al, healthy face in the whole mass; not a
straight figure; not a straightforward, steady glance.

In the drive of the wind and sleet they pushed in on one another. There
were wrists, unprotected by coat or pocket, which were red with cold.
There were ears, half covered by every conceivable semblance of a hat,
which still looked stiff and bitten. In the snow they shifted, now one
foot, now another, almost rocking in unison.

With the growth of the crowd about the door came a murmur. It was not
conversation, but a running comment directed at any one in general. It
contained oaths and slang phrases.

"By damn, I wish they'd hurry up."

"Look at the copper watchin'."

"Maybe it ain't winter, nuther!"

"I wisht I was in Sing Sing."

Now a sharper lash of wind cut down and they huddled closer. It was an
edging, shifting, pushing throng. There was no anger, no pleading, no
threatening words. It was all sullen endurance, unlightened by either
wit or good fellowship.

A carriage went jingling by with some reclining figure in it. One of the
men nearest the door saw it.

"Look at the bloke ridin'."

"He ain't so cold."

"Eh, eh, eh!" yelled another, the carriage having long since passed out
of hearing.

Little by little the night crept on. Along the walk a crowd turned
out on its way home. Men and shop-girls went by with quick steps. The
cross-town cars began to be crowded. The gas lamps were blazing, and
every window bloomed ruddy with a steady flame. Still the crowd hung
about the door, unwavering.

"Ain't they ever goin' to open up?" queried a hoarse voice,
suggestively.

This seemed to renew the general interest in the closed door, and many
gazed in that direction. They looked at it as dumb brutes look, as dogs
paw and whine and study the knob. They shifted and blinked and muttered,
now a curse, now a comment. Still they waited and still the snow whirled
and cut them with biting flakes. On the old hats and peaked shoulders it
was piling. It gathered in little heaps and curves and no one brushed
it off. In the centre of the crowd the warmth and steam melted it, and
water trickled off hat rims and down noses, which the owners could
not reach to scratch. On the outer rim the piles remained unmelted.
Hurstwood, who could not get in the centre, stood with head lowered to
the weather and bent his form.

A light appeared through the transom overhead. It sent a thrill of
possibility through the watchers. There was