The platform emptied itself.  Theron lingered on in puzzled hesitation, and looked about him.  In the whole immense station, with its acres of tracks and footways, and its incessantly shifting processions of people, there was visible nobody else who seemed also in doubt, or who appeared capable of sympathizing with indecision in any form.  Another train came in, some way over to the right, and before it had fairly stopped, swarms of eager men began boiling out of each end of each car, literally precipitating themselves over one another, it seemed to Theron, in their excited dash down the steps.  As they caught their footing below, they started racing pell-mell down the platform to its end; there he saw them, looking more than ever like clustered bees in the distance, struggling vehemently in a dense mass up a staircase in the remote corner of the building.

“What are those folks running for?  Is there a fire?” he asked an amiable-faced young mulatto, in the uniform of the sleeping-car service, who passed him with some light hand-bags.

“No; they’s Harlem people, I guess—­jes’ catchin’ the Elevated—­that’s all, sir,” he answered obligingly.

At the moment some passengers emerged slowly from one of the sleeping-cars, and came loitering toward him.

“Why, are there people still in these cars?” he asked eagerly.  “Haven’t they all gone?”

“Some has; some ain’t,” the porter replied.  “They most generally take their time about it.  They ain’t no hurry, so long’s they get out ’fore we’re drawn round to the drill-yard.”

There was still hope, then.  Theron took up his bag and walked forward, intent upon finding some place from which he could watch unobserved the belated stragglers issuing from the sleeping-cars.  He started back all at once, confronted by a semi-circle of violent men with whips and badges, who stunned his hearing by a sudden vociferous outburst of shouts and yells.  They made furious gestures at him with their whips and fists, to enforce the incoherent babel of their voices; and in these gestures, as in their faces and cries, there seemed a great deal of menace and very little invitation.  There was a big policeman sauntering near by, and Theron got the idea that it was his presence alone which protected him from open violence at the hands of these savage hackmen.  He tightened his clutch on his valise, and, turning his back on them and their uproar, tried to brave it out and stand where he was.  But the policeman came lounging slowly toward him, with such authority in his swaying gait, and such urban omniscience written all over his broad, sandy face, that he lost heart, and beat an abrupt retreat off to the right, where there were a number of doorways, near which other people had ventured to put down baggage on the floor.

Here, somewhat screened from observation, he stood for a long time, watching at odd moments the ceaselessly varying phases of the strange scene about him, but always keeping an eye on the train he had himself arrived in.  It was slow and dispiriting work.  A dozen times his heart failed him, and he said to himself mournfully that he had had his journey for nothing.  Then some new figure would appear, alighting from the steps of a sleeper, and hope revived in his breast.