Short stories, American; United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
The crushing of the crowd grew terrific toward the last. The men, in
keen pain from the blasts, began almost to fight. With the pitiless
whirl of snow upon them, the battle for shelter was going to the
strong. It became known that the basement door at the foot of a little
steep flight of stairs was the one to be opened, and they jostled and
heaved in this direction like labouring fiends. One could hear them
panting and groaning in their fierce exertion.
Usually some one in the front ranks was protesting to those in the
rear--"O-o-ow! Oh, say now, fellers, let up, will yeh? Do yeh wanta
kill somebody!"
A policeman arrived and went into the midst of them, scolding and
be-rating, occasionally threatening, but using no force but that of his
hands and shoulders against these men who were only struggling to get
in out of the storm. His decisive tones rang out sharply--"Stop that
pushin' back there! Come, boys, don't push! Stop that! Here you, quit
yer shovin'! Cheese that!"
When the door below was opened, a thick stream of men forced a way down
the stairs, which were of an extraordinary narrowness, and seemed only
wide enough for one at a time. Yet they somehow went down almost three
abreast. It was a difficult and painful operation. The crowd was like
a turbulent water forcing itself through one tiny outlet. The men in
the rear, excited by the success of the others, made frantic exertions,
for it seemed that this large band would more than fill the quarters,
and that many would be left upon the pavements. It would be disastrous
to be of the last, and accordingly men with the snow biting their
faces, writhed and twisted with their might. One expected that from the
tremendous pressure, the narrow passage to the basement door would be
so choked and clogged with human limbs and bodies that movement would
be impossible. Once indeed the crowd was forced to stop, and a cry
went along that a man had been injured at the foot of the stairs. But
presently the slow movement began again, and the policeman fought at
the top of the flight to ease the pressure of those that were going
down.
A reddish light from a window fell upon the faces of the men, when
they, in turn, arrived at the last three steps, and were about to
enter. One could then note a change of expression that had come over
their features. As they stood thus upon the threshold of their hopes,
they looked suddenly contented and complacent. The fire had passed from
their eyes and the snarl had vanished from their lips. The very force
of the crowd in the rear, which had previously vexed them, was regarded
from another point of view, for it now made it inevitable that they
should go through the little doors into the place that was cheery and
warm with light.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account