270 THE OPEN AIR 



lialf-seen, seem in the hurry and rain; faces held 

 downwards and muffled by the darkness — not quite 

 human in their eager and intensely concentrated 

 haste. No one thinks of or notices another — on, 

 on — splash, shove, and scramble ; an intense selfish- 

 ness, so selfish as not to be selfish, if that can be 

 understood, so absorbed as to be past observing 

 that any one lives but themselves. Human beings 

 reduced to mere hurrying machines, worked by wind 

 and rain, and stern necessities of life; driven on; 

 something very hard and unhappy in the thought of 

 this. They seem reduced to the condition of the 

 wooden cabs — the mere vehicles — pulled along by the 

 irresistible horse Circumstance. They shut their 

 eyes mentally, wrap themselves in the overcoat of 

 indifference, and drive on, drive on. It is time 

 to get out at last. The 'bus stops on one side 

 of the street, and you have to cross to the other. 

 Look up and down — lights are rushing each way, but 

 for the moment none are close. The gas-lamps shine 

 in the puddles of thick greasy water, and by their 

 gleam you can guide yourself round them. Cab 

 coming ! Surely he will give way a little and not 

 force you into that great puddle ; no, he neither sees, 

 nor cares, Drive on, drive on. Quick ! the shafts ! 

 Step in the puddle and save your life ! 



THE END. 



