The jagged purple line of the vast city stretching as far as the eye could reach; with its flat-top, square-sided, boxlike buildings, with here and there a structure taller than the others; the flash of light from Trinity’s spire, its cross aflame; the awkward, crab-like movements of innumerable ferry-boats, their gaping alligator mouths filled with human flies; the impudent, nervous little tugs, spitting steam in every passing face; the long strings of sausage-linked canalers kept together by grunting, slow-moving tows; the great floating track-yards bearing ponderous cars—­eight days from the Pacific without break of bulk; the skinny, far-reaching fingers of innumerable docks clutching prey of barge, steamer, and ship; the stately ocean-liner moving to sea, scattering water-bugs of boats, scows and barges as it glided on its way:—­all this stirred his imagination and filled him with a strange resolve.  He, too, would win a place among the masses—­ Ruth’s hand fast in his.

CHAPTER XXIII

When Jack, in reply to Breen’s note, stepped into his uncle’s office, no one would have recognized in the quick, alert, bronze-faced young fellow the retiring, almost timid, boy who once peered out of the port-hole of the cashier’s desk.  Nor did Jack’s eyes fall on any human being he had ever seen before.  New occupants filled the chairs about the ticker.  A few lucky ones—­very few—­ had pulled out and stayed out, and could now be found at their country seats in various parts of the State, or on the Riviera, or in Egypt; but by far the larger part had crawled out of the fight to nurse their wounds within the privacy of their own homes where the outward show had to be kept up no matter how stringent the inside economies, or how severe the privations.  Others, less fortunate, had disappeared altogether from their accustomed haunts and were to be found filling minor positions in some far Western frontier town or camp, or menial berths on a railroad, while at least one victim, too cowardly to leave the field, had haunted the lunch counters, hotel lobbies, and race-tracks for months, preying on friends and acquaintances alike until dire poverty forced him into crime, and a stone cell and a steel grille had ended the struggle.

Failing to find any face he recognized, Jack approached a group around the ticker, and inquired for the head of the firm.  The answer came from a red-cheeked, clean-shaven, bullet-headed, immaculately upholstered gentleman—­(silk scarf, diamond horse-shoe stick-pin, high collar, cut-away coat, speckled-trout waistcoat—­everything perfect)—­who stood, paring his nails in front of the plate-glass window overlooking the street, and who conveyed news of the elder Breen’s whereabouts by a bob of his head and a jerk of his fat forefinger in the direction of the familiar glass door.

Breen sat at his desk when Jack entered, but it was only when he spoke that his uncle looked up;—­so many men swung back that door with favors to ask, that spontaneous affability was often bad policy.