It was about nine o'clock, when Landry and Page reached the foot of La Salle Street. The morning was fine and cool. The sky over the Board of Trade sparkled with sunlight, and the air was full of fluttering wings of the multitude of pigeons that lived upon the leakage of grain around the Board of Trade building. "Mr. Cressler used to feed them regularly," said Landry, as they paused on the street corner opposite the Board. "Poor--poor Mr. Cressler--the funeral is to-morrow, you know." Page shut her eyes. "Oh," she murmured, "think, think of Laura finding him there like that. Oh, it would have killed me, it would have killed me." "Somehow," observed Landry, a puzzled expression in his eyes, "somehow, by George! she don't seem to mind very much. You'd have thought a shock like that would have made her sick." "Oh! Laura," cried Page. "I don't know her any more these days, she is just like stone--just as though she were crowding down every emotion or any feeling she ever had. She seems to be holding herself in with all her strength--for something--and afraid to let go a finger, for fear she would give way altogether. When she told me about that morning at the Cresslers' house, her voice was just like ice; she said, 'Mr. Cressler has shot himself. I found him dead in his library.' She never shed a tear, and she spoke, oh, in such a terrible monotone. Oh! dear," cried Page, "I wish all this was over, and we could all get away from Chicago, and take Mr. Jadwin with us, and get him back to be as he used to be, always so light-hearted, and thoughtful and kindly. He used to be making jokes from morning till night. Oh, I loved him just as if he were my father." They crossed the street, and Landry, taking her by the arm, ushered her into the corridor on the ground floor of the Board. "Now, keep close to me," he said, "and see if we can get through somewhere here." The stairs leading up to the main floor were already crowded with visitors, some standing in line close to the wall, others aimlessly wandering up and down, looking and listening, their heads in the air. One of these, a gentleman with a tall white hat, shook his head at Landry and Page, as they pressed by him. "You can't get up there," he said, "even if they let you in. They're packed in like sardines already." But Landry reassured Page with a knowing nod of his head. "I told the guide up in the gallery to reserve a seat for you. I guess we'll manage."