Merton of the Movies | Page 9

screen it
would be recognized as this and nothing more. It could not be taken for
the mansion of a rich banker, or the country home of a Wall Street
magnate. He felt that he had been keen in his dispraise, especially as
old Gashwiler would never get the sting of it. Clod!
Three blocks brought him to the heart of the town, still throbbing
faintly. He stood, irresolute, before the Giddings House. Chairs in front
of this hostelry were now vacant of loafers, and a clatter of dishes came
through the open windows of the dining room, where supper was on.
Farther down the street Selby Brothers, Cigars and Confectionery,
would be open; lights shone from the windows of the Fashion Pool
Parlour across the way; the City Drug Store could still be entered; and
the post office would stay open until after the mail from No. 4 was
distributed. With these exceptions the shops along this mart of trade
were tightly closed, including the Gashwiler Emporium, at the blind
front of which Merton now glanced with the utmost distaste.

Such citizens as were yet abroad would be over at the depot to watch
No. 4 go through. Merton debated joining these sight-seers. Simsbury
was too small to be noticed by many trains. It sprawled along the track
as if it had been an afterthought of the railroad. Trains like No. 4 were
apt to dash relentlessly by it without slackening speed, the mail bag
being flung to the depot platform. But sometimes there would be a
passenger for Simsbury, and the proud train would slow down and halt
reluctantly, with a grinding of brakes, while the passenger alighted.
Then a good view of the train could be had; a line of beautiful sleepers
terminating in an observation car, its rear platform guarded by a
brass-topped railing behind which the privileged lolled at ease; and up
ahead a wonderful dining car, where dinner was being served; flitting
white-clad waiters, the glitter of silver and crystal and damask, and
favoured beings feasting at their lordly ease, perhaps denying even a
careless glance at the pitiful hamlet outside, or at most looking out
impatient at the halt, or merely staring with incurious eyes while
awaiting their choice foods.
Not one of these enviable persons ever betrayed any interest in
Simsbury or its little group of citizens who daily gathered on the
platform to do them honour. Merton Gill used to fancy that these
people might shrewdly detect him to be out of place there--might
perhaps take him to be an alien city man awaiting a similar proud train
going the other way, standing, as he would, aloof from the obvious
villagers, and having a manner, a carriage, an attire, such as further set
him apart. Still, he could never be sure about this. Perhaps no one ever
did single him out as a being patently of the greater world. Perhaps they
considered that he was rightly of Simsbury and would continue to be a
part of it all the days of his life; or perhaps they wouldn't notice him at
all. They had been passing Simsburys all day, and all Simsburys and all
their peoples must look very much alike to them. Very well--a day
would come. There would be at Simsbury a momentous stop of No. 4
and another passenger would be in that dining car, disjoined forever
from Simsbury, and he with them would stare out the polished
windows at the gaping throng, and he would continue to stare with
incurious eyes at still other Simsburys along the right of way, while the
proud train bore him off to triumphs never dreamed of by natural- born

villagers.
He decided now not to tantalize himself with a glance at this splendid
means of escape from all that was sordid. He was still not a little
depressed by the late unpleasantness with Gashwiler, who had thought
him a crazy fool, with his revolver, his fiercely muttered words, and his
holding aloft of a valuable dummy as if to threaten it with destruction.
Well, some day the old grouch would eat his words; some day he
would be relating to amazed listeners that he had known Merton Gill
intimately at the very beginning of his astounding career. That was
bound to come. But to-night Merton had no heart for the swift spectacle
of No. 4. Nor even, should it halt, did he feel up to watching those
indifferent, incurious passengers who little recked that a future screen
idol in natty plush hat and belted coat amusedly surveyed them.
To-night he must be alone--but a day would come. Resistless Time
would strike his hour!
Still he must wait for the mail before beginning his nightly study.
Certain of his magazines would come to-night. He sauntered