THE ROAD FORKS
Winnipeg station was crowded by dejected emigrants. The broken line
had disorganized the traffic and nobody knew when the west-bound
trains would start, but the fashionable young woman at the information
office thought none would go for two or three hours. Kit saw his
polite inquiries bored her, but she haughtily indicated the telegraph
office, and when he sent off Alison’s message they started for the
town.
The night was hot, the pavements were wet, and thunder clouds rolled
across the moon. For the most part the stores were shut, and Main
Street was quiet but for the groups at the doors of the large hotels.
Only that people who came out jostled others going in, it looked as if
they went to a theatre. The Canadians’ habit is to perambulate the
hotels in the evening, and the rotunda is the citizen’s free club.
At the cheap hotels rows of men occupied the window chairs and rested
their boots on the radiator pipes. Some smoked and ruminated; some
frankly slept, and on the whole Kit thought them a dreary lot. He
followed Main Street to Portage Avenue and noted the new ambitious
office buildings. A Deer Park car was starting, and Alison stopped for
a few moments to watch the passengers get on board. They were
obviously going home and she envied them.
She touched Kit, and they went along a side street to the river.
Lights burned in the small frame houses, and the reflections from the
windows touched the trees in the narrow garden-lots. Wooden pillars
and sawn scrolls ornamented the shiplap fronts, and although the
verandas were enclosed like meat-safes by mosquito mesh, Alison
thought the houses picturesque.
Sometimes she heard cheerful voices and sometimes a gramophone. By and
by she stopped opposite a window behind which a woman sang. Heavy
drops splashed from the trees and the sidewalk was muddy; her boots
were wet and a mosquito bit her neck.
“Oh,” she said, savagely brushing off the insect, “that’s the second!
I hope I killed the brute! Perhaps I’m revengeful, but it looks as if
the mosquitoes knew we were strangers. Haven’t you got bitten?”
“If it would be some comfort, we’ll stop until I do get bitten,” Kit
replied.
“You are rather noble,” Alison remarked with a laugh. “You see, I felt
the mosquitoes were not just; but I’d really sooner they left you
alone, and we won’t stop.” She indicated the little houses and the
cheerful domestic lights. “Don’t you feel as if we were shut out?”
“To control your imagination is a useful plan. When the Canadians know
you, they won’t want to shut you out. So far, they have not had much
chance to cultivate us.”
“You are some comfort,” said Alison in a quiet voice. “Let’s see the
river, and then I think we’ll go back to the station. I feel the noise
is bracing.”
They went to the river. The moon was on the water, and the current
revolved in muddy eddies along the high bank. Vague trees marked the
top, and in the distance pale lightning flickered across the sky. For
a minute or two big drops splashed the pools and Alison felt the
moisture warm on her skin. Then the rain stopped and a motor boat
forged noisily up-stream and vanished in the dark.
“Perhaps the boat is typical,” Kit remarked. “Not very long since, the
half-breed voyagers poled their canoes up the Assiniboine and settlers
crossed the plains in Red River carts. Now I expect a flour-mill clerk
goes as far on a holiday afternoon as the voyagers went in a week.
Although the romance the others knew is gone, a gasoline launch and a
railroad car have some advantages.”
“Do you think the Red River settlers were romantic?”
“If the folk in the hotel windows are their descendants, I begin to
doubt. All the same, when you see them mend a broken track, you’re
forced to acknowledge them a hefty lot. Well, suppose we admit the Red
River man’s main object was to get there? Don’t you see his doing so
is important?”
“I’d sooner talk about something else,” said Alison quietly. “When you
arranged about my sleeper I was not altogether satisfied, and to-day I
made inquiries. You gave me your ticket.”
“So long as you are satisfied we won’t dispute,” said Kit. “Since I
knew your independence I might, of course, have bought another ticket
and allowed you to pay; but I did not. I got a berth for nothing on
board the Colonist, and since I slept until morning neither of us has
much grounds to grumble.”
Alison touched his arm. “I didn’t want to grumble. I think I wanted
you to know I knew. To find people do things like that is
encouraging.”
“You mustn’t exaggerate. To-night we’re forlorn strangers, but when
you are a big company’s secretary and I have built a famous bridge
we’ll meet for dinner at an expensive hotel and talk about the evening
we arrived at Winnipeg.”
“Ah,” said Alison, “I may not get the chance I want; but if I am
lucky, I’ll know you helped and I’ll meet you where you like. In the
meantime, perhaps, we ought to start for the station.”
They went back. Nobody yet knew when the trains would go, and Kit put
Alison’s rug on a bench in the waiting hall and sat down on his bag.
The spacious hall was rather like a palace than an English
waiting-room. The light was soft and clear. Noble columns supported
the huge glass dome and good pictures of Canadian landscapes occupied
the walls. The ornamental benches were moulded to one’s body and the
floor was white marble.
The passengers, however, did not harmonize with the hall. Listless,
dusty emigrants leaned against the pillars and crowded the benches.
For the most part their clothes were threadbare and their boots were
broken. They used bundles for pillows, and some who slept extended
arms and legs in uncouth poses. A number had spread ragged blankets on
the marble flags, and dejected groups, surrounded by their baggage,
lay about. Kit saw broken boxes, bundles covered by colored quilts,
and rolls of dirty bedding. It looked as if the foreigners had brought
all their household goods and would not risk the stuff in the baggage
cars.
They threw paper matches, fruit bags and banana skins about the floor,
and the hall smelt of musty clothes and rank tobacco. Men smoked and
brooded, women talked in moody voices, and jaded children cried.
Nobody bothered about them, for Colonist passengers cannot buy
civility. They did not know when their trains would start, and Kit
doubted if all knew where they went. They had bought a ticket for a
spot on the map, at which, perhaps, somebody from their native village
had prospered.
One got a sense of apathetic resignation, but Kit remarked that some
mouths were firm and some brows were knit. After all, the slack and
hopeless do not emigrate, and those who took the plunge had virile
qualities. Their patience was perhaps remarkable, but Kit thought they
could be moved. To put the crowd on the cars, however, was the
railroad company’s business, and Kit gave Alison a packet of candies
he had bought and lighted a cigarette. Alison motioned him to rest his
back against the rug she pulled across the bench. By and by a bell
tolled and wheels rattled.
“My train?” said Alison, and Kit stopped a railroad official.
“Winnipeg Beach excursion,” said the man, and Kit thought Alison was
glad because she need not go.
When the excursionists crossed the hall he studied the groups. The
girls’ clothes were fashionable; the young men wore straw hats and
summer flannels. They carried themselves well, their steps were quick,
and their voices happy. Kit thought them keen and optimistic, and he
speculated about their occupations. For one thing, it looked as if
their pay was good. Alison frowned, for she marked a contrast. The
excursionists were going home after a holiday. In the morning they
would resume their well-rewarded labors at office and store, but she
had no home, and it might be long before she got a post.
A girl gave her a sympathetic glance and touched her companion. He was
a rather handsome young fellow and he stopped in front of Kit. Kit,
sitting on his bag, leaned against Alison’s bench, and her dress
touched his clothes.
“You’re from the Old Country? Waiting for the west-bound?” the
Canadian inquired in a friendly voice.
“That is so,” said Kit. “Do you know anything about the trains? So far
as we can find out, the railroad men do not.”
The other laughed. “In the West you don’t bother the railroad gang.
They don’t like it. You buy your ticket and wait until they think you
ought to start. However, the yard loco’s moving some cars, and I
expect the Vancouver express will soon pull out. Well, I reckon you’re
going the proper way. On the plains we’ll cut a record crop and trade
will boom. If you’re willing to hustle, you’ll make good. Will you
take a cigarette?”
He gave Kit a package, and the girl gave Alison a bag of fruit. When
they went off Alison’s eyes twinkled, but Kit thought her color rather
high.
“They’re good sorts,” he remarked. “Husband and wife?”
“Not yet,” said Alison, as if she knew. “They are going to be married;
I think they fixed it, not long since, at Winnipeg Beach. The girl’s
kind, and because she’s happy she wanted to sympathize.”
She turned her head and Kit saw a light. Perhaps the others thinking
them man and wife was not remarkable, and he began to muse. Although
the Winnipeg girls were attractive, none had a charm like Alison’s.
Their walk and carriage indicated that they knew their power to
attract, but Alison’s charm was unconscious. Kit liked her level
glance, her touch of quiet humor and her independence. When she was
gone he would be lonely. Since he was not a romantic sentimentalist,
there was the puzzle.
Alison knew he was Evelyn’s lover, and although now he thought about
it, she had some physical charm, her beauty did not move him. In fact,
he was not attracted because she was a girl; sex had nothing to do
with it. Perhaps her trusting him accounted for much. One liked to be
trusted and one liked people one helped; but Kit doubted if it
accounted for all. Anyhow, he did not want to let her go. Alison was
quiet, and he lighted a cigarette from the Canadian’s package.
At length, a bell rang and a long train rolled into the station.
Alison got up, as if she braced herself, and Kit seized her bag. He
told her to hold his arm and they were carried to the door by a
jostling crowd. On the platform the crowd stopped and surged
tumultuously about. Tall iron rails enclosed the space and a group of
muscular railroad men kept the gate. Kit supposed they wanted to
examine the tickets, since another train started soon.
The emigrants, however, had waited long, and now they saw the train
they meant to get on board. A number knew no English. On board ship
and at the stations strangers drove them about and penned them up like
cattle. It looked as if they had had enough and their dull resignation
vanished. They growled sullenly, and Kit thought “growl” was the
proper word, for the noise carried a hint of animal savageness. When
the shipyard gates stopped a strikers’ march, Kit had heard the
ominous note before.
“Give me your ticket,” he said to Alison. “I’ll see you on the cars.”
“But the railway people will turn you back.”
“I think not; if they try, they’re fools,” said Kit. “This crowd’s
going through.”
For a few minutes the railroad men struggled to hold the jostling
passengers, and then one shut the ponderous gate. The mob howled and
rolled ahead, and the group was flung against the rails. A whistle
pierced the turmoil; porters and train-hands ran to help, but the
emigrants’ blood was fired and they raged behind the barrier. A few,
perhaps, were fanatic anarchists; others had borne oppression and
stern military rule. Now authority again blocked their road they meant
to fight.
The rails were high, but men getting on others’ backs began to climb
across. Then somebody reopened the gate and a fresh guard tried to
hold the gap. Kit liked the fellows’ pluck, but he thought them
foolish. Anyhow, they were not going to stop him. Alison must get her
train.
Clutching the bag, he steered her into the press. He stumbled against
luggage the emigrants dropped and doubted if Alison kept her feet, but
she stuck to him and they got nearer the gate. In front he saw heaving
shoulders and bent backs. The men’s arms were jambed; it was like a
Rugby scrimmage. Women screamed, and one, jerking up her hand, struck
Kit’s face. He did not know if he jostled her, but in the turmoil he
must go where the others went. People strained and gasped and fought.
Jambed tight, they pushed for the barrier; and then the thick rails
crashed.
The crowd spilled out across the platform as a flood leaps a broken
dam, and Kit, plunging forward, had room to choose his line. The
emigrants meant to get on board as soon as possible and they swarmed
about the cars nearest the broken rails. Kit saw a better plan.
“Come on!” he shouted, and started for the front of the long train.
After a minute or two he stopped at a second-class car. Behind him
others ran along the line and he pushed Alison up the steps. A colored
porter came from the vestibule.
“Have you got a sleeper berth?” Kit asked.
“The conductor’ll fix you all right,” said the porter. “Where’s your
grip?”
Kit gave him the bag, and when the fellow went off turned and looked
about. The group he had remarked steered for the vestibule.
“We mustn’t block the steps, and you ought to get your place,” he
said.
Alison on the top step hesitated, and then put her hand on his
shoulder.
“Good-bye! Thank you for all, Kit,” she said and turned her head.
Kit kissed her and jumped back. The crowd had reached the car and
people pushed him from the steps. For a moment Alison leaned over the
rail and he waved his cap.
“Cheerio! Look in front!” he shouted, and Alison smiled and vanished.
Two or three minutes afterwards the cars jolted and smoke and cinders
blew about. Lights rolled by and melted, the locomotive bell stopped
and the train was gone. Kit went back to the waiting hall, but he did
not steer for the bench Alison had occupied. Sitting down across the
floor, he moodily lighted his pipe.