Explore "The Riddle of Three-Way Creek" by Ridgwell Cullum on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Most of New York -- that is, all those more fortunate individuals who were not actually tied to the city by the necessities of business, were somewhere on the seashore, or up in the hills, seeking cool, bracing air with which to sooth their jaded nerves. The heat was torrid. The noise and the city odours burdened life to an almost insupportable extent. There was no shade anywhere that could help things, and not a breath of air, except that set in motion by artificial means in the dwellings, was stirring to make things easier. The sun scorched down on the immaculate streets from early dawn to late evening. And even as late as nearing midnight the furious mercury registered anything up to eighty degrees of humid heat.
It was the one time in the year when the bustle and rush of the great hotels was at its lowest ebb. The telephone boys had time to sweat at leisure. The head-porters had breathing space from their everlasting task of booking railroad "reservations" for their transient custom. Even the waiters were able to give a personal touch of interest to their guests. But for all the greater ease of service the leisure thus obtained was more than counter-balanced by the discomfort of the appalling humidity.