He was delayed but an instant by the customs officials, then made
his way out through a barnlike structure to the street, reflecting
that, after all, there are advantages in travelling light. He came
into a blazing-hot, glaring white street jammed with all sorts of
vehicles, the drivers of which seemed perpetually upon the point
of riot. Before him stretched a shadeless brick pavement, with a
railroad track on one side, and on the other a line of naked frame
buildings hideous in their sameness. The sun beat down fiercely.
Kirk mopped his face with the purser's handkerchief and wondered
if this were really December.
Clumsy two-wheeled carts came bumping past, some with prehensile-
footed negroes perched upon them, others driven by turban-crowned
Hindoos. A fleet of dilapidated surreys and coaches, each equipped
with a musical chime and drawn by a flea-bitten, ratlike horse,
thronged the square. Kirk noticed with amusement that the steeds
were of stronger mentality than the drivers, judging from the way
they dominated the place, kicking, biting squealing, ramming one
another, locking wheels and blocking traffic, the while their
futile owners merely jerked the reins after the fashion of a
street-car conductor ringing up fares, or swore softly in Spanish.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97