eat by himself, but, leaning forward, with
both arms spraddled out behind Steering and the driver, he seemed now
and then to take possession of the front seat, too.

"Yes!" cried the driver, who, fearless, confident, glowing, was managing
her spirited horses skilfully, "at Joplin's gates, you must chant the
classic, 'Hey this, what's this?'"

"And up from the city rolls the triumphant answer, 'This is the town
that jack built!'" declaimed Steering, glancing down into the driver's
face with accordant appreciation. He felt accordant and he felt
appreciative. He had enjoyed the little railway journey from Canaan in
company with the Madeiras. He had enjoyed the night before, which he had
spent at the house of a Joplin friend of the Madeiras. He was enjoying
the ride now. The friend of the Madeiras had put good horses at
Madeira's disposal and Miss Sally Madeira could get speed out of good
horses as easily as other women get a purr out of a kitten. Even
Madeira, just behind him, crowding forward upon him, did not very much
bother Steering. It was all enjoyable.

They were on a long wide street that presented violently contrasted
activities, hard to encompass with one pair of eyes. For blocks the
buildings lined off on either side, low, flimsy and hastily
constructed--mining-camp architecture, that gave way at abrupt intervals
to tall and sightly brick-and-stone structures, built for the future
metropolis rather than for the present camp. A section of an electric
railway that was thirty-two miles long ran through the street, and the
handsomely equipped cars on it clipped past mud-encrusted mule teams
from distant hill farms, prairie schooners, and dilapidated carryalls.
The scene was tremendously, occidentally irregular, setting forth that
merciless clutch of the future upon the past that makes the present mere
transition. The town was hard pushed to catch up with its own vast
possibilities. A small place, set suddenly forward as one of the world's
great ore markets, it could not even house the mining business that had
poured in upon it, and that made of its main thoroughfare a tossing,
turbulent stream of people. Almost every building that Steering saw was
crowded to the doors with mining brokers' desks, mining brokers' desks
spilled out on the side-walk, desks could be seen at the doors of the
retail stores and desks kept banking-house doors from shutting. The
windows of the newspaper offices and of the mineral companies