ONE WILD NIGHT
A half hour later the little company had joined the merry mad throng
that, combining the enthusiasm of Hallowe’en with a farewell to a
beloved play spot, was making the most of one wild night.
Never had any of them seen anything quite so tremendous, for Chicago,
like some young giant, has never learned how big it really is. When a
crowd of three hundred thousand persons descends upon one narrow park,
things are sure to happen. And even now they were happening fast.
Already the “Battle of Paris” was on. In the Streets of Paris someone
had thrown a bottle through a mirror. At once a hundred bottles were
dying, a hundred windows crashing. With wild abandon the throng surged
back and forth along the narrow streets.
All this was quite unknown to our friends. They had not come to revel
but to bid a fond farewell to a spot they had learned to love. The Sky
Ride, the shimmering waters of the lagoon, Hollywood, Rutledge Tavern—a
hundred little corners had played a part in the lives of Florence and
Jeanne.
For all this, the spirit of the mob gripped them and, grasping one
another by the shoulders that they might not be separated, they surged
on through the crowd.
“One wild night!” Florence screamed.
“And it’s not yet begun!” Willie, who was in the lead, called back.
The Streets of Paris was not the only spot where revelers, getting out
of bounds, were rushing shops and collecting souvenirs.
“Come down from there!” shouted a policeman as a large fat man climbed
to the top of a shop-keeper’s shelves for some treasure.
“Come and get me!” The fat man brandished a cane. The crowd roared
applause.
Three burly policemen marched upon him. One seized his cane, the others
caught him by his massive legs, and down he came. Once again the crowd
roared. On this night of nights, one moment you were a hero and the next
you were forgotten.
Like great armies of rats, this human throng burrowed in everywhere. A
barrel of rootbeer was turned half over, glasses seized and a toast
drunk to the departing Fair. When the barrel was drained a long, lank
individual sat astride it. Three men gave the barrel a push. Barrel and
man went rolling and bouncing down a steep incline and on into the
lagoon.
They were crossing the lagoon bridge, Willie, Danby, Florence, Rosemary
and Jeanne, when of a sudden Danby Force exclaimed in a hoarse whisper,
“There! There she is! The dark lady, the spy! See that split ear? I’d
know her anywhere by that. There can be no doubt of it. Her ears have
evidently been pierced for ear-rings, and one of the rings at some time
must have been torn through the flesh, leaving a disfigurement. Yes,
that’s the spy, I’m sure of it.”
“The spy! The spy!” came from the others. Could a moment more thrilling
and more impossible be imagined? Here they were not twenty feet from the
one they sought. And that twenty feet packed tight with writhing,
twisting, screaming revelers of Hallowe’en, the end of the Fair!
Then, as if to redouble the suspense, someone threw a great switch. As
if by magic, the entire grounds went dark.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” came the murmurs of surprise, thrill and horror, from the
streets many miles long, all packed with humanity.
The effect was strange. In a crowd of many thousands each individual
feels very much alone. Florence felt Rosemary’s grip tighten on her
shoulder as she, in turn, clutched at Willie’s coat. Danby Force alone
did not lose his poise.
“Don’t lose her,” he whispered. “This is midnight. The lights will be on
again soon. Then we must get her.”
He was not mistaken. Like the sudden dawn of a tropical day, the lights
flashed on. The Sky Ride towers turned to tall stems of light. Masses of
red, orange and green shone on every side. From the loud-speaker came
the notes of a bugle, the high clear notes of “Taps.” For the moment, so
great was the feeling that came welling up from the very center of her
being, Florence forgot the spy. Then, with lips that quivered, she
whispered to Willie:
“Where is she?”
“There! There! Just ahead! I’ll get her.” Willie lunged forward.
But the crowd still surged about them. He moved slowly. And the dark
lady, apparently unconscious of the fate that lurked so near, also moved
on with the throng.
“Pass the word back,” Willie whispered. “Tell them to get a good grip on
the fellow’s shoulders just ahead and then shove. Flying wedge. See?”
Florence passed the word back. Next instant, urged on by a great push
from behind, she sent her solid one hundred and sixty pounds against
Willie’s back.
It worked. They moved forward. A foot, two feet, three, four, five, ten.
“I’ll get her!” Willie hissed. “You’ll see!”
She might have heard. Perhaps she did. She turned half about. No matter
now, for, just as Willie’s outstretched hand all but touched her, a
second flying wedge composed of college boys struck their line at the
very center. The result was rout and confusion. Like beads when the
string is broken, our friends were scattered far and wide.
And where was the lady spy?
For a space of time, no one knew. Then Willie spotted her, farther away
and moving rapidly.
After that things happened so fast that even to Florence’s keen mind
they remain a blur. Willie sprang forward. A cleared space just before
him was closed as if by magic. Four policemen and a score of revelers
closed it. There came the sound of thwacking clubs. Willie tripped and
fell. He was up on the instant, but minus his hat. No matter. Someone
jammed a hat on his head. Whose hat? He did not know or care. But for
the instant after that he cared a lot. It was a policeman’s hat. He wore
a dark blue suit. In the crush he was mistaken for an officer.
He had just sighted the dark lady once more when three strong men seized
him, lifted him on high, lunged forward, then tipped him neatly over the
rail. As he shot down, down, down to the icy waters of the lagoon, the
crowd let out a roar of approval.
“Crowds,” he grumbled as he swam for the shore, “psychological mobs
never have any sense of humor.”
When he had clambered to the embankment, he turned to see his four
friends waving at him from the bridge.
“Goodbye folks!” he shouted, “I’m going home for my dress suit.”
Then, realizing they could not hear, he grasped his damp coat tail, gave
it a wringing twist, threw up his hands, pointed to the spot where city
lights gleamed, and marched away. “Forty above!” he was grumbling again.
“No night for a plunge.”
Then as his mood changed, he began to sing, “Goodbye Fair! Goodbye
Paree! Goodbye boys! Goodbye girls! Goodbye everybody! I’m going home to
my Mom-ee!”
As for the lady spy, she had lost herself for good and all. In a crowd
of three hundred thousand you might hope to meet anyone once, but never
twice.