mphatically
articulate; it marched past me in the streets to a stirring strain.
There were no pauses, no silences, no waiting. And then, too, one felt
that things were happening all the time. The atmosphere was full of
stir and bustle. Showy horses and carriages went spanking past one;
cabs were pulled up with a jerk, and busily talking men clambered out
from them, carelessly handing silver to the driver, as though it were
a thing of no consequence, and passing from one's sight within doors,
waving cigars and talking, talking all the time. Obviously, big things
were toward; not one to-day and one to-morrow, but every hour in every
street. Fortunes were being made and lost; great enterprises planned
and launched; great crimes, too, I supposed; and crucial meetings and
partings.

Yes, this was the very tide of life, one felt; and with what pulsing,
irresistible strength it ebbed and flowed along the city highways!
Among all these thousands of passers-by no one guessed how closely and
with what inquisitive interest I was observing them. I suppose I must
have covered eight or ten miles of pavement before walking
self-consciously into that wine-shop, and sitting down beside a little
metal table. I know now that, with me, nervousness generally takes the
form of marked apparent nonchalance. Doubtless, this is due to
concentrated effort in my youth to produce this effect. I did not know
the name of a single Australian wine; but I remembered some
enthusiastic comment of my father's upon the 'admirable red wine of
the country,' so I ordered a glass of red wine, and, with an amused
stare, the youth in attendance served me.

Like many of the wines of the country it was fairly potent stuff, and
rather sweet than otherwise, probably an Australian port. I sipped it
with the air of one who generally devoted a good portion of his
evenings to such dalliance, and ate several of the thin biscuits which
lay in a plate on the table. Meanwhile, I observed closely the other
sippers. They were all in couples, and the snatches of their
conversation which I heard struck me as extraordinarily dramatic in
substance; most romantic, I thought, and very different from the
leisurely, languid gossip of those who draw patterns in the dust with
their clasp-knives, and converse chiefly about 'baldy-faced steers,'
'good feed,' 'heavy bits o' road,' and the like, with generous
intervals of say ten or twelve minutes between observations. These
folk in the