Mysterious, couchant, straining, the
bulwarked city rode the waves; a mighty ship, her funnels the great
buildings beyond, where sullen streamers of smoke trailed motionless
and darkling; the indescribable, multitudinous hum of the city's
blended voices for purring of monster engines, deep in her hold; bold
and high, her restless prow swung seaward in majestic curve, impatient
to beat to open main.
This simple young man actually found impressiveness, glamour, even
beauty, in this eye-filling canvas; the crowding of crashing lights
and interwoven shadows, massed, innumerable, bewildering; the turmoil
of confused and broken line, sprawled with tremendous carelessness for
a giant's delight.
Plainer proof of his utter unsophistication could not be. For it is
traditional with, all "correct" and well-informed folk that New York
is hopelessly ugly. It gives one such a superior air to disprize with
easy scorn this greatest of the Gateways of the World.
Chapter IV
"_A good plot, good friends, and full of expectation:
an excellent plot, very good friends_."
Steve went, not to a theatre, but to bed. In the morning, after a
few inquiries, he sauntered round to get his bearings. He made these
explorations afoot, opining that, at first, the use of street cars or
the "L" would tend to confuse his orientation.
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