plate
glass mirrors and wire nettings in the windows, like the one in which
I'd travelled to Newport, but there were two rows of seats, and when
the train moved a cloud of coal smoke poured in through the door at the
front end. Babies squalled, children whined, and their faces grew black
and damp with mingled dirt and heat while grown-up people scolded; but
a dear old lady got into my seat before long, and just because I helped
her with a band-box, she made me a present of a huge peach. I was
thankful to have it, for by this time I was collapsing with hunger,
having been up all night without anything to eat.

The peach made me think of Mr. Brett, and the little basket he had sent
me on the docks. Then this thought suggested another. He had said he
would do anything for me that was in his power, and if he were still in
New York, it was in his power to help me a good deal. He could tell me
how much it would cost to go to Chicago, and he could show me how to
get there.

I really believe that at first I hadn't had a thought of seeing him,
but once it had got into my head, I welcomed it, begged it to sit down
and make itself at home.

I could have clapped my hands with joy when I saw the Grand Central
Station and the delightful _cafe au lait_ porters with their red caps.
It looked as familiar and comforting as if I'd passed through a hundred
times instead of once, and I had the nice feeling that now something
pleasant was sure to happen, which one has when one first arrives in
Paris.

Vivace brightened up, too, and he took me out, rather than I him. I was
in such a hurry to get away, for fear Potter might have come after me
by a quick train, and be looking somewhere, that I flew along with my
bag and Vivace, without waiting for a porter. I followed other people
out of the station, with the intention of finding a cab and driving to
the Club where Mr. Brett was employed; but though there were dozens of
hansoms drawn up by the pavement, they had the air of being private
ones. It did seem queer that so many people should have private hansoms
waiting for them at this particular hour (it was half past twelve) but
the drivers with their tall shiny hats, smart coats and bright, clever
faces, the glitter of the harness, the newness of the cab linings and
appointments all forbade any other thought. I wandered wistfully along
the line, wondering if there were no public conveyances of any kind at
the Grand Central, besides the tram