"Taking in the sights?"
The man, lighting his pipe, nods slowly. Much too slowly, as if his answer
were fraught with a vast significance.
"I like it myself," insinuates the newspaper man. "I was reading Junius
Wood's article on Bill Shatov, who is running things now in Siberia. He
quotes Bill as saying what he misses most in life now is the music of
crowds in Chicago streets. Did you read that?"
This is a brazen lead. But the man looks like a "red." And Bill Shatov
would then open the talk. But the man only shakes his head. He says, "No,
I don't read the papers much."
Now there is something contradictory about this man and his curtness
invites. He seems to have accepted the presence of the newspaper man in an
odd way, an uncity way. After a pause he gestures slightly with his pipe
in his hand and says:
"Quite a crowd, eh?"
The newspaper man nods. The other goes on:
"Where are they going?"
This is more than a question. There is indignation in it. The deepset eyes
gleam.
"I wonder," says the newspaper man. His companion remains staring in his
odd, unseeing way. Then he says:
"They don't look at anything, eh? In a terrible hurry, ain't they? Yeah,
in a rotten hurry."
The newspaper man nods.
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