He was the only person,
with the exception of the drunken truck driver, who moved forward at a
natural and easy gait. The effect was startling. Darrow seemed to be the
only real human being of the lot. All the rest were phantasmagoric.
But as he proceeded down-town the spell was beginning to break. People
were communicating with one another by means of pencil and paper. Darrow
was amused, on crossing the park, to see against the lighted windows on
Newspaper Row the silhouetted forms of activity. Evidently, the newspaper
men were already at work on this fresh story.
Near the corner of the park Darrow saw standing a policeman of his varied
acquaintance. The scientist walked up to this man, who was standing in the
typical vacant uncertainty, smiled agreeably, clapped him on the back, and
shook his hand. The patrolman grasped Darrow's hand, but the look of
groping uncertainty deepened on his face.
Darrow slipped his note-book from his pocket, and scribbled a few lines,
which he showed to the officer. The latter read, inwardly digested for a
moment, and smiled.
"Keep your hair on," ran Darrow's screed. "This will pass in a few
minutes, and it won't hurt you, anyway. Don't look like all these other
dubs."
He stood there companionably by the patrolman. They looked about them. All
at once, with this touch of normal, unafraid, human companionship, the
weird horror of the situation fell away.
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