CHAPTER  XIV


THE    FORE-HONEYMOON


Outward,  across  the  narrow,  mile-long  mole,  the
Oakland  Local,  a  train  of  twelve  coaches,  swept  on
from  block  to  block,  beckoned  by  semaphores,  till
it  threw  itself  with  a  roar  into  the  great  train-shed
upon  the  Oakland  pier.  The  locomotive  stopped,
throbbing  and  panting  rhythmically,  spouting  a  cloud
of  steam  that  eddied  among  the  iron  trusses  of  the
roof.  The  air-brakes  settled  back  with  a  long,  relieved
hiss.  The  cars  emptied  streams  of  passengers;  die
ferry-station  became  as  populous  and  busy  as  a  dis-
turbed ant-hill.  Up  the  broad  stairs  and  into  the  huge
waiting-room  the  commuters  poured,  there  to  await
the  boat.
It  was  half-past  nine  in  the  morning.  The  earlier
trains,  laden  with  clerks  and  stenographers  and  Ae
masses  of  early  workers,  had  already  relieved  Ae
traffic  across  the  bay.  The  present  contingent  con-
sisted chiefly  of  the  more  well-to-do  business  men,
ladies  bent  on  shopping  in  the  city,  and  a  scattering  of
sorts.  Some  clustered  in  a  dense  group  by  the  door
of  the  gangway,  the  better  to  rush  on  board  and
capture  the  favorite  seats ;  the  rest  took  to  the  settees
and  unfolded  their  morning  papers,  conversed,  or
watched  the  gathering  throng.
The  Overland  from  Chicago  was  already  in,  two
hours  late,  and  it  had  contributed  to  the  assembly  its
delegation  of  dusty,  tired  Vo\\T\?\&A^^^'^^^^^^wj^i^i€e,


THE   FORE-HONEYMOON  401

commercial  travelers,  curious  and  bold,  with  a  few
emigrants  in  outlandish  costumes,  prolific  in  children
and  impedimenta.  Another  roar,  and  the  Alameda
Local  thundered  into  the  shed  and  emptied  its  lesser
load.  The  Berkeley  train  had  arrived  also,  and  the
waiting-room  was  now  well  filled.
