es the joyless, taciturn American
speak to his fellow whom he does not know, is for the time being a
blessing. But in the "Ladies' Room" there is not even a community of
interest in a single bad habit, to break the monotone of weary stillness.
Who has not felt the very soul writhe within her as she has first crossed
the threshold of one of these dismal antechambers of journey? Carpetless,
dingy, dusty; two or three low sarcophagi of greenish-gray iron in open
spaces, surrounded by blue-lipped women, in different angles and attitudes
of awkwardness, trying to keep the soles of their feet in a perpendicular
position, to be warmed at what they have been led to believe is a
steam-heating apparatus; a few more women, equally listless and
weary-looking, standing in equally difficult and awkward positions before
a counter, holding pie in one hand, and tea in a cup and saucer in the
other, taking alternate mouthfuls of each, and spilling both; the rest
wedged bolt upright against the wall in narrow partitioned seats, which
only need a length of perforated foot-board in front to make them fit to
be patented as the best method of putting whole communities of citizens
into the stocks at once. All, feet warmers, pie-eaters, and those who sit
in the red-velvet stocks, wear so exactly the same expression of vacuity
and fatigue that they might almost be taken for one gigantic and unhappy
family connection, on its way to what is called in newspapers "a sad
event." The only wonder is that this stiffened, desiccated crowd retains
vitality enough to remember the hours at which its several trains depart,
and to rise up and shake itself alive and go on board. One is haunted
sometimes by the fancy that some day, when the air in the room is
unusually bad and the trains are delayed, a curious phenomenon will be
seen. The petrifaction will be carried a little farther than usual, and,
when the bell rings and the official calls out, "Train made up for Babel,
Hinnom, and way stations?" no women will come forth from the "Ladies'
Room," no eye will move, no muscle will stir. Husbands and brothers will
wait and search vainly for those who should have met them at the station,
with bundles of the day's shopping to be carried out; homes will be
desolate; and the history of rare fossils and petrifactions will have a
novel addition. Or, again, that, if some sudden convulsion of Nature, like
those which before now have buried wicked cities and the dwellers in