking even pettier and more offensive by daylight.She thought to slip by him.But he stopped stroking his mustache and called out to her, "Haven't your friends come?"She frowned, angry in her nervousness."I shall get on very well," she said curtly.Then she repented, smiled politely, added, "Thank you.""I'll put you in a carriage," he offered, hastening down the stairs to join her.
She did not know what to say or do.She walked silently beside him, he carrying her bundle.They crossed the wharf-boat.A line of dilapidated looking carriages was drawn up near the end of the gangplank.The sight of them, the remembrance of what she had heard of the expensiveness of city carriages, nerved her to desperation."Give me my things, please," she said."I think I'll walk.""Where do you want to go?"
The question took her breath away.With a quickness that amazed her, her lips uttered, "The Gibson House.""Oh! That's a right smart piece.But you can take a car.I'll walk with you to the car.There's a line a couple of squares up that goes almost by the door.You know it isn't far from Fourth Street."She was now in a flutter of terror.She went stumbling along beside him, not hearing a word of his voluble and flirtatious talk.They were in the midst of the mad rush and confusion.The noises, no longer mingled but individual, smote savagely upon her ears, startling her, making her look dazedly round as if expecting death to swoop upon her.At the corner of Fourth Street the clerk halted.He was clear out of humor with her, so dumb, so unappreciative."There'll be a car along soon," said he sourly.
"You needn't wait," said she timidly."Thank you again.""You can't miss it.Good-by." And he lifted his hat--"tipped"it, rather--for he would not have wasted a full lift upon such a female.She gave a gasp of relief when he departed; then a gasp of terror--for upon the opposite corner stood the Waterburys.The globe-trotter and his wife were so dazed by the city that they did not see her, though in their helpless glancing round they looked straight at her.She hastily ran into a drug store on the corner.A young man in shirt sleeves held up by pink garters, and with oily black hair carefully parted and plastered, put down a pestle and mortar and came forward.He had kind brown eyes, but there was something wrong with the lower part of his face.Susan did not dare look to see what it was, lest he should think her unfeeling.He was behind the counter.
Susan saw the soda fountain.As if by inspiration, she said, "Some chocolate soda, please.""Ice cream?" asked the young man in a peculiar voice, like that of one who has a harelip.
"Please," said Susan.And then she saw the sign, "Ice Cream, ten cents," and wished she hadn't.
The young man mixed the soda, put in a liberal helping of ice cream, set it before her with a spoon in it, rested the knuckles of his brown hairy hands on the counter and said:
"It _is_ hot."
