street offered, full of sun. He turned down it a few feet, and found
himself standing over an inlet of the lake.

Then for the first time he realized that he had been walking on "made
ground." The water chugged restlessly against the uneven ends of the
lath-like slabs, thousands of them laid, side by side, down to and below
the water's surface. They formed a substructure on which the sawdust
had been heaped. Deep shadows darted from their shelter and withdrew,
following the play of the little waves. The lower slabs were black with
the wet, and from them, too, crept a spicy odour set free by the
moisture. On a pile head sat an urchin fishing, with a long bamboo pole
many sizes too large for him. As Bob watched, he jerked forth diminutive
flat sunfish.

"Good work!" called Bob in congratulation.

The urchin looked up at the large, good-humoured man and grinned.

Bob retraced his steps to the street on which he had started out. There
he discovered a steep stairway, and by it mounted to the tramway above.
Along this he wandered for what seemed to him an interminable distance,
lost as in a maze among the streets and byways of this tenantless city.
Once he stepped aside to give passage to the great horse, or one like
him, and his train of little cars. The man driving nodded to him. Again
he happened on two men unloading similar cars, and passing the boards
down to other men below, who piled them skilfully, two end planks one
way, and then the next tier the other, in regular alternation. They wore
thick leather aprons, and square leather pieces strapped across the
insides of their hands as a protection against splinters. These, like
all other especial accoutrements, seemed to Bob somehow romantic, to be