beaconing along the street. Crowds were piling out of movies. The colored man who letters cards with delicate twirls of penmanship was setting up his little table on Market street. In spite of the cool air every soda fountain was lined with the customary gobs. The first morning papers were beginning to be screamed about the streets, with that hoarse urgency of yelling that always makes the simple-minded think that something fearful has happened.
A crowd gathered hastily in front of a big office building on Chestnut street. Policemen sprang from nowhere. A Jefferson ambulance clanged up. Great agitation, and prolonged ringing of the bell at the huge iron-grilled front door. What's up? Finally appeared a man with blood spattered over his shirt and was escorted to the ambulance. The engineer had walked too near an electric fan and got his head cut. Lucky he didn't lose it altogether, said one watcher.
Eleven o'clock. In a cigar store served by a smiling damsel, two attractive ladies were asking her if it would be safe for them to visit a Chinese restaurant a little farther up the street. "We're from out of town," they explained, "and all alone. We want some chop suey. Is that the kind of place ladies can go to?" The cigar saleslady appealed to me, and I assured the visitors they would be perfectly serene. Perhaps if I had been more gallant I should have escorted them thither. Off they went, a little timorous.
