se, miss, will you come down to lunch?"

CHAPTER VIII

A whirling maelstrom of human activity and dynamic energy--the
city which above all others is characteristic of the genius and
virility of the American people--New York, with its congested
polyglot population and teeming millions, is assuredly one of the
busiest, as it is one of the most strenuous and most noisy places
on earth. Yet, despite its swarming streets and crowded shops,
ceaselessly thronged with men and women eagerly hurrying here and
there in the pursuit of business or elusive pleasure, all
chattering, laughing, shouting amid the deafening, multisonous
roar of traffic incidental to Gotham's daily life, there is one
part of the great metropolis where there is no bustle, no noise,
no crowd, where the streets are empty even in daytime, where a
passer-by is a curiosity and a child a phenomenon. This deserted
village in the very heart of the big town is the millionaires'
district, the boundaries of which are marked by Carnegie hill on
the north, Fiftieth Street on the south, and by Fifth and Madison
Avenues respectively on the west and east. There is nothing more
mournful than the outward aspect of these princely residences
which, abandoned and empty for three-quarters of the year, stand
in stately loneliness, as if ashamed of their isolation and utter
uselessness. Their blinds drawn, affording no hint of life within,
enveloped the greater part of the time in the stillness and
silence of the tomb, they appear to be under the spell of some
baneful curse. No merry-voiced children romp in their carefully
railed off gardens, no sounds of conversation or laughter come
from their hermetically closed windows, not a soul goes in or out,
at most, at rare intervals, does one catch a glimpse of a
gorgeously arrayed servant gliding about in ghostly fashion,
supercilious and suspicious, and addressing the chance visitor in
awed whispers as though he were the guardian of a house of
affliction. It is, indeed, like a city of the dead.

So it appeared to Jefferson as he walked up Fifth Avenue, bound
for the Ryder residence, the day following his arrival from
Europe. Although he still lived at his father's house, for at no
time had there been an open rupture, he often slept in his studio,
finding it more convenient for his work, and there he had gone
straight from the ship. He felt, however, that it was his duty to
see his mother as soon as possible; besides he was