he spring in the oasis,
and drank from it, thirstily, gratefully.

South Water Street feeds Chicago. Into that close-packed thoroughfare
come daily the fruits and vegetables that will supply a million tables.
Ben had heard of it, vaguely, but had never attempted to find it. Now he
stumbled upon it and standing there felt at home in Chicago for the
first time in more than a year. He saw ruddy men walking about in
overalls and carrying whips in their hands--wagon whips, actually. He
hadn't seen men like that since he left the farm. The sight of them sent
a great pang of homesickness through him. His hand reached out and he
ran an accustomed finger over the potatoes in a barrel on the walk. His
fingers lingered and gripped them, and passed over them lovingly.

At the contact something within him that had been tight and hungry
seemed to relax, satisfied. It was his nerves, feeding on those familiar
things for which they had been starving.

He walked up one side and down the other. Crates of lettuce, bins of
onions, barrels of apples. Such vegetables!

The radishes were scarlet globes. Each carrot was a spear of pure
orange. The green and purple of fancy asparagus held his expert eye. The
cauliflower was like a great bouquet, fit for a bride; the cabbages
glowed like jade.

And the men! He hadn't dreamed there were men like that in this big,
shiny-shod, stiffly laundered, white-collared city. Here were rufous men
in overalls--worn, shabby, easy-looking overalls and old blue shirts,
and mashed hats worn at a careless angle. Men jovial, good-natured, with
clear blue eyes and having about them some of the revivifying freshness
and wholesomeness of the products they handled.

Ben Westerveld breathed in the strong, pungent smell of onions and
garlic and of the good earth that seemed to cling to the vegetables,
washed clean though they were. He breathed deeply, gratefully, and felt
strangely at peace.

It was a busy street. A hundred times he had to step quickly to avoid
hand truck, or dray, or laden wagon. And yet the busy men found time to
greet him friendlily: "H'are you!" they said, genially. "H'are you this
morning!"

He was market-wise enough to know that some of these busy people were
commission men, and some grocers, and some buyers, stewards, clerks. It
was a womanless thoroughfare. At the busiest business corner, though, in
front of the largest commission house on the street, he saw a woman.
Evidently she was t