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streetcar conductor； the milkman； the iceman。 But the price of wheat did
not interest these gentlemen。 They did not know that the price of wheat
was the most vital topic of conversation in the world。
〃Well； now；〃 he would say； 〃you take this year's wheat crop； with
about 917；000；000 bushels of wheat harvested； why； that's what's going to
win the war！ Yes； sirree！ No wheat； no winning； that's what I say。〃
〃Ya…as； it is！〃 the city men would scoff。 But the queer part of it is
that Farmer Ben was right。
Minnie got into the habit of using him as a sort of nursemaid。 It gave
her many hours of freedom for gadding and gossiping。
〃Pa； will you look after Pearlie for a little while this morning？ I got
to run downtown to match something and she gets so tired and mean…
acting if I take her along。 Ma's going with me。〃
He loved the feel of Pearlie's small； velvet…soft hand in his big fist。
He called her 〃little feller；〃 and fed her forbidden dainties。 His big
brown fingers were miraculously deft at buttoning and unbuttoning her
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tiny garments； and wiping her soft lips； and performing a hundred tender
offices。 He was playing a sort of game with himself； pretending this was
Dike become a baby again。 Once the pair managed to get over to
Lincoln Park； where they spent a glorious day looking at the animals；
eating popcorn； and riding on the miniature railway。
They returned； tired； dusty； and happy； to a double tirade。
Bella engaged in a great deal of what she called worrying about Dike。
Ben spoke of him seldom； but the boy was always present in his thoughts。
They had written him of their move； but he had not seemed to get the
impression of its permanence。 His letters indicated that he thought they
were visiting Minnie； or taking a vacation in the city。 Dike's letters were
few。 Ben treasured them； and read and reread them。 When the
Armistice news came； and with it the possibility of Dike's return； Ben tried
to fancy him fitting into the life of the city。 And his whole being revolted
at the thought。
He saw the pimply…faced； sallow youths standing at the corner of
Halsted and Sixty…third； spitting languidly and handling their limp
cigarettes with an amazing labial dexterity。 Their conversation was low…
voiced； sinister； and terse； and their eyes narrowed as they watched the
overdressed； scarlet…lipped girls go by。 A great fear clutched at Ben
Westerveld's heart。
The lack of exercise and manual labor began to tell on Ben。 He did
not grow fat from idleness。 Instead his skin seemed to sag and hang on
his frame； like a garment grown too large for him。 He walked a great
deal。 Perhaps that had something to do with it。 He tramped miles of
city pave… ments。 He was a very lonely man。 And then； one day； quite
by accident； he came upon South Water Street。 Came upon it； stared at it
as a water…crazed traveler in a desert gazes upon the spring in the oasis；
and drank from it； thirstily； gratefully。
South Water Street feeds Chicago。 Into that close…packed
thoroughfare come daily the fruits and vegetables that will supply a
million tables。 Ben had heard of it； vaguely； but had never attempted to
find it。 Now he stumbled upon it and； standing there； felt at home in
Chicago for the first time in more than a year。 He saw ruddy men
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walking about in overalls and carrying whips in their handswagon whips；
actually。 He hadn't seen men like that since he had left the farm。 The
sight of them sent a great pang of homesickness through him。 His hand
reached out and he ran an accustomed finger over the potatoes in a barrel
on the walk。 His fingers lingered and gripped them； and passed over
them lovingly。
At the contact something within him that had been tight and hungry
seemed to relax； satisfied。 It was his nerves； feeding on those familiar
things for which they had been starving。
He walked up one side and down the other。 Crates of lettuce； bins of
onions； barrels of apples。 Such vegetables！ The radishes were scarlet
globes。 Each carrot was a spear of pure orange。 The green and purple
of fancy asparagus held his expert eye。 The cauliflower was like a great
bouquet； fit for a bride； the cabbages glowed like jade。
And the men！ He hadn't dreamed there were men like that in this big；
shiny…shod； stiffly laundered； white…collared city。 Here were rufous men
in overallsworn； shabby； easy…looking overalls and old blue shirts； and
mashed hats worn at a careless angle。 Men； jovial； good…natured； with
clear eyes； and having about them some of the revivifying freshness and
wholesomeness of the products they handled。
Ben Westerveld breathed in the strong； pungent smell of onions and
garlic and of the earth that seemed to cling to the vegetables； washed clean
though they were。 He breathed deeply； gratefully； and felt strangely at
peace。
It was a busy street。 A hundred times he had to step quickly to avoid
a hand truck； or dray； or laden wagon。 And yet the busy men found time
to greet him friendlily。 〃H'are you！〃 they said genially。 〃H'are you this
morning！〃
He was marketwise enough to know that some of these busy people
were commission men； and some grocers； and some buyers； stewards；
clerks。 It was a womanless thoroughfare。 At the busiest business corner；
though； in front of the largest commission house on the street； he saw a
woman。 Evidently she was transacting business； too； for he saw the men
bringing boxes of berries and vegetables for her inspection。 A woman in
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a plain blue sk