But the big prize-fighter still pressed against him, and in a
moment they were rushing on again into the darkness.
Now the clerk had no eyes for the occupants of his car. His face was
pressed against the glass door. He saw, out there in the darkness, that
serenely beautiful face, beatific, transcendent. And even as he looked,
he saw again the rear-lights of the express. They were going to overtake
it--to pass it again. It had been halted by the block signals of the
train ahead, perhaps--at any rate it was now moving very slowly. As the
local shot by, the panorama of faces was unfolded much more rapidly than
it had been before, but Mr. Neal caught a glimpse of the face once more.
It looked directly at him, as it had before, and he thought it smiled
upon him a little.
The little clerk was greatly excited. As soon as the local had come to a
stop at the Fourteenth Street Station and the doors had been opened, he
darted out and hurried to the other side of the platform. There he stood
leaning out to watch for the approach of the express. In a moment it
came, rumbling in quite as usual, mechanically and regularly, and the
doors slid open to allow the flood of people to pour out. Mr. Neal
squirmed through the crowd, looking in at the windows and watching the
people coming out; but he did not see the face, and frantic lest he
should lose it once more, he crowded into one of the cars again at the
last minute.
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