And here they were standing and looking
intently at an automobile with a twisted wheel.
I became aware that we were all looking with a strange intensity at this
automobile; that we all stood as if waiting for something. Dozens of men
hurrying somewhere suddenly stop and stand for ten, twenty, thirty minutes
staring at a broken automobile. There was a reason for this. Always where
there is a machine at work, digging or hammering piles, where there is a
horse fallen, an auto crashed, a flapjack turner, a fountain pen
demonstrator; where there is a magic clock that runs, nobody knows how, or
a window puzzle that turns in a drug-store window or anything that moves
behind plate glass--always where there is any one of these things there
are people like us standing riveted, attentive, unwavering.
People on artificial errands, hurrying like obedient automations through
the streets; stern-faced people with dignified eyes, important-stepping
people with grave decision stamped upon them; careless, innocuous-looking
people--all these people look as if they had something in their heads, as
if there were things of import driving them through the streets. But this
is an error. Nothing in their heads. They are like the fish that swim
beneath the water--a piece of shining tin captures their eyes and they
pause and stare at it.
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