Indeed, the World stood still a moment, agape at the wonder of the
Magic City, and there were those who, now that Seth had passed out of
the way of the wind into a country strange to them, spoke of him
reverently as Prophet and Seer, going so far as to express regret that
while within the sound of their voices they had carelessly dubbed him
a foolish dreamer of mad, fantastic and impossible dreams, yet
comforting themselves withal with the thought that they were not alone
in denying a Prophet honor in his own country, since so wagged the
world.
CHAPTER XXVII.
[Illustration]
The Magic City, stretching itself far and near, had not failed to
include the little station.
Common walls of plank no longer enshrined the person of the Post
Mistress. She no longer looked out from the limited space of a narrow
window onto ragged flower beds in whose soft, loose earth floundered
wind-blown chickens.
She dwelt in the wide, white marble halls of a lofty new Post Office.
Bell boys, porters and stenographers surrounded her.
It was five o'clock. The Professor stood near while she sorted out
some letters and placed them in pigeon-holes.
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