The Little Red Chimney | Page 2

Reporter.
Perceiving the Candy Wagon at the curb he paused, scrutinising it
jauntily, through a monocle formed by a thumb and finger.

The wagon, freshly emblazoned in legends of red, yellow and blue
which advertised the character and merits of its wares, stood with its
horseless shafts turned back and upward, in something of a prayerful
attitude. The Reporter, advancing, lifted his arms in imitation, and
recited: "Confident that upon investigation you will find everything as
represented, we remain Yours to command, in fresh warpaint." He
seated himself upon the adjacent carriage block and grinned widely at
the Candy Man.
In spite of a former determination to confine his intercourse with the
Reporter to strictly business lines, the Candy Man could not help a
responsive grin.
The representative of the press demanded chewing gum, and receiving
it, proceeded to remove its threefold wrappings and allow them to slip
through his fingers to the street. "Women," he said, with seeming
irrelevance and in a tone of defiance, "used to be at the bottom of
everything; now they're on top."
The Candy Man was quick at putting two and two together. "I infer you
are not in sympathy with the efforts of the Woman's Club and the
Outdoor League to promote order and cleanliness in our home city," he
observed, his eye on the débris so carelessly deposited upon the public
thoroughfare.
"Right you are. Your inference is absolutely correct. The foundations of
this American Commonwealth are threatened, and the Evening Record
don't stand for it. Life's made a burden, liberty curtailed, happiness
pursued at the point of the dust-pan. Here is the Democratic party of the
State pledged to School Suffrage. The Equal Rights Association is to
meet here next month, and--the mischief is, the pretty ones are taking it
up! The first thing you know the Girl of All Others will be saying,
'Embrace me, embrace my cause.' Why, my Cousin Augustus met a
regular peach of a girl at the country club,--visiting at the Gerrard
Penningtons', don't you know, and almost the first question she asked
him was did he believe in equal rights?" The Reporter paused for breath,
pushing his hat back to the farthest limit and regarding the Candy Man
curiously. "It is funny," he added, "how much you look like my Cousin

Augustus. I wonder now if he could have been twins, and one stolen by
the gypsies? You don't chance to have been stolen in infancy?"
This innocent question annoyed the Candy Man, although he ignored it,
murmuring something to the effect that the Reporter's talents pointed to
the stump. It might have been a guilty conscience or merely impatience
at such flagrant nonsense, for surely he could not reasonably object to
resembling Cousin Augustus. The Candy Man was a well-enough
looking young fellow in his white jacket and cap, but nothing to brag of,
that he need be haughty about a likeness to one so far above him in the
social scale, whom in fact he had never seen.
The Reporter lingered in thoughtful silence while some westbound
transfers purchased refreshment, then as a trio of theological students
paused at the Candy Wagon, he restored his hat to its normal position
and strolled away. On the Y.M.C.A. corner business had waked up.
For some time the Candy Wagon continued to reap a harvest from the
rush of High School boys and younger children. Morning became
afternoon, the clouds which the east wind had been industriously
beating up gathered in force, and a fine rain began to fall. The throng
on the street perceptibly lessened; the Candy Man had leisure once
more to look about him.
A penetrating mist was veiling everything; the stone church, the
seminary buildings, the tall apartment houses, the few old residences
not yet crowded out, the drug store, the confectionery--all were softly
blurred. The asphalt became a grey lake in which all the colour and
movement of the busy street was reflected, and upon whose bosom the
Candy Wagon seemed afloat. As the Candy Man watched, gleams of
light presently began to pierce the mist, from a hundred windows, from
passing street cars and cabs, from darting machines now transformed
into strange, double-eyed demons. It was a scene of enchantment, and
with pleasure he felt himself part of it, as in his turn he lit up his
wagon.
The traffic officer, whose shrill whistle sounded continually above the
clang of the trolley cars and the hoarse screams of impatient machines,

probably viewed the situation differently. Given slippery streets,
intersecting car lines, an increasing throng of vehicles and pedestrians,
with a fog growing denser each moment, and the utmost vigilance is
often helpless to avert an accident. So it was now.
The Candy Man did not actually see the occurrence, but later it
developed