Page:Restless Earth.djvu/180

Patricia nodded. She did not resent the reference to “mush.” She held a similar opinion of the quality of Harley’s work.

“Huh!” Buzzy grunted, as she rose to her feet with a business-like air. “I can understand Grace, but not Pat Weybourn. Come along!”

Patricia obeyed the curt command with a meekness entirely foreign to her. Despite the brusqueness of Buzzy, the big woman’s attitude seemed less condemnatory than she had dared to hope. She followed Buzzy with a curious sensation of dependence. She felt that, if she lost Buzzy now, she herself would be lost indeed.

“I’m just a fool, Buzzy,” she repeated, apologetically, as she followed the other down the stairs.

“Aren’t we all?” growled Buzzy. “You come with me, Pat, and prove it.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Patricia walking half a pace behind her friend who carried the suitcases and seemed unconscious of their weight or any indignity attaching to the task.

Buzzy paused at the corner of Rangitikei Street.

“Look at them, Pat,” she said, in a low tone. “You don’t need to ask which are refugees. See the way they stand around looking at nothing! Poor devils!”

No need to ask, indeed.

At every street corner stood a group of lost people, people who gazed indifferently at the sky and at the traffic. Lost people occupied every seat in the Square gardens and wandered upon the paths and pavements. The city was crowded with them. Every train and car from the earthquake area increased their numbers. People with nothing to do. Men, women and children. Strangers, driven from their homes by the authorities who feared pestilence in the stricken towns. Strangers, living upon their individual perplexities, oblivious to the beauties of