He had spent two nights in the gaudy Pullman then provided--a car intended to make up for some of the inconveniences of its arrangements by an over-elaboration of plush and tortured glass--when the first lone outposts of the prairie metropolis began to appear.

The side-tracks along the road-bed over which he was speeding became more and more numerous, the telegraph-poles more and more hung with arms and strung smoky-thick with wires.

In the far distance, cityward, was, here and there, a lone working-man's cottage, the home of some adventurous soul who had planted his bare hut thus far out in order to reap the small but certain advantage which the growth of the city would bring.
The land was flat--as flat as a table--with a waning growth of brown grass left over from the previous year, and stirring faintly in the morning breeze.

Underneath were signs of the new green--the New Year's flag of its disposition.

For some reason a crystalline atmosphere enfolded the distant hazy outlines of the city, holding the latter like a fly in amber and giving it an artistic subtlety which touched him.
Already a devotee of art, ambitious for connoisseurship, who had had his joy, training, and sorrow out of the collection he had made and lost in Philadelphia, he appreciated almost every suggestion of a delightful picture in nature.
The tracks, side by side, were becoming more and more numerous.
Freight-cars were assembled here by thousands from all parts of the country--yellow, red, blue, green, white.