The Long Ago - J W Wright - Bog

The day is done, and yet we linger here at the window of the private office, alone, in the early evening. Street sounds come surging up to us-the hoarse Voice of the City-a confused blur of noise-clanging trolley-cars, rumbling wagons, and familiar cries-all the varied commotion of the home-going hour when the city's buildings are pouring forth their human tide of laborers into the clogged arteries.