When John reached New York City, he reported to Demille’s. All he had time for that night was dinner and a bath. Early the next morning, he strolled up Broadway, gawking at the sites. He’d never seen anything like the bustling metropolis—buildings stood squeezed together in block-long rows or separated by narrow, filthy alleys piled with stinking refuse. Carriages and omnibuses clogged the manure-strewn streets. Grim-faced pedestrians scurried about, heads down, jostling each other out of their paths with umbrellas and jutting elbows. The cool breeze off the Hudson River carried the stench of manure and rotting garbage. Pushcart peddlers hollered their wares and prices, their lopsided wooden carts piled with fruits and vegetables. A network of black telegraph wires crisscrossed above, bloc
