Emerson
continued. "Every Sunday afternoon he plays on the great organ in the
auditorium and the audience drifts in from the park and drifts out to
walk farther, and in all several thousand people hear some good music in
the course of the afternoon."
"There seem to be some separate buildings behind the Institute."
"The Technical Schools, and beyond them is the Margaret Morrison School
where girls may learn crafts and domestic science and so on."
"It's too bad it isn't a clear day," sighed Ethel Blue, as she rose from
the table.
"This is a bright day, Miss," volunteered the waiter who handed her her
unnecessary sunshade.
"You call this clear?" Mrs. Morton asked him.
"Yes, madam, this is a bright day for Pittsburg."
When they set forth they shook their heads over the townsman's idea of a
clear day, for the sky was overcast and clouds of dense black smoke
rolled together from the two sides of the city and met over their heads.
"It's from the steel mills," Mr. Emerson explained as he advised Ethel
Brown to wipe off a smudge of soot that had settled on her cheek and
warned his daughter that if she wanted to preserve the whiteness of her
gloves she had better replace them by colored ones until she returned to
a cleaner place.
They were to take the afternoon train up the Monongahela River to the
town from which Stanley Clark had sent his wire telling his uncle that
"Emily Leonard married a man named Smith," but there were several hours
to devote to sightseeing before train time, and the party went over
Schenley Park with thoroughness, investigated several of the "inclines"
which carried passengers from the river level to the top of the heights
above, motored among the handsome residences and ended, on the way to
the station, with a flying visit to the old blockhouse which is all that
is left of Port Pitt.
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