He pushed the rod before him, pulled himself upward, got to his hands and knees, thrust his head forward and crawled. After a few yards he paused and struck another match. Ahead was darkness. He crawled on, reaching out his hand at intervals to feel the way. He paused again, struck by the strange silence. It was as though he had traveled a million miles away from the life of the world. Lured by the darkness, he crept forward and the sides of the dirt tunnel grew narrower and, as he inched ahead, he could sense the bottom of the tunnel lowering slightly. He tried to feel the dirt ceiling, but could not. He rose and stood straight up; there was no ceiling within touching distance. Though he had but a few more matches, he risked striking one; the black tunnel went on. He walked a long way and then stopped again, curious, afraid. Where was he going? He scratched another match to flame and peered ahead; the passageway led on into the same monotonous darkness. The match went out. Then, as he put his right foot downward, he found that it swung out into open space. He drew back in horror. What’s this? he asked aloud. He poked the rod forward and it almost slipped from his fingers as it dangled into emptiness. He stood listening and straining his eyes, but he could see and hear nothing. Sweat broke over his body as he imagined the earth caving in upon him and burying him alive. . . . Quickly he struck another match and looked; the dirt floor sheered away steeply. Holding the flaming match as high above his head as he could, he leaned outward and forward, peering; yes, he could see dry dirt some five feet below him and the passageway in which he stood seemed to widen beyond into a small cave. He looked upward and saw a rough, concrete ceiling. Was he in some space beneath a basement? He stiffened; he heard a feathery cadence that he could not identify. The match ceased to burn.

Using the pole as a makeshift ladder, he slid down along it until his feet touched the ground and he stood apprehensively in darkness. The air smelt fresh and he could still hear faint sounds. He poked about cautiously, his hands before him, his ears still catching sounds, his fingertips searching space for solid surfaces. Suddenly he felt a brick wall. He followed it and the strange sounds—which he had ignored for a little while—became louder. Again he stopped and strained his ears. What was that? The vast overhanging silence made what little sound that did trickle through seem odd beyond description. Yet, those strange sounds were somehow very familiar to him; that was it: strange but familiar! It was as though he were trying to remember something almost erased from his memory. Was it music he was hearing? Or perhaps singing? Or was it a trolley crashing past over steel tracks? Or a siren? Or perhaps a baby crying . . . ?