The Pit: A Story of Chicago. Frank Norris
peering from behind the broad shoulders of policemen—a crowd of miserables, shivering in rags and tattered comforters, who found, nevertheless, an unexplainable satisfaction in watching this prolonged defile of millionaires.
So great was the concourse of teams, that two blocks distant from the theatre they were obliged to fall into line, advancing only at intervals, and from door to door of the carriages thus immobilised ran a score of young men, their arms encumbered with pamphlets, shouting: "Score books, score books and librettos; score books with photographs of all the artists."
However, in the vestibule the press was thinning out. It was understood that the overture had begun. Other people who were waiting like Laura and her sister had been joined by their friends and had gone inside. Laura, for whom this opera night had been an event, a thing desired and anticipated with all the eagerness of a girl who had lived for twenty-two years in a second-class town of central Massachusetts, was in great distress. She had never seen Grand Opera, she would not have missed a note, and now she was in a fair way to lose the whole overture.
"Oh, dear," she cried. "Isn't it too bad. I can't imagine why they don't come."
Page, more metropolitan, her keenness of appreciation a little lost by two years of city life and fashionable schooling, tried to reassure her.
"You won't lose much," she said. "The air of the overture is repeated in the first act—I've heard it once before."
"If we even see the first act," mourned Laura. She scanned the faces of the late comers anxiously. Nobody seemed to mind being late. Even some of the other people who were waiting, chatted calmly among themselves. Directly behind them two men, their faces close together, elaborated an interminable conversation, of which from time to time they could overhear a phrase or two.
"—and I guess he'll do well if he settles for thirty cents on the dollar. I tell you, dear boy, it was a smash!"
"Never should have tried to swing a corner. The short interest was too small and the visible supply was too great."
Page nudged her sister and whispered: "That's the Helmick failure they're talking about, those men. Landry Court told me all about it. Mr. Helmick had a corner in corn, and he failed to-day, or will fail soon, or something."
But Laura, preoccupied with looking for the Cresslers, hardly listened. Aunt Wess', whose count was confused by all these figures murmured just behind her, began over again, her lips silently forming the words, "sixty-one, sixty-two, and two is sixty-four." Behind them the voice continued:
"They say Porteous will peg the market at twenty-six."
"Well he ought to. Corn is worth that."
"Never saw such a call for margins in my life. Some of the houses called eight cents."
Page turned to Mrs. Wessels: "By the way, Aunt Wess'; look at that man there by the box office window, the one with his back towards us, the one with his hands in his overcoat pockets. Isn't that Mr. Jadwin? The gentleman we are going to meet to-night. See who I mean?"
"Who? Mr. Jadwin? I don't know. I don't know, child. I never saw him, you know."
"Well I think it is he," continued Page. "He was to be with our party to-night. I heard Mrs. Cressler say she would ask him. That's Mr. Jadwin, I'm sure. He's waiting for them, too."
"Oh, then ask him about it, Page," exclaimed Laura. "We're missing everything."
But Page shook her head:
"I only met him once, ages ago; he wouldn't know me. It was at the Cresslers, and we just said 'How do you do.' And then maybe it isn't Mr. Jadwin."
"Oh, I wouldn't bother, girls," said Mrs. Wessels. "It's all right. They'll be here in a minute. I don't believe the curtain has gone up yet."
But the man of whom they spoke turned around at the moment and cast a glance about the vestibule. They saw a gentleman of an indeterminate age—judged by his face he might as well have been forty as thirty-five. A heavy mustache touched with grey covered his lips. The eyes were twinkling and good-tempered. Between his teeth he held an unlighted cigar.
"It is Mr. Jadwin," murmured Page, looking quickly away. "But he don't recognise me."
Laura also averted her eyes.
"Well, why not go right up to him and introduce ourself, or recall yourself to him?" she hazarded.
"Oh, Laura, I couldn't," gasped Page. "I wouldn't for worlds."
"Couldn't she, Aunt Wess'?" appealed Laura. "Wouldn't it be all right?"
But Mrs. Wessels, ignoring forms and customs, was helpless. Again she withdrew from any responsibility in the matter.
"I don't know anything about it," she answered. "But Page oughtn't to be bold."
"Oh, bother; it isn't that," protested Page. "But it's just because—I don't know, I don't want to—Laura, I should just die," she exclaimed with abrupt irrelevance, "and besides, how would that help any?" she added.
"Well, we're just going to miss it all," declared Laura decisively. There were actual tears in her eyes. "And I had looked forward to it so."
"Well," hazarded Aunt Wess', "you girls can do just as you please. Only I wouldn't be bold."
"Well, would it be bold if Page, or if—if I were to speak to him? We're going to meet him anyways in just a few minutes."
"Better wait, hadn't you, Laura," said Aunt Wess', "and see. Maybe he'll come up and speak to us."
"Oh, as if!" contradicted Laura. "He don't know us,—just as Page says. And if he did, he wouldn't. He wouldn't think it polite."
"Then I guess, girlie, it wouldn't be polite for you."
"I think it would," she answered. "I think it would be a woman's place. If he's a gentleman, he would feel that he just couldn't speak first. I'm going to do it," she announced suddenly.
"Just as you think best, Laura," said her aunt.
But nevertheless Laura did not move, and another five minutes went by.
Page took advantage of the interval to tell Laura about Jadwin. He was very rich, but a bachelor, and had made his money in Chicago real estate. Some of his holdings in the business quarter of the city were enormous; Landry Court had told her about him. Jadwin, unlike Mr. Cressler, was not opposed to speculation. Though not a member of the Board of Trade, he nevertheless at very long intervals took part in a "deal" in wheat, or corn, or provisions. He believed that all corners were doomed to failure, however, and had predicted Helmick's collapse six months ago. He had influence, was well known to all Chicago people, what he said carried weight, financiers consulted him, promoters sought his friendship, his name on the board of directors of a company was an all-sufficing endorsement; in a word, a "strong" man.
"I can't understand," exclaimed Laura distrait, referring to the delay on the part of the Cresslers. "This was the night, and this was the place, and it is long past the time. We could telephone to the house, you know," she said, struck with an idea, "and see if they've started, or what has happened."
"I don't know—I don't know," murmured Mrs. Wessels vaguely. No one seemed ready to act upon Laura's suggestion, and again the minutes passed.
"I'm going," declared Laura again, looking at the other two, as if to demand what they had to say against the idea.
"I just couldn't," declared Page flatly.
"Well," continued Laura, "I'll wait just three minutes more, and then if the Cresslers are not here I will speak to him. It seems to me to be perfectly natural, and not at all bold."
She waited three minutes, and the Cresslers still failing to appear, temporised yet further, for the twentieth time repeating:
"I don't see—I can't understand."
Then, abruptly drawing her cape about her, she crossed the vestibule and came up to Jadwin.
As she approached she saw him catch her eye. Then, as he appeared to understand that this young woman was about to speak to him, she noticed an expression of suspicion, almost of distrust, come into his face. No doubt he knew nothing of this other