The first of the party who arrived at the house to attend the funeral were three women in deep mourning, an elderly man and two young men. They came about noon. They were Mr. Gould’s sisters, Mrs. Northrup and Mrs. Palen, and Mrs. Northrup’s daughter and two sons, and Mr. Abraham Gould, Mr. Jay Gould’s brother. They came from Philadelphia on an early train, and went direct to the house. The police vigilance to prevent the gathering of any crowd was kept up until 1 o’clock, when Capt. Reilly arrived. He said that people might gather half a dozen deep on the west side curb and above and below the house on the east side, but wide passages must be kept open. Sergeant Kelly and Roundsman Bingham were put on duty on the steps of the Gould house. Dr. Munn talked with them a few moments in the vestibule. He told them they were to question everybody and were not to let anybody pass who did not convince them of his right to enter the house. They were also to keep the steps clear. Five minutes after Capt. Reilly issued his order to let the little crowd gather, every inch of space he had allotted to them was taken. At first it was a crowd composed exclusively of poor people. They were poorly dressed and many of them looked poorly fed. Curiosity only had induced them to come. They had not hoped to get into the house. While this crowd stood in the street there was a hurry and bustle in the corridor of the Windsor Hotel. The men the poorer people came to see were forming parties. The directors of the great railroad companies, the Union Pacific, the Missouri Pacific, and the others, were getting together. Frank Hain, Julien T. Davies, and Charles A. Gardener, representing the Manhattan Elevated railroad, were among them. William C. Whitney had charge of one party. Once, early in the afternoon, there was what appeared to be a concerted rush for the steps. A number of persons who were evidently under the impression that the public was to be admitted at 3 o’clock made a start at that hour, and two or three hundred others followed. Up they rushed, and, although the policemen shouted, “Get back! You can’t go in,” a few did make their way into the house. They were quickly ejected, however, and thereafter only individual efforts were made to get in. Some of these were persisted in stubbornly, but without success. Oddly enough, women pleaded the hardest to be allowed to pass through the big oak door, women of more than middle age, most of them, who could give no better reason for wanting to see the face of the dead railway king than that they “just wanted to see it.” Some declared that they had come from great distances for that purpose alone. They went away and returned to beg again. Yet all of them admitted finally that they had never known Mr. Gould or any of the family. His children glanced furtively out of the windows at the motley crowd and gave thanks that the early intention to admit the public had been abandoned.