In the
coverts, arbutus crept out with a hawthorn-like fragrance from patches
of lingering snow. The main street leading into the town from the
Massasoit House and the station also had an air of repose and dignity
as if those who had business in it were not preoccupied by the frenzy
for bargains, but had time and the inclination for loitering,
politeness, and sociability. That was in 1870, and I fear that
Springfield must have lost some of its old-world simplicity and
leisureliness since then. I regret that I have never been in it since,
though I have passed through it hundreds of times.
The office of the Republican was in keeping with its environment, an
edifice of stone or brick not more than three or four stories high,
neat, uncrowded, and quiet; very different from the newspaper offices
of Park Row, with their hustle, litter, dust, and noise. I met no one
on my way upstairs to the editorial rooms, and quaked at the oppressive
solemnity and detachment of it. I wondered if people were observing me
from the street and thought how much impressed they would be if they
divined the importance of the person they were looking at, possibly
another Tom Tower.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173