Warren and Thomas to the tubes, subways and ferries. The others he told to
go out on the streets.

They saw a city of four million people stopped short on its way home to
dinner! They saw a city, miles in extent, set back without preparation to
a communication by messenger only! They saw a city, unprepared, blinking
its way by the inadequate illuminations of a half-century gone by!

Hallowell found a packed mass of humanity at the bridge. Where ordinarily
is a crush, even with incessant outgoing trains sucking away at the
surplus, now was a panic--a panic the more terrible in that it was solid,
sullen, inert, motionless. Women fainted, and stood unconscious, erect.
Men sank slowly from sight, agonized, their faces contorted, but unheard
in the dull roar of the crowd, and were seen no more. Around the edges
people fought frantically to get out; and others, with the blind,
unreasoning, home instinct, fought as hard to get in.

The police were unavailing. They could not penetrate to break the center.
Across the bridge streamed a procession of bruised and battered humanity,
escaped from or cast forth by the maelstrom. The daylight was fading, and
within the sheds men could not see one another's faces.

Longman at the Grand Central observed a large and curious crowd that
filled the building and packed the streets round about. They waited for
their trains, and the twilight gathered. For ten minutes trains continued
to enter the shed. This puzzled Longman until he remembered that gravity
would bring in those this side of Harlem. None went out. The waiting
throng was a hotbed for rumors. Longman collected much human-interest
stuff, and was quite well satisfied with his story--until he saw what it
had meant elsewhere.