Annixter, arriving at the Post Office, found himself involved in a scene of swiftly shifting sights and sounds.

Saddle horses, farm wagons--the inevitable Studebakers--buggies grey with the dust of country roads, buckboards with squashes and grocery packages stowed under the seat, two-wheeled sulkies and training carts, were hitched to the gnawed railings and zinc-sheathed telegraph poles along the curb.

Here and there, on the edge of the sidewalk, were bicycles, wedged into bicycle racks painted with cigar advertisements.

Upon the asphalt sidewalk itself, soft and sticky with the morning's heat, was a continuous movement.

Men with large stomachs, wearing linen coats but no vests, laboured ponderously up and down.