The streets were filthy as always, and the sultry west wind was sweeping the filth down the street canons. Here in the district of wholesale business houses a kind of midsummer gloom reigned. Many stores were vacant, their broad windows plastered with play-bills. Even in the warehouses along the river a strange stillness prevailed. "Nothing was doing," in the idiom of the street. Along the platforms of the railroad company's train house, however, a large crowd of idlers had assembled. They were watching to see whether the trainmen would make up the Overland Limited. Debs had said that this company would not move its through trains if it persisted in using the tabooed Pullmans. Stout chains had been attached to the sleepers to prevent any daring attempt to cut out the cars at the last moment. A number of officials from the general offices were hurrying to and fro apprehensively. There was some delay, but finally the heavy train began to move. It wound slowly out of the shed, in a sullen silence of the onlookers. In the yards it halted. There was a derisive cry, but in a few moments it started again and disappeared. "I guess it's all bluff," a smartly dressed young man remarked to Sommers. "There's the general manager getting into the Lake Forest two-ten, and Smith of the C., B. and Q., and Rollins of the Santa Fe, are with him. The general managers have been in session most of last night and this morning. They're going to fight it out, if it costs a hundred millions." The young man's views seemed to be the popular ones in the Lake Forest train. It was crowded with young business men, bound out of town for their holiday. Not a few were going to the country club at Lake Forest. In this time of business stagnation they were cultivating the new game of golf. There was a general air of blithe relief when the train pulled out of the yards, and the dirty, sultry, restless city was left behind. "Blamed fools to strike now," remarked a fat, perspiring stockbroker. "Roads aren't earning anything, anyhow." The conductor who was taking the tickets smiled and kept his own counsel. "Good time to buy rails, all the same," his companion answered. "I guess this'll yank old Pullman back to town," another remarked, glancing up from his paper. "You don't know him. It won't bother _him_. He's keeping cool somewhere in the St. Lawrence. It's up to the railroads now." "Let's see your clubs. Did you get 'em straight from Scotland? That's a pretty iron."