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His heart yearned for the clap of Pittsburg's sooty hand on his shoulder; for Chicago's menacing but social yawp in his ear; for the pale and eleemosynary stare through the Bostonian eyeglass even for the precipitate but unmalicious boot-toe of Louisville or St. Louis. On Broadway Raggles, successful suitor of many cities, stood, bashful, like any country swain.
He counted back laboriously and decided that to-day must be Thursday. Not that it made any difference. They had lived in the city almost a year now. But the city had not digested Ben. He was a leathery morsel that could not be assimilated. There he stuck in Chicago's crop, contributing nothing, gaining nothing. A rube in a comic collar ambling aimlessly about Halsted Street, or State downtown.
But most of them have no other place to meet. And it is not difficult to comprehend that clandestine appointments in dark corners as a rule do not conduce to proper behavior. Most of the women you see on park benches are domestic servants. Some of them, it is safe to assume, work in New York's Fifth Avenue, or in mansions on Chicago's Lake Shore Drive.
The lumber trade of Chattanooga, particularly in the white woods, was said to be second only to Chicago's. The city also had a tannery believed to be the largest in the world, and more than one fully appointed Bessemer steel manufactory. These steel works and the tannery employed colored operatives almost alone, many of these exceedingly skilful.
They are built in mere wantonness, for within the City Limits, whose distance from the centre is the best proof of Chicago's hopefulness, are many miles of waste ground, covered only with broken fences and battered shanties. And, as they raise their heads through the murky fog, these sky-scrapers wear a morose and sullen look.
He found a jolly company: James Whitcomb Riley, Sol Smith Russell the actor, Opie Read, and a number of Chicago's literary men. When seven o'clock came, some one suggested to Field that something to eat might not be amiss. "Shortly," answered the poet. "Wife is out; cook is new, and dinner will be a little late. Be patient." But at eight o'clock there was still no dinner.
Recently there was submitted to me in the office of one of Chicago's greatest businesses the draft of its organization. No man can pass on the merits of the details of a complicated organization without long and intimate acquaintance with its workings.
She had supper at one of those white-tiled sarcophagi that emblazon Chicago's down town side streets. It had been her original intention to dine in state in the rose-and-gold dining room of her hotel. She had even thought daringly of lobster. But at the last moment she recoiled from the idea of dining alone in that wilderness of tables so obviously meant for two.
His feet, in tan laced shoes, were ordinary feet, a little more than ordinarily expert, perhaps, in the convolutions of the dance at Englewood Masonic Hall, which is part of Chicago's vast South Side. No; a faun, to Miss Bauers, Miss Olson, Miss Ahearn, and just Gertie, was one of those things in the Lincoln Park Zoo. Perhaps, sometimes, they realized, vaguely, that Nick was different.
"Why, in very truth marry, it's in that book. It was printed in Chicago." Bacon glanced contemptuously at the volume without deigning to open it. "And prithee, Master Droop, where may Chicago be?" "Why it was in no! I mean it will be oh, darn it all! Chicago's in Illinois." "Illinois yes and Illinois?" Bacon's dark eyes were turned in grave question upon his companion.
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