A little New York clerk, full of dreams of travel, goes to London on a cattle steamer, has experiences with bohemianisms of a sort and returns joyfully to New York to find his real romance. Told with a true understanding and humor.
piles and the swash of the brown waves heaped before her as she sidled into place. He was carried by the herd on into the station.
He did not notice the individual people in his exultation as he heard the great chords of the station's paean. The vast roof roared as the iron coursers stamped titanic hoofs of scorn at the little stay-at-home.
That is a washed-out hint of how the poets might describe Mr. Wrenn's passion. What he said was "Gee!"
He strolled by the lists of destinations hung on the track gates. Chicago (the plains! the Rockies! sunset over mining-camps!), Washington, and the magic Southland--thither the iron horses would be galloping, their swarthy smoke manes whipped back by the whirlwind, pounding out with clamorous strong hoofs their sixty miles an hour. Very well. In time he also would mount upon the iron coursers and charge upon Chicago and the Southland; just as soon as he got ready.
Then he headed for Cortlandt Street; for Long Island, City. finally, the Navy Yard. Along h
A lonely little nebbish, a kind of Walter Mitty precursor, dreams of adventure and traveling the world. When he gets his opportunity, though, he finds that he's just as lonely overseas, although the experience changes him for the better. The trouble is, the book is all so very earnest. It would be better, as Thurber's later story shows, if it had more humor.