CHAPTER X

ONE WILD NIGHT

A half hour later the little company had joined the merry mad throng that, combining the enthusiasm of Hallowe’en with a farewell to a beloved play spot, was making the most of one wild night.

Never had any of them seen anything quite so tremendous, for Chicago, like some young giant, has never learned how big it really is. When a crowd of three hundred thousand persons descends upon one narrow park, things are sure to happen. And even now they were happening fast.

Already the “Battle of Paris” was on. In the Streets of Paris someone had thrown a bottle through a mirror. At once a hundred bottles were dying, a hundred windows crashing. With wild abandon the throng surged back and forth along the narrow streets.

All this was quite unknown to our friends. They had not come to revel but to bid a fond farewell to a spot they had learned to love. The Sky Ride, the shimmering waters of the lagoon, Hollywood, Rutledge Tavern—a hundred little corners had played a part in the lives of Florence and Jeanne.

For all this, the spirit of the mob gripped them and, grasping one another by the shoulders that they might not be separated, they surged on through the crowd.

“One wild night!” Florence screamed.

“And it’s not yet begun!” Willie, who was in the lead, called back.

The Streets of Paris was not the only spot where revelers, getting out of bounds, were rushing shops and collecting souvenirs.

“Come down from there!” shouted a policeman as a large fat man climbed to the top of a shop-keeper’s shelves for some treasure.

“Come and get me!” The fat man brandished a cane. The crowd roared applause.

Three burly policemen marched upon him. One seized his cane, the others caught him by his massive legs, and down he came. Once again the crowd roared. On this night of nights, one moment you were a hero and the next you were forgotten.

Like great armies of rats, this human throng burrowed in everywhere. A barrel of rootbeer was turned half over, glasses seized and a toast drunk to the departing Fair. When the barrel was drained a long, lank individual sat astride it. Three men gave the barrel a push. Barrel and man went rolling and bouncing down a steep incline and on into the lagoon.

They were crossing the lagoon bridge, Willie, Danby, Florence, Rosemary and Jeanne, when of a sudden Danby Force exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, “There! There she is! The dark lady, the spy! See that split ear? I’d know her anywhere by that. There can be no doubt of it. Her ears have evidently been pierced for ear-rings, and one of the rings at some time must have been torn through the flesh, leaving a disfigurement. Yes, that’s the spy, I’m sure of it.”

“The spy! The spy!” came from the others. Could a moment more thrilling and more impossible be imagined? Here they were not twenty feet from the one they sought. And that twenty feet packed tight with writhing, twisting, screaming revelers of Hallowe’en, the end of the Fair!

Then, as if to redouble the suspense, someone threw a great switch. As if by magic, the entire grounds went dark.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” came the murmurs of surprise, thrill and horror, from the streets many miles long, all packed with humanity.

The effect was strange. In a crowd of many thousands each individual feels very much alone. Florence felt Rosemary’s grip tighten on her shoulder as she, in turn, clutched at Willie’s coat. Danby Force alone did not lose his poise.

“Don’t lose her,” he whispered. “This is midnight. The lights will be on again soon. Then we must get her.”

He was not mistaken. Like the sudden dawn of a tropical day, the lights flashed on. The Sky Ride towers turned to tall stems of light. Masses of red, orange and green shone on every side. From the loud-speaker came the notes of a bugle, the high clear notes of “Taps.” For the moment, so great was the feeling that came welling up from the very center of her being, Florence forgot the spy. Then, with lips that quivered, she whispered to Willie:

“Where is she?”

“There! There! Just ahead! I’ll get her.” Willie lunged forward.

But the crowd still surged about them. He moved slowly. And the dark lady, apparently unconscious of the fate that lurked so near, also moved on with the throng.

“Pass the word back,” Willie whispered. “Tell them to get a good grip on the fellow’s shoulders just ahead and then shove. Flying wedge. See?”

Florence passed the word back. Next instant, urged on by a great push from behind, she sent her solid one hundred and sixty pounds against Willie’s back.

It worked. They moved forward. A foot, two feet, three, four, five, ten.

“I’ll get her!” Willie hissed. “You’ll see!”

She might have heard. Perhaps she did. She turned half about. No matter now, for, just as Willie’s outstretched hand all but touched her, a second flying wedge composed of college boys struck their line at the very center. The result was rout and confusion. Like beads when the string is broken, our friends were scattered far and wide.

And where was the lady spy?

For a space of time, no one knew. Then Willie spotted her, farther away and moving rapidly.

After that things happened so fast that even to Florence’s keen mind they remain a blur. Willie sprang forward. A cleared space just before him was closed as if by magic. Four policemen and a score of revelers closed it. There came the sound of thwacking clubs. Willie tripped and fell. He was up on the instant, but minus his hat. No matter. Someone jammed a hat on his head. Whose hat? He did not know or care. But for the instant after that he cared a lot. It was a policeman’s hat. He wore a dark blue suit. In the crush he was mistaken for an officer.

He had just sighted the dark lady once more when three strong men seized him, lifted him on high, lunged forward, then tipped him neatly over the rail. As he shot down, down, down to the icy waters of the lagoon, the crowd let out a roar of approval.

“Crowds,” he grumbled as he swam for the shore, “psychological mobs never have any sense of humor.”

When he had clambered to the embankment, he turned to see his four friends waving at him from the bridge.

“Goodbye folks!” he shouted, “I’m going home for my dress suit.”

Then, realizing they could not hear, he grasped his damp coat tail, gave it a wringing twist, threw up his hands, pointed to the spot where city lights gleamed, and marched away. “Forty above!” he was grumbling again. “No night for a plunge.”

Then as his mood changed, he began to sing, “Goodbye Fair! Goodbye Paree! Goodbye boys! Goodbye girls! Goodbye everybody! I’m going home to my Mom-ee!”

As for the lady spy, she had lost herself for good and all. In a crowd of three hundred thousand you might hope to meet anyone once, but never twice.