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Ben spoke of him seldom； but the boy was always present in his thoughts。
They had written him of their move； but he had not seemed to get the
impression of its permanence。 His letters indicated that he thought they
were visiting Minnie； or taking a vacation in the city。 Dike's letters were
few。 Ben treasured them； and read and reread them。 When the
Armistice news came； and with it the possibility of Dike's return； Ben tried
to fancy him fitting into the life of the city。 And his whole being revolted
at the thought。
He saw the pimply…faced； sallow youths standing at the corner of
Halsted and Sixty…third； spitting languidly and handling their limp
cigarettes with an amazing labial dexterity。 Their conversation was low…
voiced； sinister； and terse； and their eyes narrowed as they watched the
overdressed； scarlet…lipped girls go by。 A great fear clutched at Ben
Westerveld's heart。
The lack of exercise and manual labor began to tell on Ben。 He did
not grow fat from idleness。 Instead his skin seemed to sag and hang on
his frame； like a garment grown too large for him。 He walked a great
deal。 Perhaps that had something to do with it。 He tramped miles of
city pave… ments。 He was a very lonely man。 And then； one day； quite
by accident； he came upon South Water Street。 Came upon it； stared at it
as a water…crazed traveler in a desert gazes upon the spring in the oasis；
and drank from it； thirstily； gratefully。
South Water Street feeds Chicago。 Into that close…packed
thoroughfare come daily the fruits and vegetables that will supply a
million tables。 Ben had heard of it； vaguely； but had never attempted to
find it。 Now he stumbled upon it and； standing there； felt at home in
Chicago for the first time in more than a year。 He saw ruddy men
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walking about in overalls and carrying whips in their handswagon whips；
actually。 He hadn't seen men like that since he had left the farm。 The
sight of them sent a great pang of homesickness through him。 His hand
reached out and he ran an accustomed finger over the potatoes in a barrel
on the walk。 His fingers lingered and gripped them； and passed over
them lovingly。
At the contact something within him that had been tight and hungry
seemed to relax； satisfied。 It was his nerves； feeding on those familiar
things for which they had been starving。
He walked up one side and down the other。 Crates of lettuce； bins of
onions； barrels of apples。 Such vegetables！ The radishes were scarlet
globes。 Each carrot was a spear of pure orange。 The green and purple
of fancy asparagus held his expert eye。 The cauliflower was like a great
bouquet； fit for a bride； the cabbages glowed like jade。
And the men！ He hadn't dreamed there were men like that in this big；
shiny…shod； stiffly laundered； white…collared city。 Here were rufous men
in overallsworn； shabby； easy…looking overalls and old blue shirts； and
mashed hats worn at a careless angle。 Men； jovial； good…natured； with
clear eyes； and having about them some of the revivifying freshness and
wholesomeness of the products they handled。
Ben Westerveld breathed in the strong； pungent smell of onions and
garlic and of the earth that seemed to cling to the vegetables； washed clean
though they were。 He breathed deeply； gratefully； and felt strangely at
peace。
It was a busy street。 A hundred times he had to step quickly to avoid
a hand truck； or dray； or laden wagon。 And yet the busy men found time
to greet him friendlily。 〃H'are you！〃 they said genially。 〃H'are you this
morning！〃
He was marketwise enough to know that some of these busy people
were commission men； and some grocers； and some buyers； stewards；
clerks。 It was a womanless thoroughfare。 At the busiest business corner；
though； in front of the largest commission house on the street； he saw a
woman。 Evidently she was transacting business； too； for he saw the men
bringing boxes of berries and vegetables for her inspection。 A woman in
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a plain blue skirt and a small black hat。
A funny job for a woman。 What weren't they mixing into nowadays！
He turned sidewise in the narrow； crowded space in order to pass her
little group。 And one of the mena red…cheeked； merry…looking young
fellow in a white apronlaughed and said： 〃Well； Emma； you win。
When it comes to driving a bargain with you； I quit。 It can't be did！〃
Even then he didn't know her。 He did not dream that this straight；
slim； tailored； white…haired woman； bargaining so shrewdly with these
men； was the Emma Byers of the old days。 But he stopped there a
moment； in frank curiosity； and the woman looked up。 She looked up；
and he knew those intelligent eyes and that serene brow。 He had carried
the picture of them in his mind for more than thirty years； so it was not so
surprising。
He did not hesitate。 He might have if he had thought a moment； but
he acted automatically。 He stood before her。 〃You're Emma Byers； ain't
you？〃
She did not know him at first。 Small blame to her； so completely had
the roguish； vigorous boy vanished in this sallow； sad…eyed old man。
Then： 〃Why； Ben！〃 she said quietly。 And there was pity in her voice；
though she did not mean to have it there。 She put out one handthat
capable； reassuring handand gripped his and held it a moment。 It was
queer and significant that it should be his hand that lay within hers。
〃Well； what in all get…out are you doing around here； Emma？〃 He
tried to be jovial and easy。 She turned to the aproned man with whom
she had been dealing and smiled。
〃What am I doing here； Joe？〃
Joe grinned； waggishly。 〃Nothin'； only beatin' every man on the
street at his own game； and makin' so much money that〃
But she stopped him there。 〃I guess I'll do my own explaining。〃
She turned to Ben again。 〃And what are you doing here in Chicago？〃
Ben passed a faltering hand across his chin。 〃Me？ Well； I'mwe're
living here； I s'pose。 Livin' here。〃
She glanced at him sharply。 〃Left the farm； Ben？〃
〃Yes。〃
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〃Wait a minute。〃 She concluded her business with Joe； finished it
briskly and to her own satisfaction。 With her bright brown eyes and her
alert manner and her quick little movements she made you think of a
wrena businesslike little wrena very early wren that is highly versed in
the worm…catching way。
At her next utterance he was startled but game。
〃Have you had your lunch？〃
〃Why； no； I〃
〃I've been down here since seven； and I'm starved。 Let's go and have
a bite at the little Greek restaurant around the corner。 A cup of coffee and
a sandwich； anyway。〃
Seated at the bare little table； she surveyed him with those intelligent；
understanding； kindly eyes； and he felt the years slip from him。 They
were walking down the country road together； and she was listening
quietly and advising him。
She interrogated him gently。 But something of his old masterfulness
came back to him。 〃No； I want to know about you first。 I can't get the
rights of it； you being here on South Water； tradin' and all。〃
So she told him briefly。 She was in the commission business。
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