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[179] tortured by a most unhappy combination of sounds.

Belated grocers' wagons, laden with to-morrow's dinners, rattle by, charging the crowds around the cars, who skurry out of harm's way, protected by a burly policeman, whose colossal calmness in all the confusion is little short of miraculous.

A great black dog. bouncing along the sidewalk after his master, runs into a small child anxiously carrying a pitcher of oysters. The child, frightened, drops the pitcher, and sits down on the curbing to wail bitterly over the disaster, till comfort in the likeness of a pretty girl with a bag of books on her arm consoles the little Niobe.

Meanwhile, above all this noise and worry, arches the calm sky in which a thousand star points of light have sprung into being since the whistles first blew, and over the tall buildings peeps a tiny crescent moon.

It is time to shut the ledger and put it up, to slip into one's great coat, lock the office door, and catch a foothold on the next outward bound car, with thoughts of a warm supper and the hearth fire to compensate for the pushing crowd and the steadily rising, raw east wind.

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