For at this moment our
ears caught the sound of a noise, a distant tumult, as
it were, far down the street and growing nearer. The old
man had drawn himself erect in his seat, his hand to his
ear, listening as he caught the sound.
"Out on the Broad Way," he said, instinctively calling
it by its ancient name as if a flood of memories were
upon him. "Do you hear it? Listen--listen--what is it?
I've heard that sound before--I've heard every sound on
the Broad Way these two centuries back--what is it? I
seem to know it!"
The sound and tumult as of running feet and of many voices
crying came louder from the street. The people at the
tables had turned in their seats to listen. The music of
the orchestra had stopped. The waiters had thrown back
the heavy curtains from the windows and the people were
crowding to them to look out into the street. Knickerbocker
had risen in his place, his eyes looked toward the windows,
but his gaze was fixed on vacancy as with one who sees
a vision passing.
"I know the sound," he cried. "I see it all again. Look,
can't you see them? It's Massachusetts soldiers marching
South to the war--can't you hear the beating of the drums
and the shrill calling of the fife--the regiments from
the North, the first to come.
Pages:
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41