Just buy a
lawn-mower and a chatelaine watch apiece--you'd do just as well."
By now every man had his battery box open, McCarthy left them, puzzling
over the singular failure of the electrical apparatus, which is the
nervous system of the modern automobile.
He turned into Fifth Avenue. An astonishing sight met his eyes.
The old days had returned. The center of the long roadway, down which
ordinarily a long file of the purring monsters of gasoline creep and dash,
shouldering aside the few hansoms and victorias remaining from a bygone
age, now showed but a swinging slashing trot of horses.
Hansoms, hacks, broughams; up-raised whips, whirling in signal; the spat
spat of horses' hoofs; all the obsolescent vehicles that ordinarily doze
in hope along the stands of the side streets; it was a gay sight of the
past raised again for the moment to reality by the same mysterious blight
that had shadowed the Atlas Building the night before.
Along the curbs, where they had been handpushed under direction from the
traffic squad, stood an unbroken line of automobiles. And the hood of each
was raised for the eager tinkering of its chauffeur. Past them streamed
the horses, and the faces of their drivers were illumined by broad grins.
McCarthy looked about him for a hansom. There was none unengaged. In fact,
the boss soon determined that many others, like himself, were waiting for
a chance at the first vacant one.
Pages:
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26