Winnipeg station was crowded by dejected emigrants. The broken line had disorganized the traffic and nobody knew when the west-bound trains would start, but the fashionable young woman at the information office thought none would go for two or three hours. Kit saw his polite inquiries bored her, but she haughtily indicated the telegraph office, and when he sent off Alison’s message they started for the town.
The night was hot, the pavements were wet, and thunder clouds rolled across the moon. For the most part the stores were shut, and Main Street was quiet but for the groups at the doors of the large hotels. Only that people who came out jostled others going in, it looked as if they went to a theatre. The Canadians’ habit is to perambulate the hotels in the evening, and the rotunda is the citizen’s free club.
At the cheap hotels rows of men occupied the window chairs and rested their boots on the radiator pipes. Some smoked and ruminated; some frankly slept, and on the whole Kit thought them a dreary lot. He followed Main Street to Portage Avenue and noted the new ambitious office buildings. A Deer Park car was starting, and Alison stopped for a few moments to watch the passengers get on board. They were obviously going home and she envied them.
She touched Kit, and they went along a side street to the river. Lights burned in the small frame houses, and the reflections from the windows touched the trees in the narrow garden-lots. Wooden pillars and sawn scrolls ornamented the shiplap fronts, and although the verandas were enclosed like meat-safes by mosquito mesh, Alison thought the houses picturesque.
Sometimes she heard cheerful voices and sometimes a gramophone. By and by she stopped opposite a window behind which a woman sang. Heavy drops splashed from the trees and the sidewalk was muddy; her boots were wet and a mosquito bit her neck.
“Oh,” she said, savagely brushing off the insect, “that’s the second! I hope I killed the brute! Perhaps I’m revengeful, but it looks as if the mosquitoes knew we were strangers. Haven’t you got bitten?”
“If it would be some comfort, we’ll stop until I do get bitten,” Kit replied.
“You are rather noble,” Alison remarked with a laugh. “You see, I felt the mosquitoes were not just; but I’d really sooner they left you alone, and we won’t stop.” She indicated the little houses and the cheerful domestic lights. “Don’t you feel as if we were shut out?”
“To control your imagination is a useful plan. When the Canadians know you, they won’t want to shut you out. So far, they have not had much chance to cultivate us.”
“You are some comfort,” said Alison in a quiet voice. “Let’s see the river, and then I think we’ll go back to the station. I feel the noise is bracing.”
They went to the river. The moon was on the water, and the current revolved in muddy eddies along the high bank. Vague trees marked the top, and in the distance pale lightning flickered across the sky. For a minute or two big drops splashed the pools and Alison felt the moisture warm on her skin. Then the rain stopped and a motor boat forged noisily up-stream and vanished in the dark.
“Perhaps the boat is typical,” Kit remarked. “Not very long since, the half-breed voyagers poled their canoes up the Assiniboine and settlers crossed the plains in Red River carts. Now I expect a flour-mill clerk goes as far on a holiday afternoon as the voyagers went in a week. Although the romance the others knew is gone, a gasoline launch and a railroad car have some advantages.”
“Do you think the Red River settlers were romantic?”
“If the folk in the hotel windows are their descendants, I begin to doubt. All the same, when you see them mend a broken track, you’re forced to acknowledge them a hefty lot. Well, suppose we admit the Red River man’s main object was to get there? Don’t you see his doing so is important?”
“I’d sooner talk about something else,” said Alison quietly. “When you arranged about my sleeper I was not altogether satisfied, and to-day I made inquiries. You gave me your ticket.”
“So long as you are satisfied we won’t dispute,” said Kit. “Since I knew your independence I might, of course, have bought another ticket and allowed you to pay; but I did not. I got a berth for nothing on board the Colonist, and since I slept until morning neither of us has much grounds to grumble.”
Alison touched his arm. “I didn’t want to grumble. I think I wanted you to know I knew. To find people do things like that is encouraging.”
“You mustn’t exaggerate. To-night we’re forlorn strangers, but when you are a big company’s secretary and I have built a famous bridge we’ll meet for dinner at an expensive hotel and talk about the evening we arrived at Winnipeg.”
“Ah,” said Alison, “I may not get the chance I want; but if I am lucky, I’ll know you helped and I’ll meet you where you like. In the meantime, perhaps, we ought to start for the station.”
They went back. Nobody yet knew when the trains would go, and Kit put Alison’s rug on a bench in the waiting hall and sat down on his bag. The spacious hall was rather like a palace than an English waiting-room. The light was soft and clear. Noble columns supported the huge glass dome and good pictures of Canadian landscapes occupied the walls. The ornamental benches were moulded to one’s body and the floor was white marble.
The passengers, however, did not harmonize with the hall. Listless, dusty emigrants leaned against the pillars and crowded the benches. For the most part their clothes were threadbare and their boots were broken. They used bundles for pillows, and some who slept extended arms and legs in uncouth poses. A number had spread ragged blankets on the marble flags, and dejected groups, surrounded by their baggage, lay about. Kit saw broken boxes, bundles covered by colored quilts, and rolls of dirty bedding. It looked as if the foreigners had brought all their household goods and would not risk the stuff in the baggage cars.
They threw paper matches, fruit bags and banana skins about the floor, and the hall smelt of musty clothes and rank tobacco. Men smoked and brooded, women talked in moody voices, and jaded children cried. Nobody bothered about them, for Colonist passengers cannot buy civility. They did not know when their trains would start, and Kit doubted if all knew where they went. They had bought a ticket for a spot on the map, at which, perhaps, somebody from their native village had prospered.
One got a sense of apathetic resignation, but Kit remarked that some mouths were firm and some brows were knit. After all, the slack and hopeless do not emigrate, and those who took the plunge had virile qualities. Their patience was perhaps remarkable, but Kit thought they could be moved. To put the crowd on the cars, however, was the railroad company’s business, and Kit gave Alison a packet of candies he had bought and lighted a cigarette. Alison motioned him to rest his back against the rug she pulled across the bench. By and by a bell tolled and wheels rattled.
“My train?” said Alison, and Kit stopped a railroad official.
“Winnipeg Beach excursion,” said the man, and Kit thought Alison was glad because she need not go.
When the excursionists crossed the hall he studied the groups. The girls’ clothes were fashionable; the young men wore straw hats and summer flannels. They carried themselves well, their steps were quick, and their voices happy. Kit thought them keen and optimistic, and he speculated about their occupations. For one thing, it looked as if their pay was good. Alison frowned, for she marked a contrast. The excursionists were going home after a holiday. In the morning they would resume their well-rewarded labors at office and store, but she had no home, and it might be long before she got a post.
A girl gave her a sympathetic glance and touched her companion. He was a rather handsome young fellow and he stopped in front of Kit. Kit, sitting on his bag, leaned against Alison’s bench, and her dress touched his clothes.
“You’re from the Old Country? Waiting for the west-bound?” the Canadian inquired in a friendly voice.
“That is so,” said Kit. “Do you know anything about the trains? So far as we can find out, the railroad men do not.”
The other laughed. “In the West you don’t bother the railroad gang. They don’t like it. You buy your ticket and wait until they think you ought to start. However, the yard loco’s moving some cars, and I expect the Vancouver express will soon pull out. Well, I reckon you’re going the proper way. On the plains we’ll cut a record crop and trade will boom. If you’re willing to hustle, you’ll make good. Will you take a cigarette?”
He gave Kit a package, and the girl gave Alison a bag of fruit. When they went off Alison’s eyes twinkled, but Kit thought her color rather high.
“They’re good sorts,” he remarked. “Husband and wife?”
“Not yet,” said Alison, as if she knew. “They are going to be married; I think they fixed it, not long since, at Winnipeg Beach. The girl’s kind, and because she’s happy she wanted to sympathize.”
She turned her head and Kit saw a light. Perhaps the others thinking them man and wife was not remarkable, and he began to muse. Although the Winnipeg girls were attractive, none had a charm like Alison’s. Their walk and carriage indicated that they knew their power to attract, but Alison’s charm was unconscious. Kit liked her level glance, her touch of quiet humor and her independence. When she was gone he would be lonely. Since he was not a romantic sentimentalist, there was the puzzle.
Alison knew he was Evelyn’s lover, and although now he thought about it, she had some physical charm, her beauty did not move him. In fact, he was not attracted because she was a girl; sex had nothing to do with it. Perhaps her trusting him accounted for much. One liked to be trusted and one liked people one helped; but Kit doubted if it accounted for all. Anyhow, he did not want to let her go. Alison was quiet, and he lighted a cigarette from the Canadian’s package.
At length, a bell rang and a long train rolled into the station. Alison got up, as if she braced herself, and Kit seized her bag. He told her to hold his arm and they were carried to the door by a jostling crowd. On the platform the crowd stopped and surged tumultuously about. Tall iron rails enclosed the space and a group of muscular railroad men kept the gate. Kit supposed they wanted to examine the tickets, since another train started soon.
The emigrants, however, had waited long, and now they saw the train they meant to get on board. A number knew no English. On board ship and at the stations strangers drove them about and penned them up like cattle. It looked as if they had had enough and their dull resignation vanished. They growled sullenly, and Kit thought “growl” was the proper word, for the noise carried a hint of animal savageness. When the shipyard gates stopped a strikers’ march, Kit had heard the ominous note before.
“Give me your ticket,” he said to Alison. “I’ll see you on the cars.”
“But the railway people will turn you back.”
“I think not; if they try, they’re fools,” said Kit. “This crowd’s going through.”
For a few minutes the railroad men struggled to hold the jostling passengers, and then one shut the ponderous gate. The mob howled and rolled ahead, and the group was flung against the rails. A whistle pierced the turmoil; porters and train-hands ran to help, but the emigrants’ blood was fired and they raged behind the barrier. A few, perhaps, were fanatic anarchists; others had borne oppression and stern military rule. Now authority again blocked their road they meant to fight.
The rails were high, but men getting on others’ backs began to climb across. Then somebody reopened the gate and a fresh guard tried to hold the gap. Kit liked the fellows’ pluck, but he thought them foolish. Anyhow, they were not going to stop him. Alison must get her train.
Clutching the bag, he steered her into the press. He stumbled against luggage the emigrants dropped and doubted if Alison kept her feet, but she stuck to him and they got nearer the gate. In front he saw heaving shoulders and bent backs. The men’s arms were jambed; it was like a Rugby scrimmage. Women screamed, and one, jerking up her hand, struck Kit’s face. He did not know if he jostled her, but in the turmoil he must go where the others went. People strained and gasped and fought. Jambed tight, they pushed for the barrier; and then the thick rails crashed.
The crowd spilled out across the platform as a flood leaps a broken dam, and Kit, plunging forward, had room to choose his line. The emigrants meant to get on board as soon as possible and they swarmed about the cars nearest the broken rails. Kit saw a better plan.
“Come on!” he shouted, and started for the front of the long train.
After a minute or two he stopped at a second-class car. Behind him others ran along the line and he pushed Alison up the steps. A colored porter came from the vestibule.
“Have you got a sleeper berth?” Kit asked.
“The conductor’ll fix you all right,” said the porter. “Where’s your grip?”
Kit gave him the bag, and when the fellow went off turned and looked about. The group he had remarked steered for the vestibule.
“We mustn’t block the steps, and you ought to get your place,” he said.
Alison on the top step hesitated, and then put her hand on his shoulder.
“Good-bye! Thank you for all, Kit,” she said and turned her head.
Kit kissed her and jumped back. The crowd had reached the car and people pushed him from the steps. For a moment Alison leaned over the rail and he waved his cap.
“Cheerio! Look in front!” he shouted, and Alison smiled and vanished.
Two or three minutes afterwards the cars jolted and smoke and cinders blew about. Lights rolled by and melted, the locomotive bell stopped and the train was gone. Kit went back to the waiting hall, but he did not steer for the bench Alison had occupied. Sitting down across the floor, he moodily lighted his pipe.