DOI Artikel:
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DOI Seite / Zitierlink:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.3189#0206
rattling rush of noises, and the West-bound Chicago
Limited throws itself alongside the Station, panting and
throbbing. The air-brakes settle back with a long hiss, the
escape-valve roars hoarsely, a cloud of vapour rising like
the Genie emerging from the Bottle, while the locomotive
drinks eagerly from the tank. Dusty travellers crawl from
the coaches, and pace stiffly up and down the board walk,
in the sunshine.
A young man with golf cap and cigarette, walks
leisurely down the alley between the trains, and seats
himself upon the Steps of a vestibule of the Ogden Express.
Directly opposite him is the platform of the last Pullman
of the Chicago Limited. Through the door of this coach,
enters to him, a young woman,—a lady, by every proof
of face, dress and bearing. She holds in one hand a note-
book and Stands by the iron rail of the platform after
glancing frankly at the young man. After a minute she
speaks,—always in a low, dreamy, almost impersonal tone
and manner. He is keenly sensitive, yet obviously restrained,
as if uncertain of the niceties of his replies.
She: Are you,—what is called conventional?
He: I beg your pardon,—are you speaking to me?
She: To you—yes, in a way. To the individual You,
not to the personal You, though. Do you know what
I mean?
He: Why, yes, I think so;—yet if I do know what
you mean, there is no need of asking such a question,
is there?
She: That 's very true. Still, it was such an efFort to
speak at all. You might so easily have misunderstood me.
He: You can trust me,—we are of the same caste, I
assure you,—and there are some things that even a man
knows by Intuition.
She: You think so? Then you think we can say what
we really think, without disguise, in these three minutes?
The porter said we were to stay here only three minutes.
He: But why for only three minutes?
She: Ah, that 's the mystery of it all! Why is it? Yet
if it were for longer, I would never dare speak to you at
all. But it has seemed so stränge to me,—these flying
glimpses of people;—like images seen in a flash-light
picture, and then fading away into nothing. I could n't
stand it. It seemed as if I must speak to some one, and
say something real, and then be swept apart. What does
it all mean? Do you think we have ever met before?
He: Why, yes,—I know it.
She: You feel it too ? Oh, I wonder when! Perhaps
thousands of years ago;—who knows?
He: But we shall meet again, shan't we?
She: Ah, yes,—perhaps;—thousands of years hence,
may be. I wish I could feel sure of it!
He: I feel sure of it.
She: Do you? I wonder how we shall know each
other! If I could only give you some word to know me
by! Some message for you to keep! I feel as if you were
on some passing star, and I trying to speak to you, before
Oö
Remarkable
truly, is Art!
See~Elliptical
Wheeis on a Cart!
It looks very fair
In the Picture up there; ^§
But imagine the
Ride when you Start!
GELETT BURGESS, TITELBLATT
GELETT BURGESS, ELLIPTICAL WHEELS
C 347 I)
W
Limited throws itself alongside the Station, panting and
throbbing. The air-brakes settle back with a long hiss, the
escape-valve roars hoarsely, a cloud of vapour rising like
the Genie emerging from the Bottle, while the locomotive
drinks eagerly from the tank. Dusty travellers crawl from
the coaches, and pace stiffly up and down the board walk,
in the sunshine.
A young man with golf cap and cigarette, walks
leisurely down the alley between the trains, and seats
himself upon the Steps of a vestibule of the Ogden Express.
Directly opposite him is the platform of the last Pullman
of the Chicago Limited. Through the door of this coach,
enters to him, a young woman,—a lady, by every proof
of face, dress and bearing. She holds in one hand a note-
book and Stands by the iron rail of the platform after
glancing frankly at the young man. After a minute she
speaks,—always in a low, dreamy, almost impersonal tone
and manner. He is keenly sensitive, yet obviously restrained,
as if uncertain of the niceties of his replies.
She: Are you,—what is called conventional?
He: I beg your pardon,—are you speaking to me?
She: To you—yes, in a way. To the individual You,
not to the personal You, though. Do you know what
I mean?
He: Why, yes, I think so;—yet if I do know what
you mean, there is no need of asking such a question,
is there?
She: That 's very true. Still, it was such an efFort to
speak at all. You might so easily have misunderstood me.
He: You can trust me,—we are of the same caste, I
assure you,—and there are some things that even a man
knows by Intuition.
She: You think so? Then you think we can say what
we really think, without disguise, in these three minutes?
The porter said we were to stay here only three minutes.
He: But why for only three minutes?
She: Ah, that 's the mystery of it all! Why is it? Yet
if it were for longer, I would never dare speak to you at
all. But it has seemed so stränge to me,—these flying
glimpses of people;—like images seen in a flash-light
picture, and then fading away into nothing. I could n't
stand it. It seemed as if I must speak to some one, and
say something real, and then be swept apart. What does
it all mean? Do you think we have ever met before?
He: Why, yes,—I know it.
She: You feel it too ? Oh, I wonder when! Perhaps
thousands of years ago;—who knows?
He: But we shall meet again, shan't we?
She: Ah, yes,—perhaps;—thousands of years hence,
may be. I wish I could feel sure of it!
He: I feel sure of it.
She: Do you? I wonder how we shall know each
other! If I could only give you some word to know me
by! Some message for you to keep! I feel as if you were
on some passing star, and I trying to speak to you, before
Oö
Remarkable
truly, is Art!
See~Elliptical
Wheeis on a Cart!
It looks very fair
In the Picture up there; ^§
But imagine the
Ride when you Start!
GELETT BURGESS, TITELBLATT
GELETT BURGESS, ELLIPTICAL WHEELS
C 347 I)
W