He was walking up a straight, long street, with houses just alike on
both sides and bits of grass before them, that sometimes were gay
with late autumn flowers. A horse-car track ran up the middle, and
the cars seemed to be tinkling by all the time, and people getting
on and off. They were mostly ladies and children, and they were very
well dressed. Sometimes they stared at Barker, as they crossed his
way in entering or issuing from the houses, but generally no one
appeared to notice him. In some of the windows there were flowers in
painted pots, and in others little marble images on stands.
There were more images in the garden that Barker came to presently:
an image of Washington on horseback, and some orator speaking, with
his hand up, and on top of a monument a kind of Turk holding up a
man that looked sick. The man was almost naked, but he was not so
bad as the image of a woman in a granite basin; it seemed to Barker
that it ought not to be allowed there. A great many people of all
kinds were passing through the garden, and after some hesitation he
went in too, and walked over the bridge that crossed the pond in the
middle of the garden, where there were rowboats and boats with
images of swans on them. Barker made a sarcastic reflection that
Boston seemed to be a great place for images, and passed rather
hurriedly through the garden on the other side of the bridge.
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