Main Street

itable clank and rattle beneath a prolonged roar. The sharp scent of o

attic floor. The stretch of faded gold stubble broken only

ptibly climbing the giant tableland that slopes in a thous

mber, hot,

wels. Halfway down the car is a semi-partition of carved oak columns, but the aisle is of bare, splintery, grease-blackened wood. There is no porter, no pillows, no provision for beds, but all today and all toni

it. An early-wrinkled, young-old mother, moving as though her joints were dry, opens a suit-case in which are seen creased blouses, a pair of slippers worn through at the toes, a bottle of patent medicine, a tin cup, a paper-covered book about dreams which the news-butcher has coa

A large brick-colored Norwegian takes off his shoes, grunts in relief, an

sses, anxiously lifts her bag, opens it, peers in, closes it, puts it under the seat, and hastily picks it up and opens it and hides it all over again. The bag is full of trea

les, bundles wrapped in newspapers, a sewing bag. The oldest boy takes a mouth-organ out of his coat pocket,

to the water-cooler and back to her seat. The stiff paper envelope which she uses for cup drips in the ai

tobacco smoke, and with it a crackle of laughter over the story which the young man in the bright

constantly thi

rnly housekeepers. But one seat looked clean and deceptively cool. In it were an obviously prospe

ll Kennicott and

ional courtship, and they were on their way to Gopher P

fortable interest in them. They distressed her. They were so stolid. She had always maintained that there is no American peasantry, and she sought now to defend her faith by seeing imagination and enterprise in the young

happen if they understood scientific agriculture?

d in her. Will had been lordly-stalwart, jolly, impressively competent in making camp, tender and understanding t

ts of the practise to which he was returning. "Th

o, that isn't what I mean. Th

ea that because a man's pants aren't pressed, he's a

seems so hard for them-these lo

oser touch with the town. Takes time, you know, to change a wilderness like this was fifty years ago. But already, why, they can hop in

t the farmers run to for relief from their blea

same line. He grumbled, "Why, what's the matter with 'em? Good hustling burgs. It would

ey're s

comfy like Gopher Prai

an them? Hundreds of factories trying to make attractive motor cars, but these towns-lef

e mouse. For the first time she tolerated him rather than encouraged him. She was staring out at

waddled out. The station agent hoisted a dead calf aboard the baggage-car. There were no other visible activities

ssorted, as temporary-looking, as a mining-camp street in the motion-pictures. The railroad station was a one-room frame box, a mirey cattle-pen on one side and a crimson wheat-elevator on the other. The elevator, with its cupo

eeve. "You wouldn't call this

the store. Rauskukle, his name is. He owns a lot of mortgages, and he gambles in farm-lands. Good nut on him, that fellow. Why, they say he's worth three or four hundred thousand dollars!

thousand went back into the town, where it belongs, they could burn up these shacks, and bu

emselves! He's a dumm old Dutchman, and probably the priest can twist him around

beauty. The town erects him,

fter this long trip. You'll feel better when you get home and have a good

arm, looked at

tt turned her face from the window, rested her head on his shoulder. She was coaxed from her unhappy mood. But she came out of it unwillingly,

d automatic pianos and co-operative leagues. And for all its fat richness, theirs is a pioneer land. What is its future? she wondered. A future of cities and factory smut where now are loping empty fields? Homes universal and secure? Or placid chateaux ringed with sullen huts? Youth free to find knowledge and laughter? Willingness to sift the sanctified lies? Or creamy-skinned fat women, smeared wi

d ached wit

began to frighten her. It spread out so; it went on so uncontrollably; she could never know it. Kennicott was closeted in his detective story.

off from the plains-shorn wheat-lands of autumn, a hundred acres to a field, prickly and gray near-by but in the blurred distance like tawny velvet stretched over dipping hillocks. The long rows of wheat-s

short wild grass; and every mile or two was a chain of coba

stubble; shadows from immense cumulus clouds were forever sliding across low mounds; and the

ntry; a land to be b

kling, "D' you realize the town aft

I

nger! She turned in her seat, stared at him. Who was he? Why was he sitting with her? He wasn't of her kind! His neck was heavy; his speech was heavy; he was twelve or thirteen years older than she; a

ted upon liking his town. It wouldn't be like these barren settlements. It couldn't be! Why, it had three thousand population. That was a great many people. The

ntrance to all her future life. But when she discovered them, to the left of

he town as a whole. With a passionate jerk she pushed up the window, looked out, the

houses broke the plains scarcely more than would a hazel thicket. The fields swept up to it, past it. It was unprotected and unprotecting; there was no dignity in it nor any hope of

lat as their fields. She couldn't stay here. She w

uched by his excitement as he sent his magazine skittering along the aisle,

he outskirts were dusky old red mansions with wooden frills, or gaunt frame shelt

topping at a squat red frame station, the platform crowded with unshaven farmers and with loafers-unadventurous people with dead eyes. She was here. She could n

p it! Stop being a whining baby!" She stood up quickl

herself like the place. And she

of disembarking passengers. She reminded herself that she was actually at the dramatic moment of the bride's home-c

peer through the wind

and Dave Dyer and Jack Elder, and, yes sir, Harry Haydock and Juanita, and a wh

vestibule she waved to them, but she clung a second to the sleeve of the brakeman who helped her down before she had the courage to dive into the cataract of hand-shaking people

heir smiles, their shouts, their affectionate eyes ov

Kennicott, "I brought my machi

ump in. That big Paige over there. Some boat, too, believe me!

t the wheel, was the essence of decent self-satisfaction; a baldish, largish, level-eyed man, rugged of neck but sle

ight and get 'em darn quick! I bet she could tel

nty that he was a person whom she could trust she confes

smiled lavishly, and wished that she called people by their given names more easily. "The fat cranky lady back there beside you, who is pretending that she can't hear me giving her away, is Mrs. Sam'l Clark; and this hungry-looking squirt up here beside me is Dave Dyer, who keeps his drug store running by not filling

the heavy traffic of three Fords a

at she saw; gave way in: "Why do these stories lie so? They always make the bride's home-coming a bower of roses. Complete tru

u to think Gopher Prairie is a paradise, after St. Paul. I don't expect you to be crazy about

ove you for understanding. I'm just-I'm beastly over-sensitive. Too man

ll the time

inst her cheek, snuggled near him

ed an old house, "but nice and roomy, and well-heated, best furnace I could find o

make her own shrine. She held his hand tightly and stared ahead as the car swung round

x-elder seeds and snags of wool from the cotton-woods. A screened porch with pillars of thin painted pine surmounted by scrolls and brackets and bumps of jigsawed wood. No shrubbery to

it as is, so you could make any changes you felt were necessary." Kennico

the choice of a maid to her, and there was no one in the house. She jiggled while he turned the key, and scampered in. . . . It w

ness, but she insisted, "I'll make it all jolly." As she followed Kennicott and the bags

my ow

at I ple

at I ple

e and my mat

o

at mattered so long as she could slip her hands beneath his coat, run her fingers over the warm smoothness of the satin back of his waistcoa

sweet," she