Clavering stood on his high balcony and looked down upon Madison
Square. Spring had come. The Square looked like an oasis in a rocky
gorge. The trees were covered with the tender greens of the new birth,
and even President Arthur and Roscoe Conkling, less green than in
winter, looked reconciled to their lot. A few people were sunning
themselves on the benches, many more were on top of the busses over on
Fifth Avenue, and even the hurrying throngs, preoccupied with crass
business, seemed to walk with a lighter step, their heads up, instead
of sullenly defying winds and sleet. The eight streets that surrounded
or debouched into the Square poured forth continuous streams of
figures, constantly augmented by throngs rising out of the earth
itself. There was a vivid color running like ribbons through the
crowds, for it was nearly nine o'clock and the doors of offices and
shops and business houses were open to women as to men. Overhead a
yellow sun shone in a pale filmy sky and the air was both warm and
sharp. The doves were circling and settling.
The prize-fighters had taken their prowess elsewhere, and a circus had
come to Madison Square Garden. Clavering had heard the roar of lions
in the night. A far different crowd would stand under the arcade in a
few hours, but the peanut venders would ply their trade, and a little
booth for candies and innocuous juices had been erected in an alcove in
the front wall, presided over by a plump pretty blonde. She alternated
"jollying" and selling with quiet intervals of beading a bag,
undisturbed either by ogling or the hideous noises of Twenty-sixth
Street.
In spite of his disappointment two nights before he found it impossible
to feel depressed in that gay spring sunshine. He did not believe in
the headache, but she had written him a charming note and he supposed
that a man must get accustomed to the caprices of women if he intended
to live with one. And a month from now they would be in the Dolomites,
and she would be his. Let her have her caprices. He had his own.
There were times when he didn't want to see her.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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