By Author [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Title [ A  B  C  D  E  F  G  H  I  J  K  L  M  N  O  P  Q  R  S  T  U  V  W  X  Y  Z |  Other Symbols ]
  By Language
all Classics books content using ISYS

Download this book: [ ASCII ]

Look for this book on Amazon

We have new books nearly every day.
If you would like a news letter once a week or once a month
fill out this form and we will give you a summary of the books for that week or month by email.

Title: The Century World's Fair Book for Boys and Girls - Being the Adventures of Harry and Philip with Their Tutor, - Mr. Douglass, at the World's Columbian Exposition
Author: Jenks, Tudor
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "The Century World's Fair Book for Boys and Girls - Being the Adventures of Harry and Philip with Their Tutor, - Mr. Douglass, at the World's Columbian Exposition" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.

  Rand, McNally & Co.’s
  New Indexed
  Miniature Guide Map
  World’s Columbian
  Chicago, 1893.]

[Illustration: THE WHITE CITY.]

                             THE CENTURY
                          WORLD’S FAIR BOOK
                         FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

                   WITH THEIR TUTOR, MR. DOUGLASS

                             TUDOR JENKS

                      AND SNAP-SHOTS BY PHILIP


                      THE CENTURY CO., NEW YORK

                 Copyright, 1893, by The Century Co.

                         THE DE VINNE PRESS.

                          TABLE OF CONTENTS

          CHICAGO — FINDING ROOMS — THE FAIR AT LAST!                  1

          IN THE GRAND BASIN                                          17

          MOVABLE SIDEWALK                                            31

          SLEEPY AUDIENCE — PLANS                                     43

          STREET — THE CARD-WRITER — THE SOUDANESE BABY               55

          MOORISH PALACE — THE ANIMAL SHOW                            71


          LIFE-SAVING DRILL                                           99

          TO THE ROOF                                                113

          WALKING HOME — THE “SANTA MARIA” UNDER SAIL                127

          BUFFALO BILL’S GREAT SHOW                                  141

          THE WHALEBACK                                              155


          SOUVENIRS — WORLD’S FAIRS IN GENERAL                       187

          MINING — A PUZZLED GUARD                                   197

          THE ANNEX — THE RAILROAD EXHIBITS                          209

          PHANTOM CITY                                               221

          EXPOSURE                                                   231




                        LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  The White City                                          Frontispiece
  The Soudanese Baby                                        Title-page
  View From the Ferris Wheel                                      xiii
  The Administration Building                                      xiv

                       CHAPTER I.—THE JOURNEY

  Here are the Tickets                                               1
  The Foundation of the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building    2, 3
  A Wilderness of Iron.—Building Machinery Hall                      4
  One of the Decorators at Work                                      6
  Making “Staff”                                                     7
  The “Court of Honor” as it Looked in June, 1892                    8
  “Yo’ Section Ready, Sah!”                                         10
  The Opening of the Fair, May 1, 1893.—The President of the
      United States Speaking                                        11
  Ground-plan of the World’s Fair Grounds                           12
  “Hi, there, Mama! Here’s Roomers!”                                14
  Here we Are!                                                      15

                     CHAPTER II.—THE FÊTE NIGHT

  Administration Building                                           16
  A Ticket of Admission                                             17
  Interior of the Dome of the Administration Building               18
  A Group of Statuary on the Administration Building—“The
      Glorification of War”                                         19
  The Great Fountain, “The Triumph of the Republic”                 20
  A Nearer View of the Fountain                                     21
  “He’s a Cowboy”                                                   22
  The Grand Basin from a Balcony of the Administration Building     23
  The Peristyle, East End of the Court of Honor                     24
  The Statue of “The Republic”                                      25
  View Looking North from the Dome of the Administration
      Building—Just before Sunset                                   26
  “There was Room for Another Boy Inside,—and Harry Made a Sketch
      of It”                                                        27
  A View from the Lion Fountain                                     28
  Evening on the Canal                                              29
  View from the Island at Night                                     30

                      CHAPTER III.—HARRY’S DAY

  Building the Battle-ship. November, 1891                          32
  The Battle-ship as It Looked in January, 1892                     33
  The Battle-ship on Decoration Day, May 30, 1893                   34
  The United States Government Building                             35
  The Viking Ship                                                   36
  Two Little Tars Going to See the Model of a Man-of-war            37
  The Caravel “Santa Maria”                                         38
  “Guarding” the “Niña”                                             39
  The New “Santa Maria” Crossing the Ocean                          40
  The Caravel “Niña”                                                41

                      CHAPTER IV.—PHILIP’S DAY

  “Cholly” Speechless                                               42
  “A Splendid Meat Supper for 25 Cents!”                            43
  A “Loop” of the Intramural Railway                                44
  General View of the Court of Honor, Looking Toward the Lake       45
  “Don’t Fail to See This Exhibit”                                  46
  An Alaskan Image                                                  47
  The Whaling-ship                                                  48
  The Windmills                                                     49
  The Wooded Island at Twilight                                     50
  A Launch-landing                                                  52
  In Front of the Transportation Building                           53


  In Cairo Street                                                   54
  A Suggestion of the “Plaisance”                                   55
  The Kodaker                                                       55
  Morning, Outside Main Entrance                                    56
  Chair-boys at Work!                                               56
  “Puck” Building                                                   57
  The Water-wheel in the Javanese Village                           58
  The Javanese Musicians                                            59
  The Javanese Baby                                                 60
  “The Man Stood up Beside Her, and They were Photographed
      Together”                                                     61
  “He was Lazily Sunning Himself”                                   61
  A Young Lady from Java                                            62
  A Kodak Permit                                                    62
  The “Donkey-boys”                                                 63
  An Arab Street-sweeper                                            64
  Philip Rodman’s Card                                              64
  In Cairo Street                                                   65
  The Soudanese Baby                                                66
  The Flower-girl                                                   67
  “‘He Laughs Best who Laughs Last’”                                68
  In Cairo Street                                                   69


  The Ferris Wheel                                                  70
  The Performing Bear                                               71
  Old Vienna                                                        72
  Going into the Cars of the Ferris Wheel                           73
  From the Ferris Wheel—Looking East                                74
  From the Ferris Wheel—Looking West                                75
  A View Through the Ferris Wheel                                   76
  Looking Up at the Ferris Wheel                                    77
  A View Taken at Full Speed on the Ice Railway                     78
  A Sleeping Lioness                                                79
  Meal-time                                                         79
  Sketch of a Tiger                                                 80
  Young Lion Asleep                                                 80
  A Lion’s Head                                                     81
  The Polar Bear                                                    82
  The Lion King                                                     82
  A Tiger on a Tricycle                                             82
  A Tiger on a Ball                                                 83
  Head of a Lioness                                                 83


  “A Bubble of Light.” The Dome of the Horticultural Building by
      Night                                                         84
  A Greeting from the British Lion                                  85
  The Century Co’s Room in the Manufactures and Liberal Arts
      Building                                                      86
  Victoria House                                                    88
  India House                                                       89
  The Massachusetts State Building                                  90
  The New York State Building                                       91
  The Ohio State Building                                           92
  The California State Building                                     93
  A Group of Eskimo                                                 94
  Eskimo Woman and Children                                         94
  Eskimo Group with Snow House                                      95
  The Eskimo and Their Dogs                                         95
  “The Sleep of the Flowers”—A Bas-relief on the Horticultural
      Building                                                      96
  General View of the Horticultural Building                        97


  An Unframed Picture                                               98
  A Chair-load                                                      99
  The Children’s Building                                          100
  The Gymnasium: Children’s Building                               101
  The Library: Children’s Building                                 103
  Teaching the Deaf: Children’s Building                           104
  The Nursery: Children’s Building                                 105
  The Top of the Woman’s Building                                  106
  The Woman’s Building                                             107
  Harry’s Card                                                     108
  Philip’s Weight-ticket                                           109
  An Umbrella Exhibit                                              110
  The Life-saving Boat                                             111


  Just from the Ranch                                              112
  A Distorting Mirror                                              113
  General View of Building for Manufactures and the Liberal Arts   114
  Porch of Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building                  115
  Another View of the Manufactures and Liberal Arts
  Building                                                         116
  From a Window in the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building,
      Looking Northwest                                            117
  The Arts of War: A Mural Painting in One of the Porches of the
      Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building                       118
  One of the Domes of the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building.
      Painted by J. Carroll Beckwith                               119
  Part of Group above Main Entrance of Manufactures and Liberal
      Arts Building                                                120
  “—And the Cat Came Back”                                         122
  A Japanese Carving                                               122
  The Hunters’ Camp                                                123
  Interior of the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building—Showing
      the Elevators                                                124
  The Fire-boat “Fire Queen”                                       125
  The Roof-walk, Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building            126


  In the Art Gallery                                               127
  An Artist’s View of the Fine Arts Building                       128
  An Interior View of the Dome of the Fine Arts Building           129
  A View of the Fine Arts Building from near the New York State
      Building                                                     130
  In Front of the Fine Arts Building                               131
  Boy with a Dove: Carving in Ivory by Asahi Hatsu                 132
  “Little Nell,” from a Group, “Dickens and Little Nell,” by F.
      Edwin Elwell                                                 133
  A Part of the Great Painting, “The Flagellants,” by Carl Marr    135
  “The Mother.” Painted by Alice D. Kellogg                        136
  A Fellow-critic                                                  137
  The Grandmother of the Swedish Artist Zorn. From the Original
      Carving in Birch-wood (six
  inches high) by Zorn                                             138
  The Caravels                                                     140


  Part of Louisiana Gateway                                        141
  The Agricultural Building—Toward Evening                         142
  Agricultural Building, North Front, Seen from the Grand Basin    144
  Japanese Jars and Box                                            145
  One of the Panels (“Summer”) in the Portico of the Agricultural
      Building. Painted by George W. Maynard                       145
  Great Central Porch of Agricultural Building                     146
  Portico of the Agricultural Building                             147
  The Connecting Screen of Corridors between the Machinery and
      Agricultural Buildings                                       148
  Figure in Window-frame of Machinery Hall                         149
  Machinery Hall                                                   149
  A Suggestion of the “Wild West”—Remington’s Famous Picture,
      “The Bucking Bronco”                                         150
  An Aboriginal                                                    151
  A Syrian Acrobat                                                 152
  A Cowboy                                                         153


  A Chicago Street                                                 154
  Fort Dearborn (Chicago, 1804–1816)                               155
  Memorial Building, on the Site where the Great Fire Started      155
  Driveways of the Grand Boulevard                                 156
  Map showing the Park System of Chicago                           157
  View on State Street, Looking Northward from Madison Street      158
  The City Hall, Chicago                                           159
  The Post-office                                                  159
  House of John Kinzie, the First White Settler                    160
  The Auditorium, Michigan Avenue and Congress Street              161
  The Art Institute, Michigan Avenue                               161
  The Woman’s Temple, La Salle and Monroe Streets                  161
  Masonic Temple, State and Randolph Streets                       161
  The Lake-shore Drive                                             162
  View on Michigan Avenue, Chicago                                 163
  The Rookery and the Board of Trade Building                      164
  A Street Bridge across the Chicago River, Swung Open for the
      Passage of Boats                                             165
  Fishing for Perch from the Breakwater, Chicago                   166
  The Great Fire at Chicago, October, 1871                         167
  The Whaleback, Upper Deck                                        168
  The Whaleback, Lower Deck                                        168
  The Whaleback                                                    169


  General View of Fisheries Pavilion                               170
  An Ornament on the Fisheries Building                            171
  Capital in Fisheries Building                                    172
  Skeleton of a Whale                                              173
  Flying-fish                                                      173
  A Fishing-boat: Group in Government Building                     174
  Model of a Group of Indian Metal-workers, in the Government
      Building                                                     175
  Model of an Indian Warrior: Government Building                  176
  Model of a Group of Zuñis: Government Building                   177
  Army Wagons, War Department, Government Building                 178
  Guns, Torpedoes, and Flags: Government Building                  179
  The World’s Fair Post-office: Government Building                180
  An Old-fashioned Mail-coach: Government Building                 180
  “Furthest North”: Government Building                            181
  The Big Tree: Government Building                                182
  Ordnance Department, United States Army                          183
  Mail-sledge and Dogs: Government Building                        184
  The Japanese “House of the Phœnix” on the Wooded Island          185
  Portrait of Columbus, by Lorenzo Lotto, 1512                     186


  An Ancient Caravel                                               187
  The Original Convent of La Rábida, in Spain                      188
  The Convent of La Rábida at the Fair                             189
  Cell of the Prior Marchena in the Original Convent,—the
      “Columbus Room” in the Model at the Fair                     190
  House in Genoa, said to be the Birthplace of Columbus            191
  Departure of Columbus on his Voyage to America. (In the Convent
      of La Rábida)                                                193
  A Lamp                                                           194
  A Bear                                                           194
  Harry’s Restoration of a Cliff-Dweller                           194
  The Cliff-Dwellers’ Mound                                        195
  View Looking South from the Top of the Woman’s Building—by
      Moonlight                                                    196


  The Electricity Building                                         198
  Porch of Electricity Building                                    199
  Statue of Benjamin Franklin at the Main Entrance of the
      Electricity Building                                         201
  Model of a Lake Superior Copper-Mine: Mining Building            202
  Mines and Mining Building                                        203
  An Exhibit of Rails: Mining Building                             204
  Twisted Iron: Mining Building                                    205
  South Porch of Mines Building                                    207


  The “Golden Doorway” and Part of the Transportation Building—on
      a Quiet Afternoon                                            208
  The Crowd Coming in with Lunches                                 209
  Figure of Brakeman, Transportation Building                      210
  Bit of Ornament, Transportation Building                         211
  The “Golden Doorway,” Transportation Building                    213
  A Section of a Steamship                                         215
  The “De Witt Clinton” Train                                      216
  The “John Bull” Train                                            217
  Interior of a Pullman Car                                        218
  Model of the British Battle-ship “Victoria”                      219


  In the Lapland Village                                           220
  A Boy from Johore                                                221
  The Venetian Glass-blowers                                       222
  Little Dahomey Boy, and His Playthings                           223
  An Actor in the Chinese Theater                                  224
  A Chinese Mama and Her Baby                                      225
  Interior of the Java Theater                                     226
  The South Sea Islanders                                          227
  A Pass for the South Sea Island Village                          228
  The Algerian Theater                                             229
  One of the Two Irish Villages                                    230


  A Kodaker Caught                                                 232
  Registering in New York State Building                           233
  Along the Lake                                                   234
  The Dark-room                                                    235
  Lunching Outdoors                                                236
  Wonderful!                                                       237


  The Ferris Wheel, from “Old Vienna”                              238
  A Glimpse of the Horticultural Dome                              240
  The Fisheries Building, from across the Lagoon                   241
  At a Drinking-fountain                                           242
  A Little Visitor                                                 243
  The 194,000,000 Candle-power Search-light                        245
  In the Midway Plaisance                                          246



                     HARRY AND PHILIP AT THE FAIR


                               CHAPTER I

      _Started by Cable_ — _The Journey by Sleeper_ — _Arrival in
           Chicago_ — _Finding Rooms_ — _The Fair at Last!_

[Illustration: HERE ARE THE TICKETS.]

“Mr. Douglass wants to see you, Master Harry,” said the maid, coming to
the door of the boys’ room.

“What’s he found out now, I wonder?” said Harry to Philip, in a low
tone. “I don’t remember anything I have done lately.”

“He’s in a hurry, too,” said the girl, closing the door.

Harry ran down to Mr. Douglass’s room on the first floor. The two
boys were beginning their preparation for college, and were living in
a suburb of New York city with their tutor, Mr. Douglass, a college
graduate, and a man of about thirty-five. Harry’s father, Mr. Blake,
was abroad on railroad business, and did not expect to return for
some months. Philip was Harry’s cousin, but the two boys were very
unlike in disposition—as will be seen. Their bringing up may have been
responsible for some of the differences in traits and character, for
Harry was a city boy, while his cousin was country-bred.

When Harry knocked at the door of Mr. Douglass’s study, he knew by the
tutor’s tone in inviting him in that the teacher had not called him
simply for a trivial reprimand. It was certainly something serious;
perhaps news from Harry’s father and mother.

“Sit down, Harry,” said the tutor,—“and don’t be worried,” he added,
seeing how solemn the boy looked. “I have had a message by cable from
your father; but it’s good news, not bad. Read it.”

He handed Harry the despatch. It read:

  Take Hal and Phil to Fair. My expense. Letter to Chicago. See
  Farwell about money and tickets.

“Rather sudden, isn’t it?” said Mr. Douglass, smiling.


“Yes,” said Harry, “but—immense! Don’t you think so?”

“I’m glad to go,” the tutor said. “It seems to me that a visit to the
Fair is worth more than all the studying here you boys could do in
twice the time you’ll spend there; and it’s a lucky opportunity for me.”

“Then you’ll go?” said Harry, to whom the news seemed a bit of fairy
story come true, with the Atlantic cable for a magic wand.

“Of course,” answered the tutor. “The only thing that surprises me is
the quickness of your father’s decision.”

“That’s just like him,” said Harry. “He’s a railroad man, you know, and
they always go at high pressure. Why, he’d rather talk by telephone,
even when he can’t get anything but a buzz and a squeak on the wire,
than send a messenger who’d get there in half the time.”

“But has he said anything about sending you before?”

“No. The fact is, people abroad are slow to know what a whacker this
Fair is! They think it’s a mere foreign exposition. Father’s just found
out that Uncle Sam has covered himself with glory, and now he wants
Phil and me to see the bird from beak to claws—the whole American

“But sha’n’t we have trouble about tickets?” asked Mr. Douglass.

“No,” said Harry. “Father’s a railroad man. That’s what ‘See Farwell’
means. You let me go to see him. He’s the general manager, or some
high-cockalorum. He’ll see us through by daylight.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Douglass, “I’m just as glad to go as you are.
Philip and I will attend to the packing, and you shall go to New York
this afternoon and see Mr. Farwell. Now you can tell Philip about it.”


Harry ran out of the room, slamming the door behind him, but Mr.
Douglass only laughed. Perhaps he would have slammed it, too, if he’d
been in the boy’s place.

“Well?” said Philip, looking up from the Xenophon he was translating.

“Thanks be to Christopher Columbus!” said Harry, with a jig-step.

“Has he done anything new?” Philip asked, looking over his spectacles.

“I guess not,” said Harry, “but we’re going to the Fair.”

“How can we?” Philip asked.

Harry threw the cable despatch down upon the table, and turned to get
his hat. Philip read the telegram, carefully wiped his glasses, rose,
put the Xenophon into its place upon his book-shelves, and said:

“Xenophon will have to attend to his own parasangs for a while.”

“You pack up for me, and I’ll see to the railroad-tickets,” said Harry.
“I have just about time to catch the train for New York.”

That was a hard and busy day for all three of the party. Perhaps
Harry’s share was the easiest, for, by showing his father’s despatch to
Mr. Farwell, he had everything made easy for him. Still, even influence
might not have secured them places except for the aid of chance. It
happened that a prominent man had, at the last moment, to give up a
section in the Wagner sleeper, and this was turned over to Harry. So,
late in the afternoon the boy came back with what he called “three
gilt-edged accordion-pleated tickets.”

Meanwhile Mr. Douglass and Philip had put into three traveling-bags as
much as six would hold, and the party went to bed early to get a good
rest before the long journey.


Next day at nearly half-past four the three travelers walked through
the passageway at the Grand Central Depot, had their tickets
punched,—and Philip noticed that the man at the gate kept tally on a
printed list of the numbers of different tickets presented,—and entered
the mahogany and blue-plush Wagner cars.

In a few minutes some one said quietly: “All right,” and the train
gently moved out.

“I can remember,” said Mr. Douglass, “when a train started with a
shock like a Japanese earthquake. Now this seemed to glide out as if
saying, ‘Oh, by the way, I think I’ll go to Chicago!’”

Harry laughed. “Yes,” he said, “and how little fuss there is about it.
Why, abroad, I remember that they had first a bell, then a yell, then a
scream, then the steam!”

As the train passed through the long tunnel just after leaving the
station, Mr. Douglass remarked:

“How monotonous those dark arches of brickwork are!”

“Yes,” said Philip, “they should have a set of frescos put in them.”

“But no one could see the pictures,” said Mr. Douglass, “we pass them
so fast.”

“That’s true,” said Harry, with a pretended sigh; “but they might have
to be instantaneous photographs.”

Philip looked puzzled for a minute and then laughed. After they left
the tunnel, they passed through the suburbs of New York, entered a
narrow cut that turned westward, and were soon sailing along the
Hudson River—or so it seemed. There was no shore visible beside them,
except for an occasional tumble-down dock, and beyond lay the river—a
soft, gray expanse relieved against the Palisades, and later against
more distant purple hills. It was a rest for their eyes to see only
an occasional sloop breaking the long stretch of water, and the noise
of the train was lessened because there was nothing to echo back the
sounds from the river.

Mr. Douglass found his pleasure in the scenery, the widenings of the
river, the soft outlines of the hills, the long reflection of the
setting sun. But the boys cared more to see the passengers.

“Isn’t it funny,” said Philip, “how Americans take things as a matter
of course? I really believe that if the train was a sort of Jules Verne
unlimited express for the planet Mars, the people would all look placid
and read the evening papers.”

“Of course,” said Harry. “What else can they do? Would you expect me to
go forward and say: ‘Dear Mr. Engineer, but _do_ you really think you
know what all these brass and steel things are? Don’t you feel scared?
Won’t you lie down awhile on the coal, while I run the engine for you?’”

“Nonsense!” said Philip, laughing. “But they might show some interest.”

“They do,” said Harry; “but that’s not what I’m thinking of. I’m
thinking I’ll be a civil engineer.”

“Why?” said Philip.

“Just think,” Harry answered, pointing from the car window, “what a
good time they must have had laying out this road! Why, it was just a
camping-out frolic, that’s all it was.”


“Didn’t you hear the waiter say dinner was ready?” said Mr. Douglass.

“No,” said Philip; “but I knew it ought to be, if they care for the
feelings of their passengers. Where is the dining-car?”

“At the end of the train,” said Mr. Douglass. “Come, we’ll walk

So, in single file (“like cannibals on the trail of a missionary,”
Harry said), they passed from car to car. The cars were connected
by vestibules—collapsible passageways, folding like an accordion—and
it was not necessary to go outside at all. The train was an unbroken

“It is much like a long, narrow New York flat,” said Philip. “People
who live in flats must feel perfectly at home when they travel in these

They found the dining-car very pretty and comfortable. Along one side
were tables where two could sit, face to face. On the opposite side of
the aisle the tables accommodated four. The boys and their tutor took
one of the larger tables. The bill of fare was that of a well-appointed
hotel or restaurant,—soup, fish, entrées, joint, and dessert,—and it
was difficult to realize that they were eating while covering many
miles an hour; in fact, the only circumstance that was a reminder of
the journeying was a slight rim around the edge of the table to keep
the dishes from traveling too.

[Illustration: MAKING “STAFF.”]

“It is strange,” said Mr. Douglass, “how people have learned to eat
dishes in a certain order, such as you see on a bill of fare. Probably
this order of eating is the result of tens of millions of experiments,
and therefore the best way.”

[Illustration: THE “COURT OF HONOR” AS IT LOOKED IN JUNE, 1892.]

“The best for us,” said Philip; “but how about the Chinese?”

Mr. Douglass had to confess himself the objection well taken.

“I believe the Chinese were created to be the exceptions to all rules,”
he said.

The dining-car had an easy, swaying motion that was very pleasant,
and altogether the dinner was a most welcome change from the ordinary
routine of a railway journey.

As the boys walked back to their own section, Philip noticed a little
clock set into the woodwork at one end of the smoking-car. He was
surprised to see that it had two hour-hands, one red and one black.

He pointed it out to Mr. Douglass, who told him that the clock
indicated both New York and Chicago times—which differ by an hour, one
following what is called “Eastern,” the other “Central” time.

By the time they were again settled in their places it was dark
outside; and, as Philip poetically said, they seemed to be “boring a
hole through a big dark.” One of the colored porters looked curiously
at Philip, as if he had overheard this remark without understanding its
poetical bearing.

“He thinks you are a Western desperado!” said Harry, with a grin.

“Boys,” said Mr. Douglass, “the porters will soon make up the beds, and
I want you to see how ingeniously everything is arranged.”

Here is what the porter did:

He stood straddling on two seats, turned a handle in the top of a
panel, and pulled down the upper berth. It moved on hinges, and was
supported after the manner of a book-shelf by two chains that ran on
spring pulleys.

Then he fastened two strong wire ropes from the upper to the lower

“What’s that for?” asked Harry.

“To prevent passengers from being smashed flat by the shutting up
of the berth,” Philip answered, after a moment’s puzzling over the

“You can have the upper berth, Philip,” said Harry, impressively. “It’s
better ventilated than the lower, they say; but I don’t mind that.”

Meanwhile the porter took from the upper berth two pieces of mahogany,
cut to almost fill the space between the tops of the seats and the
side roofs of the car. The edges were grooved, and slid along upon and
closely fitted the top of the seat and a molding on the roof. These
side-pieces were next fastened by a brass bolt pushed up from the end
of the seat-back.

Then the bed-clothing (kept by day in the lower seats and behind the
upper panel) was spread on the upper berth, and the mattress of the
lower berth was made up from the seat-cushions, supported upon short
slats set from seat to seat.

While the beds were being made, the boys were amused to see some ladies
laughing at the man’s method of getting the clothes and pillows into
place. A woman seems to coax the bed into shape, but a man bullies it
into submission.

“They think it’s funny to see him make a bed,” said Harry, in an
undertone; “but if they were to try to throw a stone, or bait a
fish-hook, I guess the darky would have a right to smile some too.”

To finish his work, the porter hung a thick pair of curtains on hooks
along a horizontal pole, and then affixed a long plush strip to which
were fastened large gilt figures four inches high—the number of the

“It would be fun to change the numbers around,” remarked Harry,
pensively. “Then nobody would know who he was when he got up. But
perhaps it would make a boy unpopular if he was caught at it.”

[Illustration: “YO’ SECTION READY, SAH!”]

Mr. Douglass admitted that it might.

As the porter made up their own section, Harry pulled out his
sketch-book and made a little picture of him.

“It’s hard times on the railroad now,” he remarked, as he finished the
sketch. “See how short they have to make the porters’ jackets! But it
must save starch!”

The boys had wondered how the people would get to bed, but there seemed
no difficulty about it. As for our boys, who had the upper berth, one
by one they took off their shoes, coats and vests, etc., and then
climbed behind the curtains, where they put their pajamas over their

After they were in bed, they talked but little, for they were tired.

“This rocking makes me drowsy,” Philip said; “it’s like a cradle.”

“Yes,” Harry answered, as the car lurched a little—“a cradle rocked by
a mother with the St. Vitus’s dance!”

While going to sleep, the boys were puzzled to account for the strange
noises made by the train. At times it seemed to have run over a
china-shop, and at other times the train rumbled hoarsely, as if it
were running over the top of an enormous bass-drum.

Soon the great train was transporting two boys who were fast asleep in
Section No. 12; they woke fitfully during the night, but only vaguely
remembered where they were, until the cold light of morning was
reflected from the top of the car.

Dressing was more difficult than going to bed, but by a combination
of patience and gymnastics Harry and Philip were soon able to take
places in the line that led to the wash-room. Thence, later, they came
forth ready for breakfast (for which they had to “line up” again), and
another all-day ride.


At breakfast, the next table to them was occupied by a gentleman named
Phinney, and his son. Harry knew the son slightly, having once been his
schoolmate. Young Phinney was making a second visit to the Fair, and he
told Harry that on the former trip the train had run around Niagara
Falls in such a way as to give the passengers an opportunity to view

  Live-Stock Exhibit Building.
  Railway Approach.
  Galleries of Fine Art.
  Machinery Hall, 17 1-2 Acres.
  Administration Building.
  Illinois State Building.
  Assembly Hall and Annex to Agricultural Building.
  Transportation Exhibit, 18 2-3 Acres.
  Horticultural Hall, 6 1-2 Acres.
  Villages of all Nations.
  Women’s Building.
  State Buildings and Buildings of Foreign Governments.
  63 Acres reserved for Live-Stock Exhibit.
  Hall of Mines and Mining, 8 3-4 Acres.
  Forestry Building, 2 1-2 Acres.
  Electrical Building, 9 3-4 Acres.
  United States Government Building.
  Dairy Building, 3-4 Acre.
  Agricultural Building, 15 Acres.
  Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building, 44 Acres.
  Casino and Pier.
  Fisheries Building and Deep-Sea Aquaria, 3 Acres.
  U. S. Naval Exhibit.

  _The original picture from which this illustration was engraved was
  painted before changes were made in the Peristyle and Pier. The
  general arrangement and designs of the buildings are correct._]

The train had stopped there for five minutes, and they had climbed
down near the rapids to a point where there was an excellent view of
“the great cataract”—so young Phinney called it. He gave the boys some
pictures showing the falls, and indeed there was a picture of the falls
upon the side of the breakfast bill of fare.

During the forenoon the train was passing through Canada—the boys’
impression of that country being a succession of flat fields, ragged
woods, sheep, swine, and a few pretty, long-tailed ponies grazing upon
browning turf. Philip said that it was like “the Adirondacks spread
flat by a giantess’s rolling-pin.”

At Windsor the train, separated into sections, was run upon a
ferry-boat (upon which one small room was marked “U. S. Customs”) and
carried over to Detroit. Here Mr. Douglass made the boys laugh by
suddenly jumping back from the window. He had been startled by a large
round brush that was poked against the window from outside to dust it.

From Detroit the train ran through Michigan—mainly through a flat
country of rich farming land. Philip, who had never been West, was much
surprised at the uninterrupted stretches of level ground. Mr. Douglass
asked him what he thought of the region. Philip adjusted his glasses
and replied slowly: “Well, it’s fine for the farmers, but it is no
place for speaking William Tell’s piece about ‘Ye crags and peaks, I’m
with you once again!’”

“You must not forget, though,” said Mr. Douglass, “that it is the rich
farming lands that really underlie America’s prosperity. When you see
the Fair, you will understand better what a rich nation we are; but
without our great wheat-lands we should, like England, be dependent
upon commerce for our very existence.”

The boys were much less talkative as the train neared Chicago. They
were somewhat tired, and were also thinking of the amount of walking
and sight-seeing that was before them.

All at once, at about half-past five, New York time (for the travelers
had not yet changed their watches to an hour earlier), Mr. Douglass
pointed out of the right-hand forward window. Both boys looked. There,
in the distance, rose above the city houses a gilded dome, and from the
opposite car-window they saw just afterward a spider-web structure.

“I know it!” Philip sang out; “that’s the Administration Building. But
what is the other?”

“The Ferris Wheel,” answered Harry.

“Yes,” said the tutor, “we are going to leave the car not far from the
Plaisance gate.”

“Sixtieth street next!” cried the brakeman.

“Come, we get out here. It’s nearest the grounds, and I have been told
it is wise to lodge as near as possible.”

When the cars stopped, the party descended upon a platform with “rails
to the right of them, rails to the left of them,” and trains and crowds
in all directions. Mr. Douglass led the way out into the huddled
settlement of apartment-houses, hotels, and lodgings that has sprung
into existence around Jackson Park, the Fair Grounds.

Then began their search for rooms. At first it seemed discouraging;
neatness outside was not always a sign of what to expect inside. They
labored up-stairs and down again several times. At one attractive
private house they entered, expecting quiet, homelike rooms. In the
tiny parlor they found five cots set “cheek by jowl” as close as they
could be jammed. They smiled at this, but found the rest of the rooms
as fully utilized. Mr. Douglass made some objection, and was told by
the self-possessed landlady that “some very fine gentlemen thought her
fifty-cent beds were very elegant.” At another house they were passing,
a boy who couldn’t have been over five years old rushed out like a
little Indian on the warpath, crying, “Hi! You lookin’ fer rooms?”
Amused at the little fellow’s enterprise, our travelers followed him,
the boy going forward on his sturdy little legs, and crying, “Hi,
there, Mama! Here’s roomers! I got you some roomers!”

[Illustration: “HI, THERE, MAMA! HERE’S ROOMERS!”]

But unfortunately the boy proved more attractive than the rooms. After
a long walk, but without going far from the Fair Grounds, they took
rooms at a very good hotel. The price was high, perhaps, but reasonable
considering the advantages and the demand for lodgings. They took two
rooms, one with a double bed for the boys, the other a single room for
the tutor.

Gladly they dropped the satchels that had made their muscles ache, and
after leaving the keys of their rooms with the hotel clerk, they set
forth for their first visit to the Fair. In order that guests should
not forget to leave their keys, each was inserted at right angles into
a nickel-plated strip of metal far too long to go comfortably into the
pocket even of an absent-minded German professor.

“One advantage of being in a hotel,” said Mr. Douglass, as they walked
toward the entrance of the grounds, “is the fact that on rainy,
disagreeable days we can get meals there if we choose. It is not always
pleasant to have to hunt breakfast through the rain. But usually we
shall dine where we happen to be in the grounds; there are restaurants
of all sorts near the exhibits, from a lunch-counter up.”

Along the sidewalk that led from their hotel to the entrance were
dining-rooms, street-peddlers’ counters, peddlers with trays—all meant
as inducements to leave money in the great Western metropolis. One
thing the boys found very amusing was an Italian bootblack’s stand
surrounded on three sides by a blue mosquito-netting.

“If it had been on all sides,” said Harry, “I could have understood it,
because it might be a fly-discourager. But now I think it must be only
a way of attracting attention.”

They had arrived, luckily, on a “fête night.” Though tired and hungry,
they all agreed that it would never do not to take advantage of so
excellent a chance to secure a favorable first impression. So they
bought tickets at a little wooden booth, and, entering a turnstile one
by one, were at last in the great White City.

[Illustration: HERE WE ARE!]


                             CHAPTER II

    _The Fête Night_ — _Rainbow Fountains_ — _The Search-lights_ —
    _On the Lake_ — _The  Fireworks_ — _Passing a Wreck_ — _Diving
                         in the Grand Basin._

“Well,” remarked Harry, as the wicket turned and let him into the
grounds, “if any one wishes to take down what I said on entering the
grounds, he can write down these thrilling words: ‘Here we are at

“We won’t try to do more than get a general idea of things to-night,”
said Mr. Douglass. “We shall find claims upon our eyesight at every
step. But what a crowd!”

The crowd was certainly enormous. At first most of the people seemed to
be coming out, but this idea was a mistake. It came from the fact that
those going the same way as our party attracted their attention less
than those whom they met and had to pass.

[Illustration: A TICKET OF ADMISSION.]

They walked between the Pennsylvania Railroad exhibit and the
Transportation Building, and entered the Administration Building, which
seemed the natural gateway to the Court of Honor and its Basin—always
the central point of interest. The paving seemed to be a composition
not unlike the “staff” that furnished the material for the great
buildings, the balustrades, the statues, and the fountains. It was just
at dusk, and the light was soft and pleasant to the eyes. Once in the
Administration Building, all our sight-seers threw back their heads
and gazed up within the dim and distant dome enriched by its beautiful


“I have heard,” said the tutor, who felt bound to serve as guide so far
as his experience would warrant, “that people are unable to understand
the vastness of St. Peter’s dome at Rome. This dome is even higher, and
so I feel sure that, large as it seems to us, our ideas of it fall far
below the reality. However, we shall see this many times. Let us go on
through, and see the Court of Honor.”

Leaving by the east portal, the three came out upon the broad plaza
that fronts the basin. By this time the sky was a deep, dark blue, and
every outline of the superb group of buildings was sharply relieved.

For a while the three stood silent. There was nothing to say; but each
of them felt that the work of men’s hands—of the human imagination—had
never come so near to rivaling Nature’s inimitable glories. The full
moon stood high above the buildings at their right, but even her
serenity could not make the great White City seem petty.

The boys knew no words to express what they felt. They only knew that
in their lives they had never been so impressed except when gazing upon
a glorious sunset, an awe-inspiring thunderstorm, or the unmeasured
expanse of the ocean.

Philip was the first to speak.

“_Must_ it be taken down? _Why_ couldn’t they leave it? It

“Boys,” said Mr. Douglass, “I don’t preach to you often, and certainly
there is no need of it now. But, at one time or another, each of us has
tried to imagine what Heaven could be like. When we see _this_,” and he
looked reverently about him, “and remember that this is man’s work, we
can see how incapable we are of rising to a conception of what Heaven
might be.”


But their rhapsodies could not last long in such a pushing and
thronging time. People brushed against them, talking and laughing; the
rolling-chairs zigzagged in and out, finding passageway where none
appeared; distant bands were playing, and all about them was the living
murmur of humanity. Groups were sitting upon every available space:
tired mothers with children, young men chatting, and serious-faced
country people plodded silently along amid their gayer neighbors.

Designed and modeled by Frederick MacMonnies. This picture drawn by
Mrs. MacMonnies.]

For a time the three wandered almost without purpose; then, reaching
the further end of the Basin, they looked back at the superb MacMonnies
Fountain—the galley that bore the proudly poised figure of Progress.

Opposite, and facing the fountain, rose the massive but perhaps less
expressive statue of the Republic. Though the boys were speechless
with admiration, delight, and wonder, they found—as others have
done—that fine sights do not satisfy the appetite any better than fine
words butter parsnips. So Harry turned to Mr. Douglass, saying, “Mr.
Douglass, don’t you hear the dinner-horn? It seems to me that I do.”


“All right,” he answered; “let us go over to the Casino restaurant and
have a comfortable dinner; but first suppose we stop a moment for a
look into the Electricity Building. I saw by a program posted up near
the entrance that it is open to-night.”

As they came nearer, they found the crowd rapidly increasing in
density; and when they entered, passing the heroic statue of Franklin,
they found themselves entirely at the mercy of the moving throng of
people. So thick were the sight-seers packed that the boys could
see little except the great Edison Pillar, and that was visible
only because it rose so high in air. While they watched the pillar,
incrusted with incandescent lights, different colored bulbs sprang into
glowing life or faded out, showing a kaleidoscope of patterns changing

“We sha’n’t get any dinner if we don’t get out now,” said Philip, who
was struggling to keep his eye-glasses from being displaced.

“Come, then,” said Harry; and they turned to stem the tide. For a time
they made slight progress; but, luckily, a row of wheeling-chairs came
charging slowly but firmly, cutting a path by gentle persistence.
Falling in behind these pioneers, they succeeded in escaping to the
open air, and then made their way to the Casino. Just before reaching
this great restaurant, they saw the convent of La Rábida, which
appeared between the Agricultural Building and the Casino.

“See!” said Philip. “There’s the model of the convent. Do you know what
it reminds me of? It is like a little gray nun sitting demurely in the
corner of a grand ball-room!”

And, indeed, the unpretending little building was a distinct rest
to the eye, after the proud proportions of its surroundings. As the
statues spoke of the future, the convent reminded one of the past.

Entering the Casino brought them back sharply to the present, with
its needs and its inconveniences. The prosaic need for dinner was the
first to be thought of, and, enormous as was the restaurant, the crowd
that night filled every seat, and left plenty of stragglers to stand
watchfully about, eager to fill themselves and any vacant chair.

“Boys,” said the tutor, sadly, “if we stand here an hour, it will be
only a piece of luck if we find a place. Where shall we go?”

“I heard a man say that there was a lunch-counter in the southeastern
corner of the Manufactures, etc., etc., Building,” said Harry. “This is
no time for French bills of fare and finger-bowls. Come, let’s go over

No one cared to argue the question, and, keeping the lake on their
right, they crossed to the largest building, and found a primitive
lunch-counter on the ground floor. Boys and rough-looking men, perched
on high stools, shouted out orders to “girls” from eighteen to fifty
years old.

[Illustration: “HE’S A CO-WBOY.”]

After waiting a few minutes, Mr. Douglass found a seat, which the boys
insisted he should take, and a little later they found two together.
The man who left the seat Harry crowded into had on a wide-brimmed felt
hat, the edges of which had been perforated all around in openwork.

“He’s a cow-boy,” Harry whispered in delighted tones.

Meanwhile Philip was trying to attract the attention of the very stout
and independent young girl who waited upon that section of the counter.
He raised his hand, but she only sneered and remarked, “I see yer!”
which brought a roar of laughter from some talkative customers. Soon,
however, she condescended to turn an ear in the boys’ direction, and
they succeeded in ordering two sandwiches and two cups of coffee. When
they had finished, Harry said, “Phil, we’ll forgive the sandwiches for
the sake of the coffee!”


After this hasty supper, Mr. Douglass told them that there were two
fine displays that evening—the electric fountains and fireworks on the

“Let us see both,” said Harry. “There’s a place for launches down by
the Basin, and the man was yelling out when I came by: ‘One launch is
going to stay awhile in the Basin, and then going out into the lake,’—I
think he said at half-past seven.”

Philip looked at his watch. “We’re too late by half an hour,” he said

“Why, no, Philip,” said Mr. Douglass. “Our watches show New York time.
We have half an hour to spare.”

“True,” answered the boy. “You are right. I had forgotten that; and, by
the way, now is a good time to reset our watches.”

So they turned the hands back an hour, and felt thankful that another
sixty minutes had been added to the evening.


“Now,” said Mr. Douglass, “I have a popular motion to present. It is
moved that we cease moving, and sit down for a while.”

“Seconded and carried!” cried Harry; “and, what’s more, I see some
chairs”; and he pointed to a row that were strangely vacant, while all
around were occupied. The boys walked toward them. Suddenly Harry, who
was ahead, came back.

“I don’t care to sit down just now,” he said; and his companions,
coming nearer, saw that the chairs were put over a great break in
the pavement to warn people away. They turned to walk toward the
boat-landing, and just then the electric fountains in the corners of
the Basin nearest the Administration Building began to play. Two foamy
domes mounted upward, and were magically tinted in fairy hues, changing
and interchanging, rising and retiring, twisting, whirling, and falling
in violet, sea-green, pink, purple—it was a tiny convention of tamed
rainbows. And, meanwhile, from lofty towers great electric sunbeams
fell upon the dome of the Administration Building, and created a cameo
against the sky: upon the MacMonnies Fountain, giving it a transfigured
snowy loveliness: upon one beautiful group after another, bringing
them to vivid life. The beams were at times full of smoke and spray,
that gave a shimmering motion to their light.


“I have been to a circus,” said Harry, “where they had four rings going
at once. _That_ was bad; but this—this makes me wish I was a spider,
with eyes all over me.”

“The extra legs would not come in badly, either,” said Philip,

“Well said!” agreed Mr. Douglass. “Let us get into the little steamer;
we can rest there.”

They made their way to the landing, bought tickets, stepped aboard just
as the boat moved off, and were soon gliding gently out upon the Basin.


After a short delay to let the passengers view the fountains a little
longer, the steamer sped under a bridge, through the great arch of the
Peristyle, and made out into the open lake.

To their surprise, the boys found a heavy rolling “sea” on; but as
soon as the fireworks began, they forgot all else. Rockets, bombs,
showers of fire, floating lights—they came so rapidly that there was
a continuous gleam of colored light reflected from the waves. Their
launch rounded the fireworks station, and then came to a standstill not
far from the Naval exhibit, the model man-of-war “Illinois.”

Soon some of the women passengers began to object to the rolling. One
Boston woman said: “This is rough; I don’t like this at all”; but her
bespectacled daughter remarked, as a great bomb of rosy light scattered
in a rain of fire, “Well, _I_ think it’s the smoothest thing I ever
saw!” which bit of slang from the prim little Puritan was a great
delight to the boys. And as the search-light suddenly sent its beams
into a lady’s face, she nodded cordially, and said, as if meeting
a friend, “How do you do?” Then, turning to her own party, added,
“They’ve just found me.”


There were many little incidents that amused Harry exceedingly. One
small boy, while boarding the boat, ingeniously contrived to knock his
hat overboard; it was at once recovered,—a straw hat has no chance
racing a steamboat,—but, like Mr. McGinty, was exceedingly moist. So
the pilot went down a dark hatchway and fished out an official cap. The
boy put it on. The effect was stunning,—there was room for another boy
inside,—and Harry made a sketch of it.

But these trifles were only a relief from the grandeur of the display.
Philip said it was the Grandest Grand Transformation Scene imaginable.
After a “set piece” had been shown, there was a bombardment of “Fort
McHenry,” as they called it—a ship and fort outlined in living fire:

    “The rockets’ red glare,
     Bombs bursting in air,”

and all the rest of a mimic war. Then, as the fort blew up, the Stars
and Stripes flamed forth—“Old Glory”—in lines of light; and, far out
upon the lake as they were, the rapturous cheering of the crowds came
plainly to their ears.

“Benedict Arnold would never have made that awful break of his if he
could have been here to-night,” said Harry, reflectively; then, as
Philip began to speak, he said, “Yes, I know he couldn’t have been.

[Illustration: A VIEW FROM THE LION FOUNTAIN. Looking toward the
Grand Basin from a point between Machinery Hall and the Agricultural

Another thing that added wonderfully to the effect of the fireworks
was a calliope whistle on some yacht or tug. While the people cheered,
the musical director of that steam-tug whistle performed on it with a
master hand. It shrieked, it cheered, it yelled, it laughed—whatever
song without words could be sung by a steam-whistle was performed with
variations. And, queer enough, the effect was exceedingly pleasing. It
somehow seemed in accord with the whole spirit of the fête. A bold,
generous Western extravagance pervaded the whole affair.

On their way back, they suddenly saw before them a long black hulk. It
proved, as they passed it, to be a large yacht lying upon her side,
with the masts and yards extending out far over the dark waves.

“How did that happen?” Mr. Douglass asked the pilot, pointing to the

“It was a collision, sir,” replied the pilot; but he gave no

As the man seemed busy in guiding the swift little steamer, the tutor
recalled the old adage about “not talking to the man at the wheel,” and
asked no further questions.

But the sights of that marvelous American Thousand and One Nights
combined were not yet over. As they entered the Basin, their steamer
halted to enable them to witness a diving exhibition. On a floating
tower stood a man in tights, so lighted up by an electric ray as to
be clearly visible from every point around. Raising his hands above
his head, he fell thirty-five feet or more into the water. Just as he
reached the surface, his hands came swiftly together, and he sank like
a plummet. In an instant he was up again, kicking a mass of gleaming
spray into the air. Several more “followed their leader.”

[Illustration: EVENING ON THE CANAL.]

It was a thrilling sight, and, on that cold night, chilled the
spectators to the marrow.

As they walked along the edge of the Basin after leaving their launch,
the boys greatly admired the statues of animals and men set up near
the balustrade. There was a bull, several great bears, a farmer
and a draft-horse, a bison (who seemed timid and dwarfed by his
surroundings), and others, nearly all modeled with a massive effect
that gave them wonderful dignity.

And still the crowd surged to and fro, but now with a decided tendency
toward the outlets; the lights flashed and gleamed; the bands played,
while the great moon sailed overhead as if it was all a fête to Diana.

Tired as they were when they reached the hotel, the boys could not
refrain from talking over some of the principal things they had seen.
They did not say much about the buildings, for they knew they should
see them again; but they talked of the people, the fireworks, and such
queer comments as they had overheard.

“I expected,” said Philip, “that we should see a great many
foreigners—Turks, Swedes, Germans, all sorts. But I didn’t. I saw two
or three fellows with fezzes on, but that was about all.”

“I noticed that, too,” Harry responded. “And I didn’t hear much but
English spoken. It seems to me that Uncle Sam has done most of this
thing himself, and that it’s mainly his own boys that are taking it in.”

“But it’s early days yet,” said Philip, with a prodigious yawn, “to

“That looks more like late hours than early days,” Harry suggested.
“Let’s turn in.”

In a few minutes their clothes were on two chairs, and their heads were
sunk into adjacent pillows.


                             CHAPTER III

    _The Party Separates_ — _Harry Goes to the Battle-Ship_ — _The
     Government Building_ — _The Convent and the Caravels_ — _The
                          Movable Sidewalk._

Sunday proved a welcome relief after the long journey of Saturday,
followed by the fête night at the Fair; and they were glad to begin the
busy week that was to follow with one restful day apart from bustle and

At breakfast Monday morning, one of the dishes Mr. Douglass ordered was
steak; and, as he sawed through it, he remarked:

“This is tough!”

“But I thought you didn’t approve of slang?” Harry inquired, with an
air of grave interest.

“I wasn’t thinking so much of how I said it as of the fact,” Mr.
Douglass replied. “But the proverb says that ‘shoemakers’ children are
always the worst shod,’ and so we ought to expect poor beef in Chicago,
the great beef-market of the continent; but I don’t like to waste my
strength on mere beef while there is so much before us. What are your

“If you don’t mind,” said Harry, after a moment’s pause, “I’m going to
ask you to let me ‘paddle my own canoe.’ It is hard for three to keep
together in a crowd.”

“That’s true,” Philip agreed; “and especially when one is near-sighted.
I think I tried to follow seven different wrong men yesterday.”

“Yes,” added Harry; “‘Follow my leader’ is a difficult game to play
when we are all leaders and followers at the same time.”

“All right,” the tutor said. “To-day, then, we will separate. I may not
go to the Fair at all, for I have several letters on my mind. Remember,
we came away on very short notice. What will you do, Philip?”

“Oh, I think I shall spend a long while in the Art Galleries. It’s a
good place to go to by one’s self, for two people seldom agree about
pictures—especially boys.”

So, after breakfast, Harry, with a proud feeling of being his own
master, set forth by himself. He had a very clear idea of what he
wished to do first. He meant to go to the model of a United States
man-of-war—the “Illinois.” He had read much about the White Squadron,
and felt that he would never have so good an opportunity to understand
just how a man-of-war was worked.


He had bought a guide-book to the Fair, and found that the route of the
launches would bring him quite near enough to the vessel. But in spite
of his singleness of purpose, his thoughts were distracted as soon as
he came near the entrance.

He noticed first the clicking of the turnstiles. They revolved so
continually, as people passed in, that Harry was reminded of the sound
of a watchman’s rattle. Next, he caught sight of a white-robed and
turbaned Turk standing in line at the “Workmen’s Gate,” as placidly as
if he were in his native Constantinople. Harry’s turn to enter at the
“Pay Gate” soon came, and he made his way toward the Court of Honor. As
he passed the great Liberty Bell, which was chiming musically, he read
upon it the words:

    A new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another.

He could not help remembering what followed the ringing of the original
Liberty Bell, and he hoped that this, its namesake, would bring peace
rather than war—a sober reflection that he recalled later in the day.

To the tune of “Hold the fort, for I am coming,” played by a peal
of musical bells,—very fittingly, he thought,—Harry began the quick
journey that ended when the little launch came to a landing called
“The Clambake.” When the man called out those words, Harry did not
budge; but when the man added, “Here’s where yer get off,” he rose and
abandoned the craft.

On the way there, Harry learned that the ducks in the Lagoon were
useful as well as pretty. The pilot said that two or three ducks would
do more toward keeping a pond wholesome than six or eight hard-working


He was too early to get upon the “Illinois,” and therefore turned back
to see the Viking ship. It was not far away; and just in front of it
were three armor-plates in which were the imprints left by the great
conical shot used in testing them.

Harry had read all about the old Northmen’s vessel, and ordinarily
could have spent hours in studying her mast, her one crossyard, her
awning, the shields along her side—but this was a land of wonders. He
looked at the boat only long enough to take a mental snap-shot that he
could develop at leisure, and then walked on toward the United States
Government Building, passing on his way a company of marines at drill.

But again he was diverted. He turned into the Weather Bureau, and was
glad he had done so, because of the wonderful series of photographs he
found on the walls. Lightning flashes in streaks and sheets, clouds
in storm and wind, moonlight and snow effects, were there, but in
impossible numbers. He sighed, wished that he had more leisure, and
left. This time he succeeded in getting to the rifled cannon in front
of the Government Building, but stopped only long enough to take a
sight over one of them.

[Illustration: THE BATTLE-SHIP ON DECORATION DAY, MAY 30, 1893.]

He tried to go regularly around the exhibits, but surrendered almost
at once. The Patent Office models discouraged him; but the Geological
Department!—the great transparent pictures in the windows convinced him
that he couldn’t (as he once heard a man say) “poss the impossible and
scrute the inscrutable.”

But he did notice some things.

He sketched the skull of the _Dinoceras mirabile_ (and copied the name,
too), because he was sure that it was the very ugliest thing in the
world. He walked around a section of the big tree from California. He
really studied a few life-like and life-size groups showing Indians
at work, and wished sincerely that he were Methuselah, and that the
Fair would last all his days. It was a petrified Wild West show. He
said they were splendid, to a gray-bearded Westerner, who replied

“They are _so_—and I have been used to the scoundrels all my life!”


Harry sketched a queer Indian “priest-clown’s” head. At first he felt a
little afraid to bring out his book and pencil; but he found out that
every one had more to do than watch a boy drawing, and before the day
was over he drew whatever he chose, entirely forgetting the crowd.

Different things attracted different people. He heard one
farmer-looking man say: “My stars, Ma! Look-a here!” and expected to
see a marvel. He found only some stuffed chickens. Probably the farmer
had never seen fowls stuffed unroasted.

But when he came to the War Department collection he gave up skipping.
He _had_ to see that. Just at the entrance was a splendid bust of
General Sheridan, the face wearing the expression the general must
have had when he said at Winchester, “Turn around, boys! We’re going
back!” Against the windows were more fine transparencies, and the
whole floor-space was filled with everything having to do with war
and soldiers. Small arms, from a brass blunderbuss to the latest
breech-loader—yes, and to the earliest, for there was one Chinese
breech-loader of the 14th century.

[Illustration: THE VIKING SHIP.]

“Instead of trying to get up new things,” said Harry, half aloud, “we
ought to go to China and study ancient history.”

Harry had a feeling of discouragement in spite of his interest. He had
always entertained a vague idea that some day he might give his mind to
it and make a big invention—a phonograph or a flying railway, or some
little thing like that; but now, when he saw how everything seemed to
have been done, and done better than he could have dreamed of—well, he
said to himself, “This Fair has spoiled one great inventor, for I would
not dare to think there was anything new!”

But then he caught sight of a picture called the “March of Time,”
—representing a great procession of soldiers, of generals and
veterans,—which restored his good spirits, for right in front, “leading
the whole crowd,” was a row of rollicking small boys. He was grateful
to the artist.

One stand of arms showed muskets—relics of the Civil War—injured by
bullets. Into one of them a Confederate bullet had entered to stop a
forthcoming shot, and, meeting, they had burst open the barrel. Another
had been split into ribbons at the muzzle. There were also relics of
the Custer massacre, and a gun recaptured from an Indian after he had
tastefully ornamented it with brass-headed nails.

The less bloody side of battle was recalled by General Thomas’s “office
wagon,” the side of which formed a desk when lowered, and revealed some
very neat pigeonholes for papers, pens, and red tape. Uniforms and
equipment, models of pontoons, artillery, a model of undermining, one
by one each claimed the hasty glance that was all any visitor had to
spare. A longer look was claimed by an oil painting showing Lieutenant
Lockwood’s observation of the “Farthest North.”

Then Harry returned to the Rotunda, and executed a rapid circular
movement, hasty, but full of reverence, toward the cases of
Revolutionary and Colonial relics—portraits on ivory, letters, flags,
snuff-boxes—an endless array of antiquities. Harry was glad to see one
miniature, excellently painted, by Major André; for up to that day he
had not thought much of the unfortunate major’s drawing, having seen
only the well-known “sketch of himself” in pen and ink. Washington’s
diary was another thing the boy found very interesting: as he said,
it was “neat as wax and right as a trivet.” Harry wondered whether it
wouldn’t be fun to keep a diary. This reminded him of the flight of
time, and, looking at his watch, he set his face once more toward the
“Illinois,” for it was after half-past ten.

Many were going that way—and, indeed, in every other. Two small boys
who, in sailor suits, strode along the pier like two pygmy admirals,
gave him another subject for his sketch-book; but they were but atoms
in a long procession, for there was no cessation in the coming and
going of visitors all the time he was on the vessel.


He went at once below decks, and came plump up against an ice-machine—
“to keep the men cool while in action,” he heard a young fellow say.
Around the bulkheads were draped flags of all nations, and here and
there were hung mess-lockers,—shelves behind wire gratings,—hammocks,
neatly varnished kegs for stores, and everything Jack afloat could
desire. Upon the lower deck also were glass cases protecting exquisite
models of the new cruisers and battle-ships.

“Now, if they’ll give me just one of those as my share,” said Harry,
“I’ll go home contented. Anyway, I think I will go to Annapolis and
become an officer in the navy.”

As if to answer this thought, he came next to the room where the work
of the cadets was shown. The splicing, the foot-ball statistics,
the fencing foils and masks, were welcomed; but the tables full of
text-books and the neat drawings on the walls spoke so plainly of hard
study and long hours of work that Harry’s determination was somewhat
shaken. And, indeed, before he had left the Government Building, a
soldier of the regular army, guarding some exhibits, had said to him,
“The time for war is over.” The man seemed to speak seriously, and then
it was that Harry recalled the new Liberty Bell and its inscription.
War was not all uniforms and parading.

[Illustration: THE CARAVEL “SANTA MARIA.” The Model of the Flagship of

The captain’s room and office were most attractive, except that a set
of the “Encyclopædia Britannica” seemed out of its element—a British
book with a Latin name hardly rhymed with a United States man-of-war.

A courteous officer on the “Illinois” told Harry that people’s
questions were at times hard to answer. “One man,” he said, “looked
long at the Howell torpedo, read the labels, and with keen interest
wanted to know whether it wasn’t a flying machine!”

Harry thought that he might have been told that it was a machine to
make other machines fly; but he didn’t interrupt the officer, who gave
him a clear explanation of a life-buoy hanging in the cabin.

While ascending to the upper deck, he heard a woman say, “Oh, is there
another story?” and wished Rudyard Kipling had been there to tell
her that it was _quite_ another story. But he made his way to the
conning-tower, paying heed to the admonition of a mischievous boy who
said, “Push, but don’t shove.”

The conning-tower was hardly big enough to lose one’s temper in, but
gave the commanding officer full view of his surroundings through tiny
slits cut through the solid steel. Electric buttons were convenient to
push when he wished the guns, rifles, torpedoes, and other assistants
to do the rest.

Leaving the vessel, Harry was again launched back to the other end of
the grounds, landing at the Agricultural Building. He passed through
this great show-house with his eyes well restrained, but did notice
some birds flying about under the lofty roof. He wondered if they had
come to study the best methods of securing a living at the farmers’
expense, and hoped rather that they wished to know what harmful insects
it was best for them to destroy.

After eating lunch at a table in the open air near by, Harry boarded
Columbus’s “Santa Maria.” Coming directly from a modern cruiser,
the quaint little cockle-shell was a pathetic witness to the great
discoverer’s hardships. Harry went into the forecastle, looked at the
queer old galley, the swivel-gun, the anchors, and wished that he
had been aboard the original on that first westward trip. The modern
vessels were scientific, correct, and fine, of course; but somehow
Harry would rather have sailed the ocean blue in the days when the
galley-fires flared fitfully on these pictured sails.

[Illustration: “GUARDING” THE “NIÑA.”]

He skipped the “Pinta” and “Niña,” sketching from the shore a sailor on
the latter who was “guarding” the little vessel, only reflecting that
those on the biggest vessel were better off than their fellows in these
two, and went over to the Convent de la Rábida. Harry thought everybody
knew about that building; but he met a group of three men, one of whom
asked in all earnestness, “That hain’t the Fisheries Buildin’, is it?”
Then the boy remembered how amused the great Napoleon was when they
brought to his court a man who had never heard of him, of the Empire,
or of the Revolution! Harry wondered whether there might not be in the
Fair Grounds a few who hardly recalled having heard of a man named

Inside the convent were old charts, pictures, and manuscripts, to which
Harry gave but a passing glance. But the open court inside at once gave
him a sense of antiquity, and the tropical plants recalled thoughts of
distant lands, until he caught sight of a tired man worrying a piece of
mince-pie for lunch. He started to go out, and only paused before an
old globe whereon the lands were full of odd pictures.


“Geography must have been like a book of fairy-stories then,” he
thought as he left the convent door and came face to face with to-day.

Oh, but he was tired! His legs ached, his back was lame, and he felt
like the deacon’s “one-hoss shay”—as if he might give out “all at once
and nothing first.” Seeing in the distance the movable sidewalk, it
occurred to him that it was a good place for resting.

The convent had been a little depressing. Others felt the same effect,
for he heard one woman say, “I’m glad I’m not a monk”—and then, after a
reflective pause—“nor a nun.”

As he approached the traveling platform that ran on wheels far out
along a pier, this cry met him:

“This way for the movable sidewalk! An all-day ride for five cents—the
cheapest thing on the grounds!”

It was irresistible. Harry stepped on the slower platform, then to the
quicker one, and dropped into a seat. It proved an excellent change.
Out he glided upon the long pier, rested and cooled by the breeze
and by the sight of the placid waters, now an opaline green in the
afternoon light. Harry thought less of the scene than of his muscles.

“If I wanted to make money at this Fair,” he said, “I would put on sale
a patent back-rest and double-back-action support; and after the Fair
it could be sold to farmers for weeding.”

Harry made the round trip, and got off nearly where he started. He
did not wish to go back to the hotel, but he could not really enjoy
anything more, though so long as he could walk he wanted to see, see,
see. Nor was it all seeing; a blind man would have enjoyed that day,
so many funny remarks were made, so much music was in the air. Bands
played, wheels whirled, people chatted, laughed, and exclaimed.

Everybody seemed happy, perhaps because with all the sight-seeing there
went plenty of enjoyable exercise in the clear, bracing September air.

As for Harry, he returned to the hotel healthily weary, but not

[Illustration: THE CARAVEL “NIÑA.”]

[Illustration: “CHOLLY” SPEECHLESS.]

                             CHAPTER IV

    _Harry Returns to the Hotel_ — _Philip Tells of his Blunder_ —
    _The Anthropological Building_ — _The Log Cabin_ — _The Alaskan
       Village_ — _The old Whaling-Ship “Progress”_ — _A Sleepy
                         Audience_ — _Plans._


Harry’s route to his hotel lay through the usual throng of men whose
one object in life was to make people buy “a splendid meat supper for
twenty-five cents!” His legs felt like stilts, and he walked only
because he had become so used to it that he could not stop.

As it was still an hour or two before their usual dinner-time, Harry
went up to his room, intending to lie down for a while. When he asked
at the counter for the key, the clerk told him that his friend “with
the eye-glasses” was already in their room.

Harry found Philip lying on the bed, tired but looking contented.

“Why, you’re home early,” said Harry, in surprise. “I thought you were
going to spend the whole day in the Art Gallery.”

“So I was,” said Philip, rising to make room for the later arrival. “I
started for there. Where have you been?”

“Oh, to the Government Building, the man-of-war, the convent, the
caravels—and a lot more,” said Harry, as he flung himself upon the bed,
first having made himself comfortable by removing his jacket and shoes.

“Did you like it?”

“Like it? Of course I liked it, old slowcoach! But it’s too much like
being invited to two Thanksgiving dinners—enough is better than two

“What did you see?” asked Philip.

“See here, Phil,” said Harry, smiling mischievously; “do you think I
am unable to take a view through a millstone with a hole in it? You
needn’t think you can put me off by asking questions. What I want to
know is why you didn’t get to the Art Building. It’s not small, you
know; you could hardly have passed it without noticing it. Come, out
with it, young fellow.”

“To tell the truth,” said Phil reluctantly, but laughing
good-naturedly, “I started out all right, for I looked up the way in
the guide-book. I found that the cheapest and quickest plan was to take
the railway on the grounds—the Intra—something; yes, the Intramural,
which means ‘within the wall.’”


“So it does,” answered Harry. “Great thing to know Latin. But fire
away. I can see there is more in this Fair than a whole brigade of boys
can see. Let’s hear what you did.”

“I took the railway, climbing a lot of steps, and we started. They had
signs to tell one where to go, but I couldn’t read them very well, and
so I went whizzing along without altogether understanding where I was.
The stations they called out meant nothing to me, and I had an idea it
took a good while to get across the grounds; and—to make it short—I was
looking at the view, first one side, toward the hotels, and then the
other, toward the Fair Buildings, and I didn’t wake up to my position
till the conductor said, ‘Going round again, young man?’ So I got off,
for there I was at the same station I got on at. You see, the conductor
had noticed me because I sat near where he stood.”

  Electricity Building.
  Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building.
  Agricultural Building.
  Machinery Hall.]

“That’s a good one on you!”

“I know it. But I didn’t like to start over again, so I came down
the steps and walked over across the Court of Honor, along by the
Agricultural Building, till I came to the caravels and the convent.
I saw those, but so did you. I went next to the Krupp gun exhibit by
the lake. That gun was enormous! I believe all the gunners could get
inside when it rained. They had a printed label on it, and at first I
read it: ‘Please set off the gun’; but I knew that wasn’t likely, so I
went nearer, and found it said ‘keep’ instead of ‘set.’ Oh, by the way,
just before I went in there, I stopped in the doorway and saw some men
diving from a tremendous height, out in the lake,—a much higher tower
than the one they dived from on the fête night. I also saw in the Krupp
building a pretty little model of the house the great gunmaker lived in
when he began.”

“What was it like?” asked Harry.

“Oh, just a little square thatched house; but you could see the tiny
furniture through the windows. I didn’t stay long there, for they were
sprinkling the floor, and it was sloppy.

“Next I went into the Leather Exhibit Building; but there were mostly
shoes and things there, and I didn’t see very much I cared about,
except some buckskin suits labeled ‘indestructible.’ I would have liked
one of those, except that it was trimmed with silver lace.”

“A little gaudy for you,” said Harry.

“Yes, but they were fine. So, seeing signs telling people to go up into
the gallery where shoes were being made, I went up. I heard machines
making a racket, but all I saw was the backs of the other people who
got there first.”

“I know,” said Harry; “I made a sketch of one of those very exhibits.”

“Now, where did I go next? Let me see the map—it’s there by you.”


Harry passed over the little plan of the grounds, and Philip examined
it a moment. Then he went on:

“I see now. I meant to go into the Forestry Building, but on the way I
caught sight of some things in the Anthro—”

“—Thropo-pop-o-ological,” interrupted Harry. “It’s a nice word to say
when you’re in a hurry.”

“Yes,” Philip replied, “that was it; so I went in there. And I tell
you, you mustn’t miss that. It’s fine. It has everything in it.”

“So they all have,” said Harry, hopelessly.

“But there are gymnasium things, and African weapons, all sorts of
savage huts and costumes, Greek statues, and views, and bits of work
from the prisons and reformatories, showing how boys are drilled and
trained to work at trades. But, as usual, I didn’t think I could see
everything, and so I looked at only a few special cases. One that I
remember well showed all sorts of games and puzzles—chess, cards,
checkers, halma, pachisi, Indian sticks for throwing like dice, the
fifteen puzzle, ring puzzles, wire puzzles, all sorts. The chessmen
were splendid. There was one Chinese set there, where the pieces stood
on pedestals showing three balls carved one inside the other; and the
pieces themselves were little mandarins and things, with faces, and
beards, and all. There were enough games in the cases for a boy to
learn a new one every day as long as he lived.”

“Well?” asked Harry, as Philip paused.

“You don’t want me to tell it all, do you?” Philip asked.

“If you will,” said Harry. “My ears are the only things about me that
are not tired; and I am resting the rest of me.”

“All right,” said Philip; “I’m willing. I am so full of it, I could
talk a week. But I remember now there was one place I went before the
Anthropo Building, and that was to a real log cabin, with all the
regular old-fashioned things in it; but never mind, I won’t go back to
that, for I’ve a lot more to tell, and one thing I know you’ll like to
hear about specially.

“The next queer thing was the Cliff-dwellers’ mound, a big structure,
made to look like red rock,—sandstone, maybe,—in which these old
Indians in the Southwest used to live. I didn’t go into it, although
a lot of signs said I ought to; but I saw how the little caves were
hollowed out and made into huts, with doors and windows. While I was
looking up at it—and it is a high cliff, I tell you!—I saw some nuns
all in black climbing over it, and that was a strange sight enough. Out
in front were some gray little donkeys,—‘burros,’ used by the exploring
party that found the caves. Then I went on to an old-time distillery,
outside of which was a real ‘moonshiner’s’ still that had been captured
by the revenue officers.

[Illustration: AN ALASKAN IMAGE.]

“Then I came to some Alaskan houses. They were made of great rough
slabs, with circular doors cut through the trunks of trees in front.
There were little models of them in the Anthropo place, too. In front
of them stood those carved totem-poles that we used to see in the
physical geography book. I saw by the labels on the models that those
poles were meant to tell the history of the man in the house behind
each one, and that the more rings there were on the carved man’s high
hat, the more of a fellow the owner was. There seemed to be lots about
whales on them. I suppose capturing a whale was to them like being
elected to Congress—maybe harder.

“But, speaking of whales, the next thing I saw was the one I want to
tell you specially about. Near the shore there, in what they call the
South Pond, was an old-fashioned vessel. I walked over toward it, and
read the signs. They said it was a whaling-vessel, a regular old New
Bedford whaler. You know about those?”

“I guess I do,” said Harry. “I remember reading ‘Peter, the Whaler,’
and a lot more books like it.”

“Well, at first I wasn’t going in, for they charged a quarter, and
there didn’t seem to be many going on board. I was afraid it was not
good for anything, but at last I made up my mind to risk twenty-five
cents on it. I bought my ticket and climbed the gang-plank. There were
just two other men on board besides the sailor in charge.”

“‘Two other men’ is good,” remarked Harry.

“You know what I mean. When we got up on deck, the sailor came forward
to speak his little piece. He said if we wanted to know how they caught
whales he’d tell us. Then he went on with the whole thing, from ‘Thar
she blows!’ down to the cutting up and trying-out of blubber.

“I had often read about it, but I tell you, Harry, it was different to
see him hold up the harpoon and the lance, the gun for firing a big
harpoon and all. And then we saw the vats for boiling the oil. And he
said that out of the whale’s head they could dip up whole barrels of
clear oil; but the whalebone was the thing they were after nowadays. He
said they sometimes got thousands of dollars’ worth out of the mouth of
one whale.

“After he finished telling about whaling, he invited us below, to
see a collection of marine curiosities they had on board. It was a
regular old-style ship, with the beams coming close down to your
head. All around were cases of curious things—real sailors’ oddities:
carved teeth and shells, swords from sword-fish, idols, weapons,
tools—whatever a sailor could collect. One thing I remember was a
harpoon-head that had been bent and twisted around itself by a whale
till it looked like a scrawl in a copy-book. Then we went forward to
the forecastle, to see the queer little bunks where the men sleep.

[Illustration: THE WHALING-SHIP.]

“As I was coming away I bought a little book telling all about the old
ship; and it is interesting, I tell you. I haven’t read it all yet, but
one adventure of that ship the sailor told us about.

“She was out with a big fleet, more than thirty, and she was one of
the six that got out from an ice-pack. Then a boat came along after,
and reported the rest of the ships as wrecked. The ‘Progress’—that’s
the one I’m telling about—and the other saved vessels threw all their
valuable cargo over and took in the poor fellows from the ice. That was
what I call square. You can read all about it later. Wouldn’t you like

[Illustration: THE WINDMILLS.]

There was no answer. Philip turned to look at Harry more closely, and
found that the tired boy had fallen fast asleep.

“It’s all right for him to go to sleep,” said Philip to himself, “but I
wish he’d say so when he does it; then I’d know when to stop.”

Harry awoke in time for dinner. Mr. Douglass had mailed a number of
letters, and he and the boys went to the table together. They found
that their walks had given them the best of appetites, and they enjoyed
seeing the people at the various tables around them. Mr. Douglass spoke
of the excellent appearance made by the crowds, and of their good-humor.

“I was in the Fair Grounds for a short time this afternoon,” he said,
“and I found myself noticing the people quite as much as the curious
things around me. If one ran against another, there was never any
ill-humor or crossness. Usually both apologized politely. And yet in
many places the crowds were enormous. Again and again I would look
ahead of me, and think that I couldn’t get through the throng.”


“I noticed that, too,” said Philip; “but the spaces are big and the
people keep moving, so somehow one always finds a place to pass.”

“I tell you what I liked,” said Harry; “and that was the little
drinking-fountains, where you drop a penny and get a glass of spring
water. I found them very welcome.”

“And the popcorn!” said Philip. “I don’t like it much, but I saw it
everywhere. Why, you could smell it in the air sometimes; and every
now and then you would hear a crackle-crackle, snap-snap, and there
would be a popper full of dancing corn over hot coals.”

“Yes, I saw them,” said Mr. Douglass. “I found it very interesting
to talk to the people. Now and then, when I wished to rest awhile, I
would sit down on a bench; and pretty soon a man would come up and drop
into a seat beside me. Then, in a minute, one of us would say: ‘It’s a
fine day,’ or something of the kind, and, without difficulty, a little
talk would begin. One man I met told me he was from Massachusetts, and
cultivated tobacco. We had a very pleasant conversation, and gave each
other advice about what to see. I think this Fair will do a great deal
to bring people together.”

“It has already,” said Harry, solemnly. “I have seen a number come
together even to-day. Where did you go this afternoon, Mr. Douglass?”

“I went to the Art Gallery part of the time,” the tutor replied. “But I
found it, like the other buildings, too overwhelming—whole rooms full
of masterpieces of painting and sculpture; something demanding at least
a glance wherever one looked. I found I could not stay long. Walking
about and looking upward and downward, and from side to side, is more
than any one can endure very long. Besides, the pictures are so good
that they make one both think and feel keenly, and that is tiring,
too. So after about two hours I surrendered, and came out. I walked
along the lake shore during part of my way back, purposely avoiding any
sights of especial interest.”

“What shall we do to-morrow?” asked Philip.

“Whatever you please,” answered the tutor. “Perhaps you might do some
photographing, Philip.”

“I’d like to, but I hardly know where to begin.”

“Suppose,” said Harry, “that we all three go to the Midway Plaisance?
It’s a splendid place to get pictures.”

“But I hear,” said Philip, “that you can’t do very much photographing
there. You can get a permit for the Fair Grounds, but the Plaisance
exhibits are outside of the Fair’s control, and you have to secure
special permissions there.”

“We might try it,” said Mr. Douglass. “You have brought your big kodak,
haven’t you?”

“Yes, with a new roll of forty-eight films in it,” said Philip. “But I
shall have to take outdoor scenes, for there’s little chance to give

“Well, suppose that we hire chairs to-morrow—the rolling-chairs, you
know. One can hire either double chairs or single ones; and then we
three will be wheeled out to the Midway Plaisance. There we will let
the chairs go, and see what we can do. How do you like it, Harry?”

[Illustration: A LAUNCH-LANDING.]

“Oh, it suits me,” said Harry. “To tell the truth, I should like to go
there soon, for there are so many really foreign scenes in the streets
and villages that it may be I can get some good little sketches. At all
events, I’d like to go to the Wild Animal show, and see it all. I met a
boy to-day, while I was at lunch, who said that it beat any circus he
ever saw.”

“There are a number of absurd cheap shows on the Midway,” said Mr.
Douglass, “at least, so the guide-books say; but we can go to the best
of them, and let the others alone. I find that the people (as I have
told you) are more interesting to me than are most of the exhibits, and
the Plaisance is always crowded.”

The party had finished dinner, and they went up to their rooms;
Philip got out his camera, and looked it over, to be sure all was in
working order. Harry laid out his sketch-book and an extra pencil. Mr.
Douglass, as he usually did, read over his guide-books, and made up his
accounts. But all three went early to bed.


[Illustration: IN CAIRO STREET.]


                              CHAPTER V

    _A Place where Visitors were Scarce_ — _The Rolling-chairs and
      Guides_ — _Mistaken Kindness_ — _Entering the Plaisance_ —
     _The Javanese Village_ — _Snap-shots_ — _Cairo Street_ — _The
                 Card-writer_ — _The Soudanese Baby._


The dauntless three reached the gates next morning at about nine
o’clock, and found an even larger crowd than usual. They had to form in
line at some distance from the ticket-office, and advanced toward it as
slowly as people come out of church. But, as before, good humor was the
rule, and, excepting for a few of the weak-minded men who always fight
their way through a crowd, there was every effort made to accommodate
one another.

Philip heard a woman say, “Why, we are all here to have a good time,
and to let other people have the same.” It was worst just in passing
the wickets, but once through, the trouble was at an end.

“How shall we go toward the Plaisance?” Mr. Douglass asked. He felt
that the expedition was undertaken for the boys’ pleasure, and wished
them to have their own way about it.

“Why don’t you take the Intramural, as I did yesterday?” Philip asked.
“It will give you and Harry a new view of the grounds, and it’s a very
short ride to the other end.”

“All right,” said Harry; “but we must keep our wits about us. I knew a
boy once who was carried back to where he started from.”


For this little dig, Philip gently knocked Harry’s hat over his eyes.
Harry left the hat untouched until Philip put it back in place. “I
don’t care how I wear my hat,” said Harry, “so long as it is in the
very latest style.”

As they got on the cars, Mr. Douglass noticed that the gates along the
sides were all opened and shut at once by the conductor, and at some
stations there were large signs saying, “Don’t climb over the gates.
They will be opened.”

When they were just westward of the Horticultural Building, Harry
remarked, “There is no need of getting into the large crowds,—there is
plenty of room over there, and only one man has found it worth while to
occupy the space.”

[Illustration: CHAIR-BOYS AT WORK!]

Philip looked where Harry pointed, and saw a workman climbing up a
dizzy little stairway half-way to the top of the great glass dome.

“If he should fall through, he’d break a lot of glass,” said Philip,

They left the railway near the mammoth Building of Manufactures, and
walked to its northern entrance. Here Mr. Douglass secured their
chairs, the young men who pushed them having the time of starting noted
upon cards that they kept neatly inside their caps. Wheeling into line,
they rode comfortably along through the parting crowd, Philip carrying
his kodak upon his knees, ready for business. He had secured a little
card, tied to a string, that permitted him to take pictures “with a
four-by-five camera only” for that one day. He had paid two dollars
for this privilege, and felt bound to use up his roll of forty-eight

At first the boys found their chairs a little uncomfortable; but the
guides raised the foot-rests until their short legs could reach them,
and after that they found the vehicles as comfortable as an arm-chair
in a library. It was a bright, clear day—“Just the day for taking
snap-shots,” Philip said enthusiastically; and everything was plainly
outlined by sharp contrasts of light and shade.

As usual, Mr. Douglass began to talk to his guide, and learned that
the young man was a college student who was rolling a chair at the
Exposition partly for the money he made and partly for the sake of
seeing the Fair and the people from all parts of the world. As Mr.
Douglass had worked his own way through college, he was able to give
his guide some practical advice, which was gratefully received.

[Illustration: “PUCK” BUILDING.]

Passing along in front of the Illinois State Building—always
conspicuous for its dome—they passed around the Women’s Building, and
came to the entrance of the mile of curious structures that made up the
Midway Plaisance. But before they had come so far, the boys, too, were
talking to their guides, who proved to be other college men.

A thing one of them told the boys amused them. The guide said that
people, intending to be considerate, would lean far forward when the
chair was pushed up a slope. “And that,” he said, “brings all their
weight on the little guiding-wheels in front, where there are no
springs. Then the wheels turn hard, and we have to ask them to sit
back. So, you see, the kindest people sometimes give the most trouble.”


In spite of this warning, when they were ascending the first
bridge—one that led across an opening from the Lagoon—both boys leaned
forward, as one does in “helping” a horse up hill. But when the guides
laughed, the two boys quickly sank back again.

Passing under the elevated railway, they joined the ranks of visitors
to the Midway. As they intended to come back another time, they glanced
only at the exteriors of most of the buildings, pausing first when
they came to the Javanese village. While they rode through the crowd
the boys were amused to see the odd glances of those who met them. The
luxury of being pushed in a chair was, by many of the newer visitors,
considered fitting only for sick people, and their eyes plainly said
that two strong, healthy boys should walk. The boys knew this, for they
had had the same feeling toward riders during their own first day; the
second day’s walking, however, entirely changed their views, and they
understood that it was a wise economy to save bodily tire when eyes and
brain were so busy.


“You can ride right into the Javanese village,” one of the guides told
them; so they bought their tickets and were pushed into the grounds.

Surrounded by a bamboo fence with a lofty gateway was a collection of
steep-roofed, grass-thatched, one-story huts. Each had a little veranda
in front, and as it was sunny, many of the short, dark-skinned little
people sat outdoors at work.

Here Philip expected to get a few more pictures. He had already taken
one outside. Leaving the chair in the main roadway, he had gone to the
side, where the ground was higher, and had secured a negative (or hoped
he had!) showing the crowd thronging the long street between the houses.

But on entering the Javanese village he was told that he could not take
pictures without another permit. After a little search and inquiry he
found a hut within an inclosure marked “private” and “office.” Here he
met the superintendent, and was given permission to take views inside
the village.

[Illustration: THE JAVANESE BABY.]

All the time they were among the Javanese, they had heard a queer
musical, liquid pounding. Near the center of the grounds they found
the cause. An odd water-wheel of bamboo revolved beneath a stream that
flowed from an upright iron pipe, and as this wheel went around it
struck short hanging bits of wood that gave forth the musical notes.
The wheel had apparently no other purpose than to make a noise—it was a
primitive music-box. This was Philip’s first camera subject.

His second was also musical. There was a band of musicians playing
upon some sweet-sounding metal gongs, and another species of Javanese
tom-toms. The musicians smiled encouragingly as Philip waved his camera
and gazed through his glasses with eager inquiry, and as soon as they
were hard at their music Philip took them.

Another picture he lost. While he was just on the point of pushing the
button, a guard clapped one hand over the lens. It was too late to
stop, and Philip lost his temper as well as his exposure.

“You can’t take pictures here,” said the guard.

“The superintendent said I could,” said Philip, sharply.

“I beg your pardon,” the guard answered politely.

“That’s all right,” Philip said in a pleasanter tone; “but it doesn’t
give me back the negative. Next time, please find out before you

In all the foreign exhibits there were seen many objects with which
the boys were only too familiar. For instance, looking through the
door of a Javanese hut, Harry saw three cheap American clocks, all in
a row; and on the veranda of the same house a man was presiding over a
sewing-machine plainly inscribed with a well-known American trade-mark.
Nevertheless, the little Javanese themselves were unusual enough: the
men wore turbans of figured cotton, a tight-fitting jacket, and then,
above their trousers, a short skirt or apron that hung about half-way
down the thigh. Some also wore above their turbans wide straw hats.


One of the women had a cute little baby in her arms. Philip put a
silver coin into the baby’s hand, and was allowed to take its picture.
But the father held the child. Philip said to Harry, as they walked
away, “There’s a pretty baby”; then, hearing a gentle chuckle from a
motherly-looking woman near him, hastened to add: “For that kind of a

The party had left their chairs in a corner of the village, and were
now on foot. As they walked around the inclosure they saw a woman and
girl embroidering upon a veranda. The girl was about twelve or thirteen
years old, had a tinge of pink in her cheeks, snappy black eyes, and
shiny coarse hair.


Philip wanted a picture of her, and, after a talk with the man of
the house, at last gained his consent. Philip had a little trouble
in making the man comprehend that the girl must come out into the
sunshine; but by pointing to the sun and to a side of the hut that was
in its full glare, he finally had the little model, blushing prettily,
posed in a good situation. The man stood up beside her, and they were
photographed together.

No sooner had Philip raised his camera than the sight-seers gathered
eagerly about him, until he could hardly find space to reach the
button. He pushed it in a hurry, and made his way out. Just a moment
after, he secured an even better subject, entirely by accident. Upon
another veranda sat a mature Javanese gentleman crouched down upon his
heels. He was lazily sunning himself, and Philip leveled the camera and
took him before he could say the Javanese for “Jack Robinson.” The man
opened his blinking eyes at the click of the shutter, but only smiled
indulgently, and resumed his basking, like a frog on a log.

[Illustration: A YOUNG LADY FROM JAVA.]

Leaving the Javanese village, and ignoring upon their way the appeals
of a vender of Java cigarettes—“Ver’ sheap! two for five!”—they settled
back in their chairs and plunged again into the outside thoroughfare.


Mr. Douglass, looking up a little absent-mindedly, saw a sign which
he read thus, “Dancing-girl of Damascus now dancing—600 years old.”
Startled by this marvel, even in that land of enchantment, he turned
his head and found that the 600 years referred to the city rather than
to the dancer.

“Where would you like to stop now, sir?” asked the guide.

“Suppose we go to Cairo Street, Philip?” said Mr. Douglass. “We can see
camels and donkeys and queer buildings without number; and it is said
to be a very interesting, genuine exhibit.”

They entered the long narrow passage, leaving their chairs outside.
Philip’s camera was again declared contraband of war, and held in
bondage while he “interviewed” the official photographer of the street.
He soon returned with the “open sesame” (price $1.00)—another ticket to
tie to the camera handle; and they all went forward to view the glories
of Cairo.

[Illustration: THE “DONKEY-BOYS.”]

It was the liveliest, jolliest place they had yet entered. Donkeys
ridden by little boys or little girls came bumping along amid the
laughter of the scattering crowd; sneering camels lurched in zigzag
courses, carrying giggling girls or grinning men. The camel-riders had
the effect of bowing graciously to the crowd, and hung on desperately
to the loops of the saddles, as if they were upon bucking broncos.
But the most amusing part of camel-riding was the dismounting. The
camels went down bows-on at first, and then lowered the hind legs. This
process was always sure to bring out little shrieks of dismay from the
women, and a burst of laughter from the onlookers.

Philip’s camera was agog with eagerness. He captured a view or two of
the picturesque “donkey-boys”—who were stalwart grown men; but when he
saw the great nodding camels docilely following their tiny boy-leaders,
he made up his mind that the camel was his favorite subject.


He particularly desired to secure a view of the dismounting. Seeing a
flight of steps that would enable him to overlook this scene, he put
his camera under his arm and wormed his way through the crowd until he
had secured an excellent place on an upper step.

From here, by raising the camera high in air, he took a picture over
the heads of the spectators, and then rejoined Mr. Douglass and Harry,
who were waiting for him across the street near some of the bazaars
for the sale of curiosities.

Harry, while waiting, had produced his sketch-book, and made a hasty
outline of a street-sweeper who, in turban and baggy trousers, was
plying a most prosaic broom and dust-pan.

Just above their heads they read a sign advertising an Arab
card-writer, and when Philip returned they began a search for this
gentleman, who promised a card in English and Arabic for five cents. It
proved to be a difficult matter to find him. Inquiring upon one side
of the street, they were directed to the other; and, repeating the
question there, were politely sent back again; but soon they caught
sight of a ring of people near the middle of the street, gazing down
toward the pavement, and there, within, sat the writer.


Philip pressed forward with a slip torn from his note-book, on which he
had written plainly, “Philip Rodman,” putting below, “Please write this
name in English and Arabic.”

When his turn came, the sharp-featured little writer raised his fezzed
head from gazing down upon the inlaid box which served him as a desk,
and said:

“You want-a me to write for you—yes?”

“Yes, please,” Philip answered.

So the scribe began, like a school-boy reciting his lesson:

“Pheelipe. P, h, i, l, i, and p. Pheelipe. Rodermahn—I write him
pretty, in Engleesh, yes; and I vill shade him, yes. R, a capeetal R,
o, d, m, a, n. Pheelipe Rodermahn. There. Now, what ceety?”

“Now write it in Arabic, please,” said Philip, a little embarrassed by
the crowd.

“Pretty soon; in a meenute. You vait. First, what ceety,—vere you

[Illustration: IN CAIRO STREET.]

“New York,” Philip answered.

“All right, all right; I make him ver’ preety. N, big N, e, w; Y, a big
Y, o, and r, and k. There. Now I write you my own _beautiful_ name.
See!” and he added his own name with rapid strokes.

“_Très bien!_” said Harry, jokingly.

“Aha, _vous parlez Français_, eh? _Et moi, aussi! Où apprenez-vous le

“_À Paris_,” said Harry, a little taken aback. “_Je le parle un peu,
mais je le comprend._”

“_Ah, ça va bien! Regardez; voici l’Arabique._”

Turning the card over, the accomplished scribe traced the graceful
curves, and handed Philip the card, saying, “I can write heem as well
in four language.”

Philip put down two nickels, and waved his hand when the man looked up
in surprise.

“_Ah, merci, m’sieu! Je vous remercie, et—au revoir!_”

[Illustration: THE SOUDANESE BABY.]

“_Au revoir!_” said Harry; and the three moved away with very kindly
feelings toward the clever card-writer.

As they turned toward the further end of the street, an elderly Arab
passed them with a stony glare, repeating aloud over and over, “Hello!
How-de-do! _Good_-morning! Hello! How-de-do! _Good_-morning!” but
paying no attention whatever to any one in particular.

“Now Philip says he’d like to go into the Soudanese Exhibit,” said
Mr. Douglass, looking at a little plan of the Plaisance. He was a
systematic traveler, and always secured a map or plan of each place
he visited. They turned into a small inclosure, after buying tickets
and seeing them dropped into a battered black tin box (the regular
preliminary to all the shows), and found themselves the only visitors
in a canvas tent that sheltered a board platform raised a little above
the ground. On the platform sat two men and a woman; and about the tent
was playing a lively little Soudanese baby—advertised outside as the
“Dancing-baby only eighteen months old!”

[Illustration: THE FLOWER-GIRL.]

It was to photograph the baby that Philip had come in. But no sooner
did the awful black box appear than there was a hubbub.

“No, no!” shrieked the mother, fiercely.

“Nah, nah!” cried the men; and Philip, supposing that he had
threatened to interfere with some of their religious scruples,
dejectedly lowered his box. But, as they turned away, our innocent
travelers quickly had their eyes opened to the true situation.

“One dollar, one dollar!” cried one of the men, following them up.
He was tastefully attired in a fez, a long white burnoose (a garment
exactly like a nightgown), and red slippers.

Then Harry, who had traveled abroad, felt equal to the situation. He
wheeled around with a look of grieved surprise.

“One dollar?” he exclaimed. “Oh, no, no. Twenty-five cents. One

“No, no. One dollar!” spoke the Soudanese.

“One quarter,” insisted the American boy, “or fifty cents for the
whole family”; and he waved his arms as if amazed at his own lavish

“No. Fifty cent for the baby,” suggested the dark dickerer.

“Twenty-five in here, fifty if you will take her into the sunshine.
Come along,” said Harry, starting for the door.

“All-a right!” and the Soudanese made the bargain. For the half-dollar,
he conducted the baby to a good light, and let her be taken.

This little tot was as bright as a new cowrie-shell; she had around her
waist a dozen rows of tiny dry hoofs taken from some small animal, and
these gave her great delight. She crowed and jumped, and rattled at
every motion.

“Why, a rattlesnake would be scared to death at such a baby!” said
Harry; “and her mother couldn’t lose her if she tried. But she couldn’t
go to church with that thing on—not if she was restless!”

After taking one more picture, the portrait of an Egyptian flower-girl
who wandered into the tent, and whose costume, if not her face, was
her fortune (at a quarter for every photograph), the explorers waved a
final good-by to the rattling baby and turned again into Cairo Street.

Before an attentive circle, just outside the inclosure, an Arab was
beginning a performance of trained animals—at least he had a kid poised
on a pedestal, and a monkey making ready to ride.

Philip pressed forward to the inner edge of the ring, and leveled the
box. He snapped the shutter. Catching the noise, the animal-trainer
pulled the kid suddenly down and shook his head with a triumphant
grin. Philip moved away, while the bystanders laughed.

“‘He laughs best who laughs last,’” thought Philip to himself, as he
wound up the exposed film and rejoined his companions.


[Illustration: IN CAIRO STREET.]

[Illustration: THE FERRIS WHEEL.]

                             CHAPTER VI

   _The Midway Plaisance Visit continued_ — _Lunch at Old Vienna_ —
    _The Ferris Wheel_ — _The Ice Railway_ — _The Moorish Palace_ —
                          _The Animal Show._


For luncheon they turned into “Old Vienna,” passing a gorgeous guard in
a canary-yellow medieval costume. They found a table under an arbor,
and ordered a most unwholesome German lunch. At first Mr. Douglass
had trouble in making out the German names of dishes on the bill of
fare, and he asked Harry, the traveled member of the party, to read it
for him. To his great admiration, the boy translated the items with
readiness and accuracy.

“Why, Harry, you are thoroughly up in German eatables, at all events!”
he exclaimed.

“It requires only a little careful attention,” said Harry, laughing;
and, putting down the bill of fare, he showed Mr. Douglass that it had
an English translation just opposite the German.

“That is certainly the best system for teaching foreign languages I
have seen,” Mr. Douglass agreed. “I begin to understand it myself.”

After finishing what they could eat,—there was much that they were
compelled to abandon,—they sat a few moments over their small cups
of coffee, listening to a fine band that played airs from the opera

“When we leave here,” said Harry, “suppose we go up in the Ferris
Wheel? That gives a splendid view of the whole region, and several
people have told me it is one of the best things in the Fair.”

“Can I take photographs from it?” asked the camera-bearer.

“We will ask,” Mr. Douglass replied.

They were told at the office that they would be permitted to take
pictures upon signing a statement that they were not for publication.
Philip, however, asked for and obtained a suspension of this condition;
and, armed with the permit, they took their place opposite a little
door that separated them from the enormous iron spider-web.

In a few minutes the Wheel came slowly to rest, a sliding door was
opened, and they entered one of the small cars, of which the Wheel
carried some forty suspended within the two great rims. The door was
shut, and up they flew, as if in a balloon.

[Illustration: OLD VIENNA.]

At first they went completely around without stopping. As they
mounted into the air, over two hundred feet, the whole region was
mapped out about them. They saw the Fair, the lake, Chicago in the
distance,—beneath a veil of hazy smoke,—the Midway, a long white road
dotted with its puppet sight-seers. Old Vienna, where they had lunched,
dwindled into a toy village.

Philip took several views, but most of them were during the second
trip, for then they stopped every now and then to let off and take on
passengers, three cars being emptied at a time and at once refilled. He
took a view from the Wheel, and a view looking across the Wheel inside.

There was nothing unpleasant in going up or coming down; but when the
Wheel stopped, one had the awful thought that something might give
way. Now and then came a slight creak or crumble, as if some part was
a little strained; but it need not be said that the Wheel did not come
down. Neither did any of the cars turn heels over head—that is, floor
over roof—as Philip for a moment dreaded. In talking it over afterward,
Harry said that his notion was that perhaps the Wheel might stop and
leave them up there, and he wondered how they would get down. They
came out much gratified with their upward flight, and spoke heartily
in praise of the perfect engineering skill shown in the Wheel’s
construction and operation.

“And do you know, boys,” said Mr. Douglass, “the Wheel came here in
sections and was put together for the first time on these grounds? It
has run smoothly and safely ever since, and is in every way just what
its designer meant it to be. He is still a young man, and may some day
do even more wonderful things. It is well not to forget that the most
difficult engineering feats are not always the ones that seem most
wonderful to the public.”


“Say,” Harry cried out suddenly, pointing southward, “there’s something
that looks as if it would be good fun.”

Philip and Mr. Douglass turned, and saw what looked like an
old-fashioned “double-ripper”—a sleigh shooting down and up a long
toboggan-slide. As they had no objection to trying it “for the fun of
the thing,” they went over and bought tickets for ten cents, entitling
them to seats in the sled.


Once or twice it dashed past them; then it came to a halt, and they
all scrambled in, taking their places in the seats, which held three
apiece. Then a gong rang, and they were off! Starting slowly, the
sledge gradually increased its speed until it met an incline, up which
it went more slowly, and would have stopped except that a cable gripped
it and hauled it to the top of the hill. Then, again released, the
sledge sped down with great rapidity, but was checked by a curve around
which it whirled “like all possessed,” as a fidgety old lady exclaimed;
and indeed the passengers clung tightly to the sides. Around they went
again and again, repeating the same experiences until the fourth time,
when the car was stopped.

One man, who sat next to Philip, said: “Where you from?”

“New York,” Philip answered.

“I from St. Louis!” said the man triumphantly, evidently meaning to
call attention to the wonderful fact that the world was small, after
all. As they rounded the bend for the third time, the German said:

“I lose my vife!”

“I’m sorry,” said Philip, sympathetically.

“Oh, dat’s all right,” said his talkative companion. “I get her again
ven ve stop. She got on other sled. I could not for the crowd. But
she vill vait for me; she vill not run avay. She is too good for me,

Philip was relieved that the trouble was not more serious, and after
they left the car, the triumphant German pointed to his faithful
spouse, saying: “See! I tol’ you!”


After taking a snap-shot at the moving sled, they left the building,
securing at the exit a handful of snow, which was, as the exhibitor
claimed, real snow. But he also said it was a souvenir; and as a
souvenir it was a failure, unless it was kept in a bottle, for it
melted after the manner of all well-conducted snow elsewhere than on
high mountain-peaks.

The “Moorish Palace” received their attention next. Upon entering they
found themselves in what they considered a very ordinary show. It was
a large room having tables and chairs, beer and tobacco-smoke, and a
stage where a variety performance took place.

Two young men, in evening dress, were carrying on a dialogue that
Harry said was perhaps the most genuine antique in the Plaisance. This
dialogue, varied by fair handsprings, lasted longer than the boys cared
to stay; so they wandered further into the Moorish mysteries. Groups
and figures in wax occupied a large part of the second floor, but the
only interesting object the boys saw was a printed sign requesting
visitors not to talk to the wax figures. Mr. Douglass’s book had
informed him that there was a “maze” of mirrors well worth seeing, but
in finding this exhibit the party displayed more ingenuity than was
shown in the maze itself. “Dime museum” was the boys’ well-considered
verdict. Turning away, they were attracted by the cry: “Do not fail to
see the performance in the great Moorish theater!” Always willing to
oblige, the party mustered three dimes, received tickets, and entered
at this new door.

“Well, well!” said Mr. Douglass, as he reached the edge of a balcony
from which he could look upon the performance. The boys walked forward,
supposing that he was expressing surprise. And so he was.


They had paid another admission fee all round for the privilege of
entering the gallery of the same room from which they had departed
in disgust only a few minutes before. They were grieved rather than
angry, and explained their plight to the ticket-seller. He did not let
the matter weigh upon his spirits to any extent, nor did he seem much

“Boys,” said Mr. Douglass, as they descended the dusty stairs, “I think
that’s enough of a maze for me.”

When once more in the roadway, they agreed to separate. Mr. Douglass
preferred to go back to the Fair; Philip wished to try for a few more
photographs, and Harry still kept his faith in the Wild Animal Show.


So Philip and Mr. Douglass left him, and Harry walked toward the show.

“Oh, I like the whole business; don’t you?” he heard a woman say to a
friend; and he was willing to agree so far, if he might except that
Moorish maze.

He found a large crowd pressing toward the Animal exhibit, and, buying
a ticket at the door, was soon ushered into a very large amphitheater
surrounding a circus-ring on a raised platform. Above the ring was a
covered cage. Harry made his way toward a number of unoccupied seats,
and was surprised that these were so empty while the others were so

A little boy, coming to collect the tickets, announced: “You can stay
here if you like; but you won’t see nothing much, for the animals sit
around here, and you’ll have to look over ’em.” So Harry took a better
place, near two German gentlemen, one of whom courteously handed him a
program, for which there was an extra charge made.


A scarlet-coated band filled the air with melody, and the show
began, introduced by a really blood-curdling roar, such as a healthy
and hungry lion gives when he wishes to make an impression. The
amphitheater was as full of people as if it had been the only
exhibition given that afternoon in Chicago. A baby elephant lumbered
in, followed by a large hound and two ponies, and these animals went
through a clever performance of marching, wheeling, waltzing, and
posing under the direction of a graceful young girl dressed in a
close-fitting purple velvet jacket, trousers, and military boots. They
were excellently managed, and performed cleverly.

A wild boar came next,—an ugly-faced fellow,—and was put through his
feats of hurdle-racing and riding a chariot drawn by another boar. He
failed at two hurdles out of three, knocking them over; but was made
by the clown, his trainer, to repeat the trick successfully, amid
applause. Once the clown made the boar sit down on a high tub, and
then cocked a white hat over the animal’s ear, giving him a comical

The succeeding performance was one of the cleverest. A ring-master came
in, bringing a small pony whose neck was covered by a thick white pad,
and who carried a flat saddle upon his back. Afterward entered a lithe,
tawny lioness, who ran cat-like around the ring, and another enormous
hound who did little, but was probably an important part of the show.

[Illustration: A SLEEPING LIONESS.]

The lioness leaped upon a high platform, and as the pony came around
the ring sprang upon his back just as a circus-rider does. Again the
lioness leaped from the pony to another platform higher in the air, and
awaited the pony’s second circuit. It was very exciting to Harry, for
the lioness seemed anything but cowed—snarling, raising her whiskers,
and showing much spirit.

Harry made up his mind that the hound was brought in as a sort of
watch-dog, in case the lioness should show more spirit than the
circus-performance demanded; and this idea was strengthened by the
presence of these great dogs in nearly every act—but usually as very
minor performers.

After the lioness had loped down the sloping passage leading from the
ring, attendants came in and removed the carpets and mats used in the
circus-performance. They returned with little wooden shelves arranged
to hook upon the bars around the great circular cage, and put these in
place. Then the lion-tamer entered, not in tights, spangles, armor,
or tinsel, but in a dark business-suit that would not have attracted
attention in the street.

After him came in a “happy family,” as it used to be called in the
Barnum days; but not the sort of happy family that would be welcome if
it should drop in to spend the evening. First came the dogs, then three
bears, two black and one a polar bear, then lions, Bengal tigers, until
each of the many little shelves had its occupant.

[Illustration: MEAL-TIME.]


These animals were admirably trained, and went through a variety of
clever performances. One little black bear—just the sort of little
fellow you would expect to see robbing bees of honey, or stealing a
squealing little porker from a sty—was led out and invited to show the
ladies and gentlemen how well he could walk on a great, blue, rolling
ball. As he went forward to begin the act, his lounging gait set all
the spectators to laughing, and his whole performance was equally
funny, excellently as it was done. When through, he was rewarded by a
lump of sugar produced from the ring-master’s coat-tail pocket. The
same bear also walked the “tight-rope” along a thick bar of wood.

Meanwhile the polar bear acted as a clown. He seemed to find something
very interesting about one of the big hounds. During each act, Mr.
Polar Bear would leave his place and snuff around Mr. Dog’s ears, and
paw his neck with the great sharp claws necessary to one who walks
much on icebergs and other slippery places. At one time, late in the
performance, the bear seemed to conclude that the dog was good to eat,
and began to take him in head first. But here the dog’s patience gave
out, and he howled a gentle protest that sent the polar bear back to
his place.

When the little black bear had finished his second act, the ring-master
patted him upon the head with a pleasant touch of approval that was
kindly and encouraging.

[Illustration: YOUNG LION ASLEEP.]

Then the animals changed about: the bear going back to his place,
and the Bengal tigers slouching into the ring. A see-saw was put up,
and, with a tiger on each end, was rocked to and fro by another black
bear—one that had a peculiar white crescent upon his breast. After this
the whole company ranged themselves, standing, in a ring, and the big
dogs leaped over their backs just as circus-riders leap hurdles.

A chariot came rolling in, a number of the attendants followed, and two
tigers were yoked up as if each were “the patient ox obedient to the


The biggest lion, draped in a scarlet cloak and crowned, mounted the
chariot, while two hounds rested their fore legs upon the back of the
chariot, and around the ring went the gorgeous procession—an animal
Emperor making a triumphal procession.

Another pyramid of animals was formed, and then all, set free, went
rolling and tumbling about the arena, as their trainer stood among
them giving out sugar.

No exhibition of animal-training could have been better, and Harry left
the building well satisfied with his afternoon at the Animal show.

Coming out into the Plaisance road once more, Harry started to walk
back to the hotel. He had enjoyed the rolling-chair in the morning, but
felt freer to go where he chose when he was by himself and on foot. He
did not intend to see any more sights than he could help, but the boy
had to keep his eyes open to see where he went, and so long as he did
not shut his eyes, sights had to be looked at.

In passing the Children’s Building, he noticed carefully where it was,
as he intended to come back to it soon; then he walked through the
“Puck” Building, noticing the color-printing, and the pretty photograph
of a child dressed as “Puck,” and passed thence across a bridge to the
quiet wooded island. His eyes were rested by the soft green tints,
and the quiet was very refreshing after the bustle and confusion of
the Plaisance. All about were little fairy lamps of different colored
glass, arranged in preparation for an illumination of the island that

[Illustration: THE POLAR BEAR.]


Harry wandered on without attending strictly to his course, and
consequently found himself in the middle of the island without any
means of crossing to the Manufactures Building. As he wished to walk
the length of that building on his way home, he rather reluctantly
retraced his weary way to the bridge leading to the Fisheries Building.
But this mistake enabled him to warn another party of visitors against
the same error, and they followed him over the two bridges to the
Manufactures Building.


He was too tired to look at exhibits, and walked doggedly down the
long aisle until he came out upon the great Court of Honor. Here he
rested a little while, feeling rather dazed, and then walked by the
Administration Building in company with many out-going parties quite as
weary as he.


A soldier in flaming regimentals passed, carrying a baby in his arms,
while the unwarlike wife followed at his side, supporting the officer’s
heavy sword. This odd exchange of duties was the last thing Harry
noticed before he left the gates.

Mr. Douglass came home, and reported that he had spent most of the
afternoon in examining the decorations and groups upon the outside
of the larger buildings, particularly those upon the Administration
Building, as he wished to write some account of it to a friend
interested in decorative work.

As to Philip, he resolutely refused to tell the others all about his
afternoon except so far as this. He said, “I had some trouble about my
camera, and it took me all the afternoon to straighten it out.”

Later, his little adventure came out, and shall be told.



                             CHAPTER VII

     _Harry gets a Camera_ — _The State and National Buildings_ —
     _The Eskimo Village_ — _Snap-shots out of doors_ — _A passing
          Glance at Horticultural Hall_ — _Doing their Best._


“In the absence of any special instructions from your father, Harry,”
said Mr. Douglass, as they walked over toward the entrance of the
Fair Grounds on the following morning, “I have so far let you have
your own way. I think that Mr. Blake perhaps forgot that his letter
of instructions would not arrive at Chicago until we had been here at
least a week.

“Now that we have a general idea of the display, of the grounds and
their arrangement, I think it would be wise to go at them a little
more systematically. What do you think?”

“I should like that better,” said Philip. “I feel all the time that we
are missing some good things, and seeing poorer ones twice over. Don’t
you, Harry?”

“I suppose so,” Harry answered slowly; “but I find it all too much for
me. I find myself thinking more of the people I see than of the show.”

“Let us go and see some one part more especially,” Mr. Douglass
suggested; “some part that we know less about than we have learned of
the larger buildings. How would you like to look at some of the larger
State buildings?”

“I’d like it,” Harry agreed. “But I’ll tell you what, while Philip was
using his camera yesterday I wanted one ‘like sixty.’ Why can’t I hire

“You can,” the tutor answered. “Where do we go to get it, Philip?”

“To the free dark-rooms back of the Horticultural. We can walk there:
it isn’t far from where we usually go in; or, if you want to go in a
new way, we can keep outside until we get to the proper entrance.”


All three were willing; and, keeping outside of the high board fence
topped with several lines of barbed wire, they walked on for two
or three blocks above the main entrance. The street was lined by
booths for the sale of the omnipresent souvenirs—glass paper-weights,
watch-charms, canes, lockets, and every sort of cheap knickknack; and
these booths were elbowed by temporary shops and stands made to serve
for restaurants, fruit-stands, shooting-galleries, tintype-galleries,
cake-kitchens,—all the cheap-John establishments that could find room
to claim a nickel from the passers-by.

Coming to the entrance they sought, they met a young man in a blue
uniform and cap showing that he was an agent of the Photographic
Department. Harry paid him two dollars, and received a “hand-camera
permit, good for that day only,” the date being stamped on it in green
ink. They found themselves, after passing the gates, not far from the
photographic rooms. Here Harry secured a small, easily handled kodak,
upon which Mr. Douglass made a deposit of ten dollars.

“Now,” said Harry, “I’ll show you how cameras are handled by experts.”

“But remember,” the tutor reminded him, “that you are here to-day with
the intention of going through some State buildings at least. Don’t
think mainly of taking snap-shots.”

“Oh, I won’t,” Harry replied, more seriously; “I only mean to take
pictures of the groups of people here and there—especially the
children. Children are always so interesting when they are at a place
like this.”

Mr. Douglass smiled at the boy’s grown-up airs, but said nothing more.

“Come,” said Philip, “I want to go over to the Manufactures Building. I
saw in my magazine that one could register there, and I’m going to do
it. Besides, I haven’t been in the galleries of that building yet, and
I’d like to go. We won’t stay long, and we can meet there if we should
separate for a while.”

They entered by the north door, climbed into the gallery, and found
that some of the periodicals had arranged tasteful little rooms for the
accommodation of the public. People entered these small compartments
with a homelike feeling that was very pleasant to see. There were
tables and chairs, books for the registry of visitors, and glass
cases showing magazine- and book-work in full detail, besides many
other things connected more or less directly with the subjects of the
books and articles published. But, intending to return again, the
boys did not linger over the exhibits, pausing only long enough to
register their names. Here Mr. Douglass remained to talk to one of the
attendants, as he expected some letters to be addressed to him in care
of that exhibit, and the boys started together for the National and
State buildings.

These filled a large part of the grounds around the great art galleries.

Their first visit was to the house devoted to Great Britain. They
marched boldly up to the door, opened it, and stepped inside.

A guard came forward and politely told them that on this morning the
building was open only on presentation of a card. The boys turned
to go out, but one of the gentlemen in charge—a handsome young
Englishman—courteously invited them to go through the rooms. They
gladly accepted his invitation and guidance.

“This,” he told the young Americans, so politely that for the moment
they almost regretted the famous “tea-party” in Boston harbor,—“is
called Victoria House by the Queen’s own wish. It represents a
manor-house of the Tudor period, of about Queen Elizabeth’s time; but
was made by a Chicago firm.” Then he went on to call their attention
to the fine ceilings, fireplaces, staircases, and inlaid cabinets; and
the boys found the house full of richly carved woodwork and furniture.
Of the chairs, one was a model of that in which King Charles sat
during his trial in Westminster Hall, and others were quite as well
worth attention, among them being chairs designed for the use of Queen
Victoria and the Prince of Wales.

[Illustration: VICTORIA HOUSE.]

Our sturdy young Americans gazed with becoming reverence upon all this
elegance and grandeur, took a few notes of what they had seen, and
walked down the steps much gratified by the attention shown them.

“Where next?” said Harry, at the same time taking a deft snap-shot at
some little folks in the road before the door.

“Germany comes next,” answered Philip, holding up a fluttering map.

“Sprechen Sie deutsch?” said Harry. “If you do, come along.”

Entering the imposing German Building, they found at last some of the
foreigners as to whom they had been inquiring. No sooner were they
inside the door than guttural accents assured them that there were
foreigners at the great World’s Fair. The hallway was full of German
publications, and in a lower story were many religious figures, modeled
life-size and colored. Taking a stairway to the right, the boys came
to a lofty mechanical clock, called a “Passion Play Clock,” because
figures, moved by machinery, went through a representation of the
crucifixion. They heard a woman say, “Oh, I wish it was going! Don’t
you?” Then they descended the stairs again, and, returning to the main
hall, they noticed a very beautiful stained-glass window at the further
end. The middle panel showed Christ walking on the water, and those
above and below contained modern steamships. A placard stated that the
window was to be presented to the Naval Academy at Annapolis.

Coming out, they were met by a puzzled woman, who inquired in a dazed

“Where is that Anthropo—I don’t know the name?”

“’Way down at the other end, madam,” answered Philip, politely raising
his cap. To which the woman responded despairingly, “Oh, my!” and
wandered off.

[Illustration: INDIA HOUSE.]

“They never get much beyond ‘Anthropo,’” said Harry; “and I don’t blame
them. I heard one of the guides the other day confidently call it
‘Anthro-polo-logical’ and look proud. But this isn’t photography,” and
he turned his back to the sun and held his camera in readiness. Snap!
went the shutter, and then they walked on.

“What did you take?” Philip asked.

“I’m not telling,” said Harry, slyly. “I may be new at this business,
but at least I know enough to keep dark until the negative is
developed. ‘Don’t count your negatives before they’re developed’ is my
motto as an amateur photographer!”

“Here’s the French Building,” said Philip; “and isn’t it French,
though? See the green grass, trees, and fountain in the middle. Let’s
go in and see it. It is sure to be good.”

They found the French Building, as Philip expected, both artistic and
interesting. There was an exhibit of transparent photographs on glass,
explaining the method of measuring and describing criminals so that
they may be always identified after being once in the hands of the
police. Here was a panel devoted wholly to queer noses; next came one
upon eyes, or chins, or foreheads, each with a line of explanation in
French, which Harry translated. Then there was a wax figure before a
camera, giving a vivid idea of the way these photographs were secured.
A camera upon a very high tripod stood over another figure representing
a body found dead—to explain how a picture-record is made of such cases.


There were specimens of the work of invalids, probably hospital
patients, and around another part of the building were large paintings
showing views of city squares and streets. The whole building was a
proof of the skill of the French in arranging exhibits both sensibly
and artistically, so that they would be both easy to view and pleasant
to behold.

A room devoted to relics of Lafayette was marked “Closed,” for which
the boys were sorry. They gave the French-Building a good mark in their
note-books, and went away wishing they could give more time to it—the
best proof of excellence.


They had intended next to see the Massachusetts house; but that also
was not open, and they went by it on their way to New York’s mansion.
Entering the great door, they noted first a pavement of tessellated
blocks in which were set the signs of the zodiac in brass, finely
modeled. Just before them they saw a long line of people crowding
toward an enormous book that looked at least half a foot thick. A sign
told them that they should register and have their names published
in the “Daily Columbian,” the Fair paper, as a means of finding old

“Here she goes!” cried Harry, as he took his place at the end of the
queue, with Philip next. They could see the book from where they stood,
and were much amused, though a little impatient, to see the painstaking
efforts of country folks to write a creditable signature. One nice
old lady dotted an “i” at least three times, and each time with due

As each visitor wrote name, temporary address, and home address,
Harry had to wait several minutes for his turn. The result was that he
scrawled his own name in a great hurry rather than keep others waiting.
Then he went half-way up the stairs, and took two short-time exposures
toward the registering crowd. He doubted whether he could get anything
worth preserving, but thought he would risk it.


Then Philip and he went up-stairs to the banqueting-room—a stately
apartment of which the boys were patriotically proud. Other rooms—one
a colonial drawing-room with an old spinning-wheel, and an old cannon
that was “fired at the births and deaths of members of the Rensselaer
family,” and the other a more modern apartment—fittingly flanked the
central apartment.

“Well, we’ve got a splendid building,” remarked Philip, with a sense of

“Yes, sir,” said Harry; “the old ‘Empire State’ always comes up smiling
and takes a front seat right next to the band-wagon”; but he, too, was
glad that his State was so creditably housed.

Pennsylvania, with a great “Keystone” on the front, was next in their
pilgrimage; and here they found the genuine old Philadelphia Liberty
Bell occupying the post of honor in the vestibule. Though “marred
and bruised by many a thump,” the boys gazed upon it with genuine
reverence. No American boy could see it without something of the
thrill in his veins that is the old bell’s due.


As they were gazing speechless upon it, a man behind them tried to
express what all felt. He began, “That is the bell that—that rang,
reverberating down through”—but here words failed him, and he passed
silently on, a good though speechless patriot.

Up-stairs they found tired Philadelphians in welcome quiet and
seclusion. Even in the “Press-Correspondents’ Room” pens moved with
Quaker-like dignity over the paper; indeed, one kindly old lady, on
looking in at the door, remarked with sympathy; “Ah, yes, I see; people
writing home to their friends!”

In another up-stairs room were shown the original charter to William
Penn,—a beautiful piece of antique writing,—and the Constitution of the
State of Pennsylvania. Attached to the charter was a large wax seal,
labeled over two hundred years old.

“Pretty old wax, isn’t it?” said a quiet man near Harry.

“Yes—waxing old,” the boy replied; but as the man gazed upon him in
puzzled surprise, the boy moved off, rather ashamed of his forwardness.

[Illustration: A GROUP OF ESKIMO.[1]]

Going out, they noticed General Greene’s Revolutionary battle-flag,
“baptized in the enemy’s smoke” at Bunker Hill. They visited the Ohio
Building, also, and then walked toward the Art Gallery; and Harry tried
a snap-shot again. This time it was at a chubby youngster who walked
before them, carrying two packages of lunch, while his parents walked
beside him. Winding up the film, the boys set forward at a rapid pace
toward the California Building, pausing only to admire the great logs
that formed a foundation to the structure the residents of the new
State of Washington had proudly built. The California house was like
the pictures of old Spanish Missions; it had an arched doorway, tiled
roof, and fine tower.



Though they spent a long time in this building, they were dissatisfied
when they came away. There was “so much too much” to see. A relief-map
of San Francisco, the knight “Sir Preserved Prunes,” the grizzly bear
modeled from life, the piece of Laura Keene’s skirt showing dark
stains where Lincoln’s bleeding head had rested, the exhibits of
school-work,—drawing, modeled maps, and exercises,—and especially the
stage-robbery exhibition made by the Wells Fargo Express Co., delighted
both the boys. Then, too, there were paintings—one of Leland Stanford
driving the last railroad-spike uniting the Central Pacific and the
Union Pacific railroads, several of scenes in midwinter, showing trees
in full leaf—in short, the California show sent two Eastern youngsters
away full of hearty admiration for the young giant of the far Pacific


But by this time, useful knowledge was palling upon the two friends,
and they gladly agreed to go back to the Eskimo village, which they had
seen just as they turned south toward the Californian mission-house.
They deposited two quarters, surrendered two tickets, and walked into
Greenland, only to be disappointed in the show. The sledge was upon
wheels, which the boys hadn’t bargained for—though they hardly expected
real ice-floes; and the row of bark huts were dark and commonplace. The
natives themselves looked furry and real, and the reindeer and dogs
were interesting.

[Illustration: “THE SLEEP OF THE FLOWERS.” A Bas-relief on the
Horticultural Building.]

Two of the Eskimos, one the well-known young “Prince,” held whips in
their hands, ready to dislodge coins that might be set up as targets.
Harry threw down a five-cent piece. The man stuck it up on edge, and
then the whip-cracking resounded through the air. Judging by the number
of shots they made unsuccessfully, Harry calculated that a five-dollar
bill would have lasted them a month; but he didn’t try it.

As they passed the building called “The Bureau of Public Comfort,”
Harry tried a shot at some people who were eating lunch upon the grass.

Later, he saw a young girl with a kodak making for the middle of one
of the bridges, and walked after her, hoping to take a picture of her
while she herself was snapping the button. As she leaned against the
parapet and leveled the camera, Harry saw that he could get a pretty
negative, and himself took the young photographer.

On their way home the boys walked through Horticultural Hall, with
its palm-trees, its flowers, and its lofty glass dome. By this time,
however, they had learned to see without noticing, and they decided to
come back some other day if they had time—a resolution already made in
regard to perhaps one hundred and fifty equally absorbing collections.

But there were several fine groups of sculpture. One the boys felt was
full of sentiment and beauty; it was called “The Sleep of the Flowers,”
and meant to be typical of autumn. The drooping of the vegetation and
the lethargy of the coming winter were admirably translated into the
action of the figures.

“Philip,” said Harry, “we ought to see all these groups—everywhere.”

“Harry,” replied his cousin, “we are doing our level best.” And,
consoled by this thought, they rejoined Mr. Douglass and went home.


[Illustration: AN UNFRAMED PICTURE.]

[1] _These photographs of the Eskimo village were made in March, 1893,
when there was snow on the ground._

                            CHAPTER VIII

     _What People Said_ — _The Children’s Building_ — _The Woman’s
    Building_ — _The Poor Boys’ Expensive Lunch_ — _The Life-saving

[Illustration: A CHAIRLOAD.]

“Do you think you are now capable of finding your way around without my
help?” Mr. Douglass asked, in planning out the next day’s program.

“Yes, sir,” Philip answered. “After all, the plan of the Fair is
simple enough. It is only after one gets into the buildings that it
becomes confusing. Several times I have intended to come out facing one
building only to arrive at another. But I can soon set myself right

“How about the Intramural?” asked Harry, with affected anxiety. “Have
you got that straight yet—or does it still run in a circle?”

“Come, Harry,” Mr. Douglass interposed; “Philip has learned better than
to go wrong again. What shall you boys do to-day?—I am going to see
the Government Building, unless you need me. I should like to see the
Patent Office Exhibit.”

“I don’t know that we shall keep together all day, but Philip and I
agreed to see the Children’s Building and the Woman’s Building, anyway.
Besides, there is a life-saving drill on the lake front at half-past
two, and perhaps we can get through in time to see that.”

Promising to meet again for dinner, the boys left Mr. Douglass to
finish breakfast leisurely, and set forth for the upper part of the
grounds—the north end.

As they went along, Philip drew out a little note-book and pencil,
intending to note down the bits of talk he should overhear from
passers-by. He seldom caught more than a scrap, but some of the
fragments were queer and suggestive. The first was the expression,
“Perfectly magnificent!” Then came a heavy Western man, in a broad felt
hat, eagerly telling two friends, “Why, if you was to spend only one
second in front of each exhibit—” but they passed on. Then followed


“Think _I’ll_ wander around this way?”

“Ain’t that it, over there?”

“Get the Orficial Cat-a-logue here.”

Entering the Horticultural Building, intending only to walk through it,
they heard these:

“You been here, John?”

“Wal, I was just a-lookin’ to see.”

“Pennsylvania is along here, I guess.”

They heard one man assert, “I don’t think that it is any good at all!”
Whereupon his friend insisted, “Now, you just go along and see.”

At a stand where a sharp young woman was selling “ever-pointed”
pencils, a man inquired, “What’ll I do when the points are all gone?”
To which the saleswoman scornfully retorted, “Isn’t two years long
enough for only ten cents?—but even then you can get new ones at any

Coming out of the Horticultural, they caught the words, “The biggest
revolver in the world,” but never found out whether the speaker was
referring to the Ferris Wheel, or to the Equator, or what.

A woman passed by telling her husband about lunching.

“Why, it scares them to death! Twenty-five cents was the cheapest on
the bill of fare! But they took it, and they enjoyed it immensely!”

“What do you suppose it was, Harry?” asked Philip, who liked to know
all that went on.

“Can’t imagine: possibly a watermelon,” Harry answered. “It couldn’t
have been a turkey, judging by the prices we’ve seen.”

Two young girls passed talking about the exhibits. Said one, “I’m not
at all sensational over anything.” Whereupon the other told her, “Well,
I like to get enthused over a thing like this.”


By the side of the road was a closely cropped and velvety lawn, and
over the lawn a patent sprinkler was propelling itself. The water in
passing through the pipes set in motion wheels that propelled the
little sprinkler slowly over the lawn so as to distribute the water
evenly. It was a clever invention, and its utility was evident. Philip
and Harry stopped to examine it, but Philip still kept his note-book in
hand, and soon had jotted down these entries—speeches made at sight of
the little motor:

“Greatest thing I ever saw!”

(“Evidently he did not come here by way of Niagara, as Phinney did,”
remarked Harry.)

“Runs itself—water does it! See?” said one.

“Pretty—good—scheme!” exclaimed another.

“Seen ’em before,” came from a third.

“_Ain’t_ that good?” observed a fourth.

And then Harry and Philip went on; but they talked it over, and
concluded that the little sprinkler was a rather independent machine to
have set loose on a lawn. Sleeping dogs, and people dozing in hammocks,
would have to take their chances.

By this time they had reached the Children’s Building, and after
admiring the frescoed medallions on the walls, showing children in
various foreign costumes, they entered by the main door. First they
went up-stairs to the second floor, as they had been invited by the
lady in charge to come there at once. Unfortunately, she was not in;
but there was plenty in the room to interest them. Upon the walls
were large and small drawings, engravings, and photographs of writers
known to children or especial favorites of young readers. They saw Miss
Louisa M. Alcott (“Jo,” of “Little Women”), Hawthorne, Longfellow,
Whittier, Mary Mapes Dodge, Thomas Bailey Aldrich (“Tom Bailey,” of
“The Story of a Bad Boy”), Frank R. Stockton (whose “Jolly Fellowship”
was a favorite book of Harry’s), Thomas Hughes (“Tom Brown at Oxford”
and “Tom Brown at Rugby”), Holmes, Lowell—and ever so many more; but
the author of “Billy Butts the Boy Detective” was left out without
being missed.

Along the middle of the library ran a glass case showing manuscripts,
proof-sheets, and pictures that went to the making of “The Youth’s
Companion” and “Harper’s Young People.” They had already seen a similar
display of material for “St. Nicholas” in the publishers’ rooms, where
they had been the day before. It was a keen pleasure thus to see “how
the wheels go round,” and to realize that the stories had an existence
in pen and ink fresh from the authors’ hands.

At one end of the room several bookcases contained books for or about
children, from the earliest to the most modern. One book of the
seventeenth century was bound in sheepskin and illustrated with odd
little woodcuts to show different trades and pursuits. Near these
older books were arranged autograph letters from Longfellow, Frank
R. Stockton, Palmer Cox, Mrs. Cleveland, Colonel Higginson, Edward
Eggleston, Bayard Taylor, George MacDonald, Christina G. Rossetti,
Edward Everett Hale, Miss Alcott, Dr. Holmes, Helen Hunt Jackson, D.
C. Gilman, and others, of whom Philip and Harry knew more or less. In
the library Philip also noticed a picture of Henry D. Thoreau, and
reminiscent views of Walden Pond.


Up-stairs, too, was Miss Huntington’s “Kitchen-Garden,” a school meant
to teach the children of poor people in the city how to do well and
cheerfully their household work. The little folks sang songs while
making beds, setting tables, or sweeping rooms, and learned how to make
and how to enjoy a neat home. In another corner was a school where deaf
children were reciting as if they could hear, and were reading from the
motions of their teacher’s lips what she said.

When Philip and Harry went into this room, a big boy was writing upon
the blackboard. They heard the teacher tell him to put down five words.

He watched her lips while she spoke, and after some consideration wrote
slowly the word “Money.” The teacher told him to go on; but, after a
long pause, the boy said that he couldn’t think of any more. A little
girl named Grace put up her hand, showing that she had thought of some;
and the boy turned to her, very willing to be helped. So Grace took
up his task, and wrote, “Truth, Care, Happy, Mirth”—quite a different
kind of words from the sort the boy had chosen. To these short words
the pupils added endings, as “Truth-ful=truthful full of truth,”
“Care-less=careless=without care,” defining the words thus made.


Philip found it hard to remember that these scholars were deaf; but, as
the two cousins were leaving the room, they saw at the door a little
girl not nearly so far advanced. The teacher was showing her how to
pronounce words, touching the child’s nose when she did not properly
sound the letter “n,” and otherwise teaching her the very elements
of speech. This sight made it easier for them to understand the
difficulties the older pupils had overcome, and they went out with a
better idea of the value of sound hearing.

Around the top of one of the rooms was a strange checkered frieze,
which, when closely examined, proved to be thousands of card temperance
pledges signed by “children of all the world,” as the inscription told
them. Being red and yellow, the cards made a pretty bit of decoration.
Also on the second floor were a kindergarten class-room, with specimens
of the work upon the walls; and a class-room for “sloyd,” or simple
work in wood. But the latter was just then not in use, though there had
been classes there not long before.

As they were standing in a corner of the hall, looking at some
pictures from children’s magazines, drawn by Reginald Birch, Alfred
Brennan, and other favorite illustrators, they heard a little boy say:

“Mama, come this way. I want to see the playthings!”

“No; come on. I must see this room,” his mother answered; at which the
boy whined out:

“Oh-h! you won’t let me see a single thing!”

This, if not exaggerated, was certainly a strong statement to be made
by a small boy at a World’s Fair. To take a child into the Fair and not
to let him see a single thing was not only cruel, but even remarkable.
Probably the boy overstated it.

Harry and Philip went up on the roof, but found nothing there, and then
went down to the ground floor. Here, at one end, was the place where
children were deposited while their parents enjoyed the sights at the
Fair. One small boy was weeping bitterly, while his father and mother
tried to console him. Philip stopped, and the father of the child said,
“We were going to leave him here, but he does not seem to like it”; so
one boy was not checked.

The boys would have been glad to see these little ones, but the windows
and doors were crowded all the time they were in the building; so they
gave up the attempt, and only glancing at the Illinois room, spent
their last few minutes in watching the children who had come in to


The whole central portion down-stairs was fitted up as a gymnasium, and
there was a director in attendance to show visiting children how to use
the apparatus. There were children jumping, climbing, and swinging, and
enjoying themselves keenly. It was open at certain hours every day, and
was always filled with young athletes.


Feeling that they had now been through the Children’s Building, they
stepped across to the adjoining exhibit, the Woman’s Building, but
walked around it half-way, so as to enter at the main entrance. They
found the building a larger one than they had expected, and spent
more time there than they had thought necessary. Of course there were
many things on which no self-respecting boys would waste time—things
their sisters might understand, but which they saw nothing in. The
embroideries, for instance, were to the boys only pictures; they
didn’t pretend to say which nation was entitled to the gold medal
for needlework. Neither did they pause long before the dressmakers’
exhibits. But, still, they found enough in every direction to delay
their departure, and it was time for lunch before they were ready to
leave. They liked the frescos, particularly that showing the “Lady with
the Lamp” among the sick soldiers.

[Illustration: THE WOMAN’S BUILDING.]

In the educational exhibit, they heard a little girl exclaim, “Those
are mine!” pointing to some drawings; but they did not see much to
interest them (in their fastidiousness) except a method of firing
colored signal-rockets from guns or pistols; and when they heard a
portly woman saying to her friend, “Now, as for me, I would line it
with—” they began to rush past everything in the nature of dry goods.
An embroidered curtain, showing a combat of dragons, detained Harry
long enough for him to declare it “the most mixed up thing he ever saw,
for he couldn’t untangle t’ other dragon from which dragon, and he
didn’t believe the whole Board of Lady Managers could, either.”

A case of dolls showing Dutch, Quaker, and other costumes, the boys
were sure girls would like; and while standing beside it, they heard a
woman say to her husband: “That doll is dressed the way women dressed
when you and I were young.” It was a dress such as the boys had seen
in pictures of war-times—about 1863.

In one case was some needlework by Queen Victoria, but the ardent
inhabitants of our great republic prevented the boys from seeing how
deft royalty was with the needle.

“Anyway,” said Harry, “she never sat in unwomanly rags plying her
needle and thread.”

In the art gallery of the Woman’s Building the boys noticed only a
few of the pictures; “Jean and Jacques,” by Marie Bashkirtseff, was
one they particularly liked. It showed two little French boys going
“unwillingly to school,” dressed in their black blouses. Another was a
little girl playing hide-and-go-seek behind a low bush. She had a sweet
little face and bewitching smile.

They also liked the “Ethnographical Department,” where they found
all sorts of weapons and utensils from Africa, collected by Mrs.
French-Sheldon, the explorer. Harry didn’t altogether like the idea of
a woman’s showing that she explored, just as if she was a Sir Samuel
Baker with a great beard, and he consoled himself with the reflection
that even Mrs. French-Sheldon probably couldn’t whittle a stick.


In the gallery were drawings and paintings, among them some by Queen
Victoria and other noble amateurs. Harry, owing to the fact that the
crowd usually remains below stairs, was able to critically examine the
Queen’s sketches. The hind legs of one of her dog-drawings particularly
delighted him, since they proved beyond question that there is no royal
road to animal-drawing. Harry himself had often found the same trouble
in drawing the same points, and a warm artistic sympathy welled up in
his heart for the great Empress of India in her struggles to conquer
animal-drawing. When, in the same gallery, he saw some drawings by
Mary Hallock Foote, an artist whose works he admired, he believed that
he would rather be a plain American who could draw than a crowned queen
who did very well considering how busy she was with state matters.

They glanced into the stately California room, upon the floor of which
was a great grizzly-bear rug, and then made up their minds that it was
time to be lunching if they intended to see the life-saving crew at
work. But on their way out, they stopped long enough for Harry to have
his name written by a woman card-writer, who used a pen set “skew-shaw”
on its handle. She added his residence—the State only—and the date. It
cost him five cents, but he felt that Philip was no longer one ahead of


Philip saw a machine marked “Music, Fortune, Weight,” with the usual
request about dropping a nickel. He stood on the platform, and dropped
the nickel. The machine played “The Sweet By and By,” and shoved out a
ticket upon one side of which was stamped his weight, “95,” and upon
the other was, “You will soon receive a fortune from across the sea.”

They walked between the State buildings over toward the lake, intending
to take lunch somewhere nearer the shore. When in front of Ohio’s
Building, with its projecting portico, they stopped to look at the
great statue in front. A woman’s figure upon a lofty pedestal raises
her arms proudly as if to call the attention of all the world. Around
the pedestal, like a row of bad boys sent to stand against the wall for
whispering, are a ring of Ohio’s great men, including Grant, Garfield,
and Stanton. In prominent letters around the pedestal are the words,
“These are my jewels.” While the boys were looking at this little piece
of justifiable brag, two women came along, and paused beside them.

“‘These—are—my,’” then moving a little further,—“‘jewels.’ Hum! Yes;
of course. Those are the words that Queen Isabella said to Columbus,
you know, when she gave him her jewels to fit out his ships.” Both then
walked away, enriched with the spoils of history.

Philip and Harry looked at each other, but made no remarks. Their minds
were busy in replacing the State of Ohio, Queen Isabella, and the noble
Cornelia in the niches from which they had been so rudely torn. In some
ways, that was the most remarkable exhibit they met that day at the

At the same table where they had lunch, a young fellow sat down with
two little boys. They looked poor.

“What will you have, Johnny?” the eldest asked one of the little

“Bread ’n’ butter.”

“That’s cheap,” the eldest said; and, after a little more talk, they
ordered fried sweet-potatoes.

“Nothing else?” the waiter said.

“Nothing else.”

When they were through, the waiter was asked “How much?”

“Ninety cents.”

Then there was silence, while the big boy fumbled in his pockets. Four
tiny bits of sweet-potato, bread and butter—ninety cents. It was hard,
and Harry spoke to the waiter about it.

“I can’t help it,” said the waiter. “It’s the rule.” So the bill was
paid. It was another interesting exhibit.

They gladly left this restaurant, and made their way out into the
honest breeze from the lake, taking their places upon the shore so as
to see the life-saving drill. It proved well worth coming to see.

The first sign of life was two rows of white-jacketed men that filed
out through the dense crowd which lined the lake shore. The lake was
rough and spray shot high into the air as the waves rolled against the
breakwater. But the men rushed the boat down the beach, and steered
by one who stood in the sternsheets holding a long oar astern of the
boat they made their way out to a mast that rose from above the water’s
surface to represent the mast of a wrecked vessel. It was a struggle,
but they finally reached the mast, and one man and a boy got out of the
boat and stood upon a small platform not far above the waves.

With even more difficulty the boat returned to the shore; and, after
some delay, probably to arrange the life-line and mortar, “bang” went
the shot, and the line was carried by the missile fairly across a boom
projecting from the mast. Then the man at the mast hauled in this light
line until it brought him a heavier one; and again he hauled until he
had the end of a cable that came from the crew on shore. This he rove
through a block upon the mast, and made it fast. It was made taut by
the crew of life-savers, and out along this thread of salvation rolled
the “breeches buoy,” looking like a Quaker’s hat turned upside down.


Into the breeches the boy put his legs, and was hauled ashore by a
light line.

Just as the boy came near shore, his legs came so near the water that
he drew them up, frog-like, and the great crowd of spectators laughed
and cheered. Again the little buoy and breeches traveled out to the
mast. But the man out there had noticed the boy’s gyrations, and seated
himself on top of the buoy.

“You bet your neck he ain’t goin’ to run any chances of getting _his_
legs wet!” cried a very appreciative young man; and the wisdom of the
remark far exceeded its elegance.

After the man was landed, the buoy traveled again to the mast and
struck against the block there. Automatically, the cable was released
and hauled ashore, and the same bolt released the rope, dropped a sign
that had been rolled up like a map, and every one could read in plain
black letters the words: “DRILL FINISHED.”

Before the boys started for the “exit,” it began to rain, and
immediately there was a fine exhibit of umbrellas from every State
in the Union. To keep dry the boys walked the whole length of the
Manufactures Building.

Harry timed their walk, and counted his steps. He was going slowly,
with no desire to break or make a record. It took about 720 steps to
go the full length of the largest building in the Fair, and the walk
lasted nine minutes.

Before they went to bed that night Harry was told of a remark overheard
by one of his friends. It was made by a tired old lady, who had come
out of a large building and arrived unexpectedly in a strange and
distant quarter of the grounds:

“Well!” she exclaimed, “when they planned this Fair, they put these
buildings so that, wherever you come out, you ain’t anywhere nearer any
thing in particular!”

[Illustration: THE LIFE-SAVING BOAT.]

[Illustration: JUST FROM THE RANCH.]

                             CHAPTER IX

    _The Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building_ — _A Rainy Day_ —
    _A Systematic Start_ — _“Irish Day”_ — _Harry Strikes_ — _Some
    Minor Exhibits_ — _The Few Things They Saw_ — _The Elevator to
                              the Roof._

[Illustration: A DISTORTING MIRROR.]

In the old days the navigators at first crept from headland to
headland; then from island to island, and at last Christopher Colon,
the intrepid hero of the fifteenth century, conceived the idea of
sailing boldly forth into the unknown, secure in his faith in himself
and in his fortunes. At least so Philip said in one of his old school
compositions. And the boys, having at first touched here and there the
points of interest, then took up a few of the outlying State buildings;
but now they intended, as Harry boldly put it, to see the elephant from
beak to tail-feathers. That is, they planned to enter the Building for
Manufactures and the Liberal Arts.

“This mammoth structure,” began Harry at breakfast, in the tone of a
dime-museum lecturer, “is steen hundred feet long, and even wider;
and is provided with wings on all four corners, if not oftener. It
contains the complete contents of the building, and various souvenirs
and nickel-in-the-slot machines which are not reckoned in the table of
contents. Little boys have been seen to enter at one end, and old men
to come out at the other, besides those who went up on the roof; so you
can draw your own conclusions.”

“That’s all very well, Harry,” said Mr. Douglass; “but have you been up
in that elevator?”

“No, sir.”

“When you go, see if you feel like joking,” Mr. Douglass went on. “I
went up in it to-day.”

“It’s raining hard,” said Philip, looking out of the window, “and I
haven’t any rubbers.”


“Nor I,” said Harry; “but I didn’t pack the satchels.”

“Well, we forgot them,” said Mr. Douglass; “so I suppose Philip and I
ought to go out and buy some for the whole party.”

“Let’s all go together,” Harry suggested.

They set forth, keeping a good lookout in all directions for anything
like a shoe-store. So near the Fair it would have been easier to find
the rarest thing in the world than simply a pair of rubber shoes.
But finally they came to a shoe-store, and discovered that they
were not the only little boys who had failed to imitate the little
Peterkins in providing themselves with rubber boots. There was a long
line of customers extending out upon what was called the sidewalk,
good-naturedly awaiting their turns to be shod. They took their places
at the end, and when rather moist, were admitted to the store in a
chosen batch of six. They had to wait on themselves, and picked up the
first thing that came. Mr. Douglass’s first catch proved to be infants’
overshoes, but Philip found a pair that Mr. Douglass could wear. The
proprietor told them to help themselves, and make themselves at home.


“All right,” said one of the customers; “we’ve all gotten acquainted
while waiting on one another out here.”

Once well insulated from the ground, they turned the rattling stile at
the entrance to the Fair, and picked their way over the mud that was
like gray paint and nearly as sticky. The program declared that it was
“Irish Day,” and the same fact shone out from many a noble breast, and
many a proud coat-lapel; for green badges flourished like bay-trees in
the spring, and the shamrock bloomed despite the stormy skies.

As they crossed a bridge from the Electricity Building to that of
the Manufactures, they noticed that the dome upon the Illinois State
Building was as unsubstantial and shadowy as a ghost. The crowd talked
much less than usual, and there was little laughter. A number of French
sailors passed them, but even their busy tongues were for once silent.
The boys were glad to get into the great building, for it was here
and there lighted by electric lamps, and the gaily colored exhibits
diverted their minds from the gray and cloudy sky.


“Boys,” said Mr. Douglass, as they paused in front of the two
elephant-tusks that rested before the Siam exhibit, “if you prefer it,
I will go with you; but, to be frank, I am inclined to think you would
rather go by yourselves. Whatever you look at, you are sure to learn
something, even unconsciously. And I am not ashamed to say that no one
man can explain even to boys of your age a thousandth part of what we
see here.”

“Mr. Douglass,” said Philip, “I really think we’d rather go alone, if
you don’t mind.” “Very well,” the tutor replied; “I shall probably stay
in this building, too, but it is not likely we shall meet. At about
half-past one come over to the bridge that leads to the lower end of
the wooded island, and I’ll take you to lunch. _Au revoir_!”

“_Auf Wiedersehen!_” Harry replied; and turning to Philip he said
warmly, “Mr. Douglass is a good fellow,—there’s no ‘Uncle George and
Rollo’ about him.”

“I think he’s right, too,” said Philip. “If he was to try to tell us
about things here, we couldn’t listen if we wanted to: there’s too much
to see.”

“Well, he’s having a good time, too,” said Harry. “It’s a good idea to
take your tutor to Chicago and improve his mind. Where shall we begin?”

“We’ll go over into the publishers’ corner,” said Philip, pointing to
the little map in his guide-book; “and we’ll take the galleries first.”


They walked toward that end of the building, but could not help seeing
some things on their way. One was a group of curved mirrors that gave
distorted and very laughable reflections. Another was a fine display of
daggers, pins, and other jewelry, inlaid in gold. Harry took a fancy
to one bonnet-pin (he thought it was), the top of which was a dainty
sword-hilt. He priced it, and left it there: it was twelve dollars. The
boys saw a placard upon one tiny dagger saying it was sold to Miss
Blank, and they wondered whether she bought it for a paper-knife, or
intended to become a vivandière.



On reaching the gallery, they first went through the publishers’
exhibits, finding original manuscripts and drawings, collections of
finely bound books, and courteous treatment everywhere.

“I think,” said Philip, as they came out of the last of these rooms,
“that the publishers are all very polite to the public.”

“Ah,” Harry replied, with a wise shake of the head, “they have to
be. If they weren’t, why we’d just turn around and say, ‘Here, you,
stop my subscription!’ and then where would they be? You see, a man
can’t get along without food, and clothes, and things like that, but
he needn’t read if he doesn’t want to—he can just spend his time over
advertisements, and signs, and things people give away.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice to have in schools?” said Philip, pointing to
a big map of the United States upon the wall, nearly twenty-five feet


“Very,” said Harry; “they’d have to spread it out in the yard, and then
the teacher would say, ‘Johnny, run out and find Oshkosh, and don’t run
too fast or you’ll tire yourself before you get there!’”

On the opposite wall was “the largest photograph in the world,” a very
long but uninteresting picture of those words with figures of real
people leaning on the letters.

An old man came by, saw the sign, wondered “_where_ that photograph
was,” and walked all around the gallery trying to find out. It was
hardly a successful exhibit, but it was only to attract attention—there
was a good display of regular work near it.

The boys at first stopped everywhere; but soon they began to remember
what a task was before them, and they quickened their pace.

Philip entered but few items in his note-book, and among them was a
booth entirely covered outside with ordinary playing-cards, which gave
it an Eastern effect. One object that called for more than a glance
was an old English clock—the Earl of Pembroke’s clock; it was set in
a high case of carved wood, most elaborate in design and executed with
minute skill and care. They saw also a show-case that imitated a great
trunk some fifteen feet high, with glass sides. But they were making
slow progress, and hurried on until they reached a carved altar made by
the inmates of St. Joseph’s Orphan Home—a piece of woodwork worthy of
any hand.

Then began a long array of exhibits meant to illustrate the progress
of scholars in lessons and manual arts. Each compartment was allotted
to a certain school. For a few rooms the boys kept seriously at work
examining drawings, carvings, forgings, and compositions; but soon
they heard a rollicking pianist down-stairs dashing off “St. Patrick’s
Day in the Morning,” and it brought memories of home to their minds. A
lively jig-step was heard, followed by clapping and cheering.

“See here, Phil,” Harry broke out, facing about, “it may not be
St. Patrick’s Day, but it certainly is Saturday, and I’m not going
to be hood-winked into school work to-day. If there are any more
compositions, kindergartens, and maps drawn by Bertie Wilhelmina Marie
Jones, you may see them if you like. I am going to skip them.”

“I’ve seen enough; we’ll never get through this way,” said Philip,
looking despairingly at his watch. “So we’ll go on to something else.”

“Good-morning, boys,” said a slightly husky voice.

“Good-morning, sir,” they replied, turning to find an old Irishman, a
respectable quiet-looking man.

“I tell you this is a very wonderful show,” he went on, evidently
feeling that he must talk to some one. And from that beginning he went
on to tell them that he was over sixty years old, had come to America
in 1847, and had gone West by the Erie Canal, soon after.

“Boys,” said he, impressively, “you’ve no idea of what a country you
live in. I’ve lived to see wonders in the last thirty years, and
they’ve changed the whole world, so they have. You can have no idea of
it, not as I have. And it’s not in the East or in Chicago alone: it’s
in the whole land. And there’ll be no telling what a country it’ll be.
I’m over sixty, and I went out forty years ago and took up a hundred
and sixty acres of bare land, and now there’s people all around me:
Norwegians, many of them; and it’s good people and good neighbors they

The boys were impressed by the seriousness of the old man’s talk.

“You are Irish?” asked Philip.

“Of course,” he said, with a smile; and throwing open his overcoat he
displayed a badge big enough to prove anything. They parted with mutual
wishes of “good luck.”

Since Harry had refused to go further into the exhibits of school work,
they went down to the main floor, and walked from the southwest corner
northward. As in the other buildings they had visited, they found along
the walls little stands where young women had on sale penholders,
souvenir coins, shell-boxes, necklaces—cheap trinkets of all sorts.
For the first few days the boys had gone to see what was shown at
these booths; but soon they found there was pretty much the same stock
everywhere, and walked by indifferently. They had bought, however, a
few things—one a little shield showing the arms Queen Isabella granted
to Columbus.

[Illustration: “—AND THE CAT CAME BACK.”]

Against the wall about half-way up toward the north end were several
“graphophones”—contrivances something like Edison’s phonograph. On
dropping a nickel and hooking two hard-rubber tubes into the ears, one
might hear instrumental music or songs. A small boy tried one of those
machines while Harry and Philip looked on. The tubes were adjusted,
and he stood gravely awaiting the result. A smile began to dawn on his
lips. It spread widely. His mouth opened; he giggled aloud; he kept on
giggling with his eyes closing through pure joy.

Harry tried the machine and found that it was repeating a comic
singer’s rendering of “The Cat Came Back,” and he grinned quite as
widely as the small boy had done, and afterward sketched the scene with
full sympathy.

“That’s a great invention for invalids,” said Philip, thoughtfully.

“Yes,” said Harry, warmly; “think how it would soothe a restless
invalid during a long night to hear one of those machines grind out
‘The Cat Came Back!’”

[Illustration: A JAPANESE CARVING.]

“Well, it would,” said Philip, as soberly as he could. “You couldn’t be
sad while listening to that song.”

Just as they were leaving, they saw a mother and child listening to the
same graphophone, each having one ear to an end of the branched tube.
“I don’t know,” said Philip, “whether that’s quite honest.”

The exhibit of a well-known manufacturer of steel pens had in the
center of it a pen fully six feet long, apparently quite as huge an
affair in its own way as the building. The boys stopped at this, but
perhaps at another time they would have passed that by and looked at
things they now ignored. There was so much it made them particular. If
a display was not brightly lighted, or was at all crowded, or required
a few extra steps, it was left unvisited. Knowing they could see only
a few things, they simply walked along, and let the exhibits show

[Illustration: THE HUNTERS’ CAMP.]

There passed them in rolling chairs an old minister and his wife, and
Harry made up his story about them. He imagined one of the deacons
going to consult with the elders, saying, “The Parson wants to go to
the World’s Fair. He hasn’t said so exactly; but I can see he does. He
reads all about it, and he talks about it—tells how big the buildings
are, and all that. Can’t we send him?” There may have been no truth
in all this, but it gave Harry great pleasure to see the old couple’s
enjoyment. Coming to the upper, or north, end of the building, they
found the exhibits of stonework, ironwork, paints, varnishes, and so
on. But they turned back to see the exquisite work of artistic Japan.
Here were ivories, pottery, metalwork, embroidery, odd carving (one
little bear, a grotesque figure, Harry stopped to sketch)—all designed
and executed in perfection. The boys spent a long time here, and left
dissatisfied. It was time to meet Mr. Douglass on the bridge, and they
raised umbrellas, tramped through the mud, and, finding the tutor
waiting for them, were soon on the way to the Horticultural Building,
where they lunched at a restaurant on the second floor.


“Where did you go, Mr. Douglass?” Philip asked.

“I went to the other end of the grounds, to the Anthropological
Building. I heard there was a set of apparatus for measuring
nerve-force, mental-power, and so on, which would be applied to a
visitor. I went through the process, and found it very interesting,
though it took a long time.”

“Did you notice the Hunters’ Camp and the Australian Bark Hut near the
bridge we came over?” Harry asked.

[Illustration: THE FIRE-BOAT “FIRE QUEEN.”]

“Yes; and went into both,” said Mr. Douglass. “How well they contrast
with these enormous, complex show-buildings, reminding us how much that
is shown here is not necessary to life or happiness! After lunch I’ll
go back with you to the main building, and we’ll ride up to the roof.”

Walking back, they noticed on the railings of the bridge a
life-preserver and line, hung ready to be thrown at once to any one who
might fall in. They also saw the “Fire Queen,” a steamboat fire-engine,
lying ready for service by the same bridge. “That shows,” Mr. Douglass
said, “how carefully everything here has been thought out.”

Returning to the big building, they went through the silversmiths’ and
jewelers’ exhibits, which were rich and elegant without being gaudy or
tiresome. There were great crowds here—and they saw only a few of the
pieces of silverware and jewelry. The Tiffany Glass Company’s beautiful
chapel they pronounced one of the successes of the Fair, and just
opposite they stopped to examine many watches, watch-movements, and the
machines that made them.

Coming to the elevators, they bought tickets and entered, without
particular thought about the trip. The door was closed, and the
elevator began its upward journey. Until it was near the top Harry
didn’t look down. All at once he turned his head and saw the awful
depth, where tiny figures moved noiselessly about. He was not an
over-sensitive boy, but for the minute the sensation was one of
appalled horror. It was not fear—he had no dread that the elevator
would fall; he only felt the terrible height. It was an instinctive
human shrinking before the immensity of space.

He turned away, and did not recover for several minutes. He had no
inclination to joke, and, indeed, for a while he could hardly summon
courage to step upon the board walk that led out upon the roof. Perhaps
Mr. Douglass and Philip had somewhat similar feelings, for all three
sat down upon a bench outside, and did not attempt to walk around the

That one moment of dread did more to make the boys understand what a
monster building they were in, than columns of figures, comparisons,
and statistics could have accomplished. About smaller buildings one
can reason; but this can be comprehended only when one is awed by its


                              CHAPTER X

     _Philip at the Art Galleries_ — _The usual Discouragement_ —
           _Walking Home_ — _The “Santa Maria” under Sail._

[Illustration: IN THE ART GALLERY.]

The next morning Philip decided that whatever the others were going to
do, he had left the Art Galleries alone long enough, and that he would
spend a part of his day wandering among pictures and statues.

He walked from the southern end, where he had entered, along the whole
length of the grounds. When he came to the bridge crossing the waterway
between the North Pond and the Lagoon, he met two ladies evidently at
a loss whether to turn to the right or the left in order to reach the
Art Galleries. Raising his hat, he drew forth the map and showed them
that they could go as well one way as the other; and then he walked
on, himself turning to the right. As he went along a path that led him
around some of the smaller National Buildings, he saw a little grove of
trees surrounding a boulder built of staff. Along the top of this great
rock was a figure, also of staff, representing a lioness with the head
and shoulders of a woman—a sort of sphinx; a Cupid was whispering to
her, and she had an expression half of amusement and half of malice.
There was no legend or inscription attached to the piece of sculpture,
and all were left to make their own interpretation of the allegory.

Considering the wealth of art stored up in the winged temple to which
he was going, Philip did not dare to waste any time in reaching his
goal; but first he drew out his little guide-book, and examining the
plan that showed where the pictures of each nation were grouped, he
decided to begin with the French section—that is, with the east wing.


He mounted the great steps, flanked by lions, and found himself at
once surrounded by pictures on all four walls of a square room whose
curtained doorways led to similar treasures beyond. Like all the world
when in a picture-gallery, he did not see how he could examine the
collection systematically. He was too much interested. Perhaps he
would make up his mind to begin at the right-hand corner, and would
march resolutely in that direction. Upon the way he would catch sight
of a thrilling battle-scene or a lovely face, and would pause, become
fascinated, and lose all recollection of his plan of campaign.


After standing bewildered for a minute or two, Philip turned to look
especially at a large painting showing Christ talking to the woman at
the well, a beautiful and dignified piece of work, emphasizing the
serenity and solemnity of the scene. Philip felt that this picture
had put him in a receptive frame of mind, such as one should have
when listening to a sermon; and not long afterward came a series of
four well-known pictures, “The Prodigal Son,” by Tissot, to preach
the sermon. They represented a modern reading of the parable, showing
the father bidding his son farewell; the son in anything but good
company while absent; the return—a touching picture, showing the old
father leaning to raise the young man kneeling at his feet; and the
merrymaking over the fatted calf.

Although Philip had come primarily for Art alone, it was impossible
for him to ignore the stories the artists had chosen as foundations
for their compositions. In “St. George and the Dragon,” for instance,
who could help making up little bits of the story that had brought the
bold St. George to the mouth of the rocky den where lay that very
stupid and malicious monster with one cruel paw holding a victim at its

Even that brilliant piece of coloring, “The Birth of the Pearl,”
required the story-telling faculty to account for the swift bubbling
plunge of the diver who opens the iridescent shell beneath which the
Pearl Maiden is sleeping. A story nearly as good as the “Sleeping
Beauty” was told in those gem-like colors.


Of more direct interest to the boy was “A Singing Lesson in a Public
School in Paris”; and Philip gladly would have spent much time in
reading the little touches of character that made each boy in the
crowded picture so interesting a figure. But he knew that he must
slight many pictures in order to give any time at all to those which
held him before them by making him forget everything else; so he went
on to the next gallery. He was first delighted by “The Bath of the
Regiment,” a barrack-scene showing the members of a regiment passing
one by one in front of a hose in full play: the spattering water, the
wet floor, the shining skins of the soldiers were wonderfully rendered
considering the difficulty of painting the details from nature.

Another striking picture was the portrait of Pope Leo XIII. Philip
recalled having read that the Pope had never before granted any artist
a sitting; but that M. Chartran, being granted an audience, made a
sketch that so pleased the Pope as to gain for the artist permission
to paint this wonderful picture. The expression of the face was purely
intellectual and refined, and Philip felt sure the picture would
never be regarded as other than a masterpiece. There were two small
portraits by Weerts that were worthy to be ranked with this larger
one. Two others, landscapes, also claimed attention, one a dainty bit
of bright color by Gagliardini—a Moorish scene; and the other, by
Lhermitte, “Harvesters at Rest,” showing peasants in the field. The
only other picture that Philip marked upon his catalogue was a group of
children in an arm-chair, by G. Dubufe, _fils_.


Speaking of Philip’s catalogue, it is well to say that he bought
two. The first was so arranged that after walking through one room
with it he returned, and paid three times as much for the second.
The more expensive catalogue numbered the pictures as they were hung
upon the walls, and he could find each picture at once—a matter worth
considering when he knew he could not see a third of the rooms in each
of which were many masterpieces.

[Illustration: BOY WITH A DOVE. Carving in ivory by Asahi Hatsu.]

Entering another gallery, Philip drew a line of approval against “A
First Proof,” by Mathey—a printer examining the first impression from a
plate; a similar line was awarded to “The Struggle for Life”—a marine
showing a long line of men trying to draw a fishing-boat through the
surf to safety. Others he marked were a soft evening effect by Zuber,
and, in the next gallery, “The Virgin’s Thread,” that lovely painting
by Lucas, where the birds are pulling at the thread while the virgin
is sleeping in her chair beside the wheel. A picture of a boar at
bay, while the hounds snarl, and whine but hesitate to come to close
quarters, and a “Strike” picture, also compelled him to halt and to


But he felt as Ali Baba must have felt in the treasure-cavern—dazzled,
longing to take all he could, but hurried and ill at ease. It is easy
for an arm-chair philosopher to advise patience and coolness; to say,
“Select a little, and see it thoroughly”; but to be a visitor at the
greatest of World’s Fairs is quite another matter, and in the Art
Galleries you can never tell what you are losing.

They issued in Chicago several useful little handbooks to the Fair.
“The Time-Saver,” “The Nutshell Guide,” “Gems of the Fair,” “What to
See and How to Find It,” were some of them, and by reading these one
could be fairly sure of not overlooking many “best” things in the trade
exhibits. But in the Art Galleries such books can be of little use. The
pictures Philip looked at pleased him for various reasons. Some were
by consummate colorists; some told a pleasing tale; some preached a
little sermon; some were amusing, and others played upon deeper chords.
Now, as to these no two boys or men would feel just alike; and you can
no more let another pick out your pictures than you can let a stranger
order your meals.

As Philip was standing in one of the galleries an old man said slyly:

“No awards here.”

“Is that so?” asked Philip in surprise.

“Yes,” said the old man; “the French found the Germans were beating
them, and so they quit!” And the old man disappeared in the crowd,
chuckling to himself, and seeming to take more interest in this bit of
gossip than in the pictures.

Philip went on through two rooms containing pastels and water-colors;
he meant to skip them entirely. It was not that he undervalued these
mediums, but he felt he had to draw the line somewhere (as in the old
story of the man who didn’t invite his parents to his wedding); and the
oil-paintings were more numerous.

But he was compelled to look at three pictures by Boutet-de-Monvel
because they were just what he liked, at one by Maurice Eliot, and at
some hunting-dogs resting by a river, painted by Oliver de Penne. He
made up for this pause by skipping two large collections of miniatures,
etchings, and medals, and began to go around the room known as “Gallery

Here he found two pictures that have caused much controversy—one
showing the Crucifixion as upon Montmartre, Paris, and the other
representing Christ as sitting at table in a modern drawing-room.



Philip didn’t pretend to say whether there was a great moral lesson
conveyed by this strange device; but he felt that the pictures were
as unpleasant as they were powerful; and that of the Crucifixion was
certainly full of intense feeling rendered by the hand of a master.

But it is useless to quote from the catalogue as Philip marked it; for
himself the markings were useful, and helped him to fix his attention
upon certain pictures; but unless all of the pictures are at hand,
comparison and comment can have little value.

As the boy went through the galleries, he felt a strong sense of
gratitude to the hundreds of skilful, keen-sighted men who had studied
nature and mankind until they could show him in an instant’s glance
just how things were and are the whole world around.

[Illustration: A FELLOW-CRITIC.]

From the French exhibit he passed to that of American artists; and
again he found reason to be proud of his young country. Perhaps it was
as well that the French and American exhibits were distinctly labeled,
for there was not such a difference as there might have been. But if
America showed that she had taken lessons abroad, she at least gave her
teachers no reason to be ashamed; and here and there was seen a touch
of true individuality promising a distinction and a difference in the

Julian Story’s painting of “Mlle. de Sombreuil” and Carl Marr’s great
“Flagellants” were two history-lessons which no boy could forget; and
the second of these artists, in another painting where bits of real
sunshine come flickering through a screen of green leaves, showed that
he could paint pictures, even without telling historical incidents.
Philip went close to this picture to see just how that shining
sunshine was done; but he was surprised to find nothing to explain the
brightness of those shining spots except a little dull ocher paint
gradually lightening to white.

After he had seen, in the next room, Douglas Volk’s “Puritan Girl” and
Hovenden’s “Breaking Home Ties,” he became a little depressed; but
was cheered up by Toby Rosenthal’s comedy, “A Dancing-Lesson of our

When he went outside to sit upon the steps for a moment’s rest, he
began to understand Sir Isaac Newton’s simile about picking up a few
shells on the shore; for he saw that he had been several hours in the
Art Building, and had seen hastily only a part of one wing of the great
storehouse. He hurried back, rushed blindly through several rooms, and
tried to take a small piece out of Great Britain’s display. Again he
was caught here and drawn there by the magic brush of one artist after
another, and had to confess that he must raise the siege and hope for
another day. He walked down the steps with a sense of injury and loss,
which remained with him until the outdoor air and the breeze from the
lake had restored his good humor.

original carving in birch-wood (six inches high) by Zorn.]

He concluded to walk home, and made his way to the path that ran along
the lake-shore. Philip found his muscles a little sore, and seeing a
vacant bench, sat down upon it. In a few moments he saw a group of
young men pointing out upon the lake. He looked in the direction they
indicated, and to his amazement made out the “Santa Maria” under full
sail and as independent as any steamer of them all. Philip felt as if
he might be an Indian viewing the first coming of the caravel, and
wished sincerely that he were aboard, so that he might shut his eyes
and imagine he heard that first cry, “Land! Land!”

He was delighted with the chance that had brought him the sight of the
caravel at sea, and wondered what nabob of the Fair was cruising about
as if he were Christopher Columbus himself.

Resuming his walk, he went through one or two of the buildings in order
to get out of the sun (which beat down quite fiercely, considering how
late in the year it was). In the Liberal Arts Building it seemed that
only frail pieces of plate-glass protected the rich treasures of gold
and silver arranged in the jewelers’ show-windows, and Harry wondered
whether a modern Dick Turpin, or Blackbeard the Pirate, could not, by
dash and nerve, succeed in carrying away enough plunder to support
him forever after in some reputable line of business. The pirate, he
thought, would have the better chance; for he might rush to the shore,
where his trusty crew were awaiting him in the long-boat, be rowed to
his stealthy black vessel, hoist sail, and away with all that Tiffany
and the Gorham Company had left out of their safes!

Then what a scurrying to and fro! Sailors and soldiers, losing their
presence of mind, would dash up to the conning-tower of the battle-ship
“Illinois” and press the dummy electric buttons, wondering why the
engineer didn’t get up all steam and put on full speed at once. Others
would leap into the “Viking” and start to row with the long sweeps,
forgetting that there were only shields aboard.

Philip was amused at this odd fancy, and resolved to ask Harry to make
a sketch of the pursuit. Meanwhile he made his way home, keeping in the
porticos where it was shady, and avoiding the clayey mud left by the
previous day’s rain.

“I’d rather,” he told Harry that night, “miss some of the regular
exhibits, if I’ve got to take the Fair in samples; when it comes to
missing pictures, you never know what you’ve lost.”

The next morning Mr. Douglass, who was reading the “Chicago Tribune,”
burst out laughing. “Philip,” said he, “here is part of an account of
the cruise of the ‘Santa Maria’—the cruise upon which you saw her.”
And, interrupted by the boys’ occasional chuckles, he read aloud as

  The old caravel stood out on the waves, queer-looking as compared
  with modern craft, but full of grace and beauty. When the big square
  sail was first spread, it took the wind nicely, rounded the pier, and
  sailed off to the northwest in splendid style.

  But when the passengers wanted to turn the caravel there was trouble.
  Had they continued in a straight line to Michigan all would have been
  well, but they knew not how to sail the “Santa Maria.” The craft
  wobbled. The choppy waves tossed it. Though it had braved storms on
  the Atlantic, it trembled, and its sails became disorganized by the
  turbulence of the white-topped waves of Lake Michigan.

  “It will not sail close to the wind,” said a passenger who claimed to
  have been out on the lake before.

  “Better slow her up,” suggested passenger Millet; “we’re headed for
  the Forty-third street reef.”

  “Who ever heard of a reef on a street?” petulantly returned
  Sailing-master Hunt.

  On flew the caravel until the cheeks of the passengers turned pale,
  and they pleaded with the captain to turn it about. Its huge hulk was
  finally swerved just as it scraped the reef. Away it shot again out
  northwest, more unruly than before.

  An hour or so went by. The “Santa Maria” still sped on toward the
  Michigan fruit-fields. The passengers became hungry. They wanted to
  go home. A turn about of the caravel was finally made. It shot away
  toward the Van Buren street pier.

  “Land her!” “Land her!” “Ground her!” cried the passengers.

  With care the caravel was brought up near enough to the pier to let
  off the passengers, and the craft was anchored for the night.

  Then Mr. Armour said to Millet: “No wonder Columbus discovered

  “Why?” inquired the latter.

  “Because a man could discover anything in such a craft as the ‘Santa
  Maria.’ There’s no telling what direction it would carry him. The
  discovery of America was a ‘scratch.’”


[2] With regard to the little bust of his grandmother, carved in
birch-wood, Mr. Zorn says: “I have painted my grandmother a great many
times, and the pictures have always been sold, so I made this little
carving as something to keep. From beginning to end it was carved from
nature and with carvers’ tools. My grandmother,” he adds, “is very
picturesque”; but this we do not need to be told, nor that there were
probably other reasons why her grandson wished to have a portrait of
her; nor again, that this bust probably is a portrait in the fullest,
exactest sense of the word. It is a delightful thing in subject as
in execution. Every detail of the sweet, strong old peasant face is
lovingly rendered, and yet one thinks most not of details or even of
features, but of the soul behind them.—_“The Century” for August, 1893._

                             CHAPTER XI

         _Going after Letters_ — _The Agricultural Building_ —
    _Machinery Hall_ — _Lunch at the Hotel_ — _Harry’s Proposal_ —
                     _Buffalo Bill’s Great Show._


On Saturday, Philip had heard that for five dollars he could secure
permission to use his kodak for a week, and by going to the office of
the official photographer on that day and paying the necessary amount,
he was able to dismiss from his mind any anxiety about carrying his
camera. So on Monday the two boys and Mr. Douglass entered the grounds,
fully equipped with note-book, sketch-book, and camera.

Hitherto Philip had been asked but once to exhibit the license, but
this time he was challenged by one of the ticket-takers, who shouted
to another, “Hi, Jack, here’s a kodak!” But, as it turned out, neither
ticket-taker cared to examine the card, and Philip merely waved it,
saying, “It’s all right.”

The day was too rainy to risk taking snap-shots, and Philip carried the
camera during the forenoon only, and was glad to leave it behind at the
hotel when he returned to lunch.

They had down on the list for this day a trip to Chicago; but had asked
to have the date of their tickets for the coach changed when they
saw the sky was gloomy and overcast. Instead of going into the city,
therefore, they resolved to give their morning to the Agricultural and
the Machinery Buildings. They walked first to the Manufactures Building
to get letters, and took a launch back again. While waiting for the
boat they had some conversation with the man at the landing, and were
surprised to learn that each of the launches cost more than three
thousand dollars—the high price being paid mainly for the machinery.


Landing at the Agricultural Building, they were glad to escape the
rain—a thunderstorm—by entering at the main door. The exhibits seemed
to be arranged according to nationalities, the first one they came
upon being that of Porto Rico; and the boys were really surprised,
upon exploring their minds, to find out how little they knew about
Porto Rico. Mr. Douglass knew a little more: he told them it was an
island—one of the Greater Antilles—and belonged to Spain; but there he
came to a sudden stop, and directed the boys’ attention to a miniature
fort in which bottles of wine served as guns. Having to that extent
improved their knowledge of Porto Rico, they moved on a few steps, and
seemed to have walked into a cigar-box. The odor was explained when
they saw before them Cuba’s display, which was not unlike that of a
prosperous tobacconist. British Guiana did not repel them, though a
woman cried out, “Oh, alligators and snakes!” as she turned hastily
away. She was followed by two more of the less timid sort, one of whom
said resolutely, “Come in. I want to see this alligator. I never saw
one in my life”; to which her companion replied, “Well, gaze on him;
there he is!”

“You might think, boys,” said Mr. Douglass, as the boys smiled at this
dialogue, “that such people got no good from coming to the Fair. But
I think such a conclusion would be a mistake. The foolish chatter we
hear has little to do with what people are really thinking. They cannot
help picking up clearer ideas of the world and its inhabitants as they
go through these buildings. Where one sees fruits and grains, it means
that this or the other country has orchards and farms. We thus get rid
of many a foolish mental picture. We cease to imagine that all the
Chinese are continually flying kites and smoking opium, or that all
Spaniards are eternally strumming guitars in the sunshine. You may not
think you have such foolish ideas, but you will probably find yourself
entertaining notions quite as absurd. I only say this because we hear
so much trivial chatter that you might be misled by it.”

“Well, Mr. Douglass,” Harry answered, “I have seen plenty of men, and
women too, who are taking the Fair almost too seriously. And even the
most foolish must find a great deal that makes him think. I know I
do. Now, for instance, look at that figure”; and Harry pointed to the
model of a negro workman that made part of the exhibit labeled “British

“I saw him,” said Mr. Douglass, “and I noticed how his leather sandals
have absurd twirls and coils of leather thongs about them. The rest of
his dress is very ordinary.”

“Those are just what I mean,” said Harry. “I said to myself, at first
glance, that those twisted rolls of leather were silly ornaments, and
showed that the man was a savage in civilized clothes. Then I wondered
whether they hadn’t some use, and—”


“I see,” said Mr. Douglass, interrupting.

“Well, I don’t,” Philip declared.

“Suppose he should break a sandal-string,” said Harry, eagerly; “don’t
you understand that he could just untwist one of those coils, just as a
violin-player unwinds a little more of his E string?”

“Yes, of course,” Philip said; “and that is the most convenient way for
him to carry the strings.”

“I have little doubt that the coils came from that necessity for
mending,” Mr. Douglass remarked; “but probably the dandies exaggerated
the coils. This idea of yours, Harry, reminds me of an article by
Remington, the artist. It was written to show that good sense dictated
the whole costume of the Western cowboy. I kept it, and will show it
to you.”


Liberia displayed various native products, and fine works in metal and
straw and leather, but the party did not see anything to warrant a long
stay; Mexico had so arranged her exhibits that they reminded one of
a grocery kept by a neat but eccentric grocer; but wherever the flag
of Japan was displayed, the boys never grudged time for examination.
That artistic little nation can always teach a lesson to natives of
the young Occident. Even in their display of food-stuffs, the boys
found the pickle-jars, saké-kegs, and some boxes worth looking at. In
fact, Harry was so pleased with these artistic groceries that his
sketch-book came out at once. The pickle-jar was covered with white
paper draped in graceful lines and tied down with a twisted purple cord
and tassels! The saké-keg and the box also showed the same wish to
please the eye and satisfy the needs of each article; and as for some
larger jars, they were dressed as richly as a ball-room belle. They
left the domains of the white flag and red disk with some instruction
in the art of “framing” groceries.


Whenever the party first entered one of the exhibition buildings,
they examined the earlier booths somewhat carefully; but a sense of
losing time soon made them hurry on. So it was then. They walked on by
many a fine arrangement of food-products—notably those of the Western
grain-producing States. They admired the taste and skill that had
utilized glass tubes full of grains as columns, and corn on the cob
as a building material. Mr. Douglass said that much foolish criticism
had been evoked by these booths, but that a sight of the structures
themselves called for approval rather than fault-finding. They
particularly admired the displays of Wisconsin, Nebraska, Iowa, and
Ohio, in which both the general effect and the bits of color decoration
showed good taste and much constructive skill.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Harry, “to come upon a Greek temple
built exclusively of old shoes.”

Here they were stopped by a bit of fun. A bright-faced young woman
was throwing little tin forks out among the crowd; these tin forks
advertised a brand of sardines, and were made in the shape of a little
fish, the tail reaching to the tines of the fork. Picking up the forks,
the boys naturally went to see the exhibit, and were invited to take a
sardine, free, from an open box. They declined, but others were not
so lucky. One old man eagerly plunged his fork into the box only to
discover that the fish were painted tin. He fled into the crowd while
the bystanders laughed at him. This device certainly attracted plenty
of attention, but whether it was wise was doubtful.


They finished the aisle they were in, and crossed to another, which
they walked down, having gone up the first.

In the Greek exhibit they saw some tobacco labeled as from Thermopylæ,
which at the moment seemed incongruous; but reflection showed that
Thermopylæ must be something beside a battle-field. Louisiana had
built herself an Egyptian temple of sugar-cane, and again Harry made
a sketch, for he found the effect very pleasing. Passing a number of
other booths, they at last came to the agricultural implements, and
found that there was more to know than shovel, spade, and hoe, or even
plow and harrow. They frankly confessed ignorance of the mechanism and
purpose of most of the nickel-plated apparatus, and concluded that in
their present state of ignorance time spent here would be wasted. They
did smile, however, at seeing a harvesting-machine labeled: “The judges
ordered this harvester to be tried in a field of standing grain. It is
a little disfigured, but still in the ring.”

A sign revealing the location of the “Sandwich Manufacturing Co.”
somehow reminded them that they must see something of Machinery Hall
before lunch, and they started toward that building, passing on their
way a “prairie-breaking plow”—a rude but enormous implement that had
been used with a team of six or eight oxen in first turning up the new
Western soil.

As they were coming out, they paused, even in the rain, to admire
the fine proportions of the Agricultural Building; its dignified
portico, the fine groups and single statues that adorned its principal
features,—such as Martiny’s “Abundance,” for example, and the signs
of the zodiac, and the great corridors that unite Agricultural and
Machinery Halls.


Upon entering Machinery Hall, and finding that they could not give
anything like adequate time to it, they went at once to the gallery
and waited for the traveling-crane. There are three of these, each
originally used for putting in place the heavy exhibits; they run upon
great girders supported from the floor upon uprights similar to those
upholding an elevated railroad. Moved by electricity, they traverse
the whole length of the building and then return, carrying passengers
twenty or thirty feet above the crowded floors and at an excellent
height to permit of overlooking the show.

They had to wait a little while, but soon the great floating beam of
iron came against the edge of the gallery, almost as lightly as a bit
of thistle-down, and they entered at one end and sat down upon chairs
ranged along the front edge. The crane carried them to the other end
and back again for ten cents, and without effort they had at least a
glance at all the exhibits in that part of the Hall—thus obtaining, no
doubt, a better idea of what there was in the building than could have
been secured in a long walk below.

In order to show how bewildering were the displays, here is a list
that Philip made while Waiting for the crane to move. It shows only
what he could easily make out from the extreme end of the hall. There
were machines relating to hot baths, candy, lubrication, ice-cream,
smokeless furnaces, rock-drills, galvanizing, window-washing, and


They found the ride cooling and breezy, and saw enough to greatly
interest them on all parts of the floor. The enormous printing-presses
were especially “impressive,” as Harry put it, and one press was
printing colored illustrations of the World’s Fair buildings. Besides,
they noticed many looms, sewing-machines, a spool-cotton exhibit,
dyeing works, glove-making- and washing-machines—each something novel
or interesting. They attempted to see all they could, and keep eyes and
brains active; but Harry said it reminded him of the small darkey who
“slipped back two steps for every one he took forward”; for they missed
two exhibits by pausing to examine any one. They had meant to take a
ride upon the other crane; but when they saw there were three, they
agreed, as usual, to be content with a half-seen show, and departed
from the grounds, going back to their hotel for lunch.

The dining-room, so crowded at breakfast- and dinner-time, was almost
deserted at noon; and they found they could talk over their plans with
perfect freedom.

Mr. Douglass and Philip made several proposals: the Art Galleries;
another visit to Machinery Hall; more State buildings; the
Anthropological Building—an inexhaustible resource. But Harry shook his
head at each suggestion, until at last Philip said:

“It’s plain that you have a plan of your own, and I’ve a good mind to
veto it anyway. What is it?”


“I have wasted my time very patiently with you this morning,” Harry
said gravely, “because I suppose we ought to ‘do’ the Fair. But I
remember that the English poet said, ‘The correct thing for man to
study is man.’ See? Now, we have been looking at staff and iron and
steel and corn and wheat and bottles and strings and other precious
metals all these hours. I have gone through it, though the buzzing and
rattling and thumping and worrying were decidedly unpleasant. Now I
want to study man. There is near this hotel, I have learned by careful
study of bill-posters’ literature, a gentleman who was a member of the
legislature, etc., etc.,—but who is known among us boys by the name of
Bison William.”

“I have heard of him,” said Mr. Douglass, with a grave face.

“Who has not?” said Harry, enthusiastically.

“He is now conducting an educational exhibit near here, where one may
see various nations at their sports and pastimes. And, gentlemen of
the jury, what I say is: Let the machinery whirl, and let us devote
ourselves to the Wild West Show. What do you say?”

“I’d like to go,” said Philip; “but I wish it was a better day for
taking pictures.”

“I’m willing,” said Mr. Douglass. “I saw the show some years ago in New
York, and it was well worth seeing. I am not sure that a whole day of
systematic sight-seeing at the Fair is not a little too much when one
is busy at it for a week or two at a time. Where is it?”

[Illustration: MACHINERY HALL.]

[Illustration: A SUGGESTION OF THE “WILD WEST.” Remington’s Famous
Picture, “A Bucking Bronco.”]

“Just around the corner,” Harry answered. “And Phinney says it is twice
as good as it used to be.”

A short walk from the hotel brought them to the grounds, a great square
open space around which were seats like those upon base-ball grounds.
They bought tickets for the grand stand, and gazed expectant upon a sea
of mud. The sign said “Rain or Shine,” and rain it was: no drizzle, but
a pelting downpour that roared upon the roofs overhead. Boys walked to
and fro, one crying, “Sour crystallized lemonade-drops—souvenir in
every package,” and the other, “Peanuts!—are five cents!”

[Illustration: AN ABORIGINAL.]

The rain plashed in the puddles upon the arena, and the boys were
not sorry; it was a new sensation to see a performance in the rain.
A band played loud enough to be heard nearly to the Rocky Mountains,
a man in a very broad-brimmed felt hat mounted a rostrum imitating a
boulder, put on a rubber coat, and, when the band was hushed, began a
speech at the top of his lungs,—so loud that he hadn’t breath for more
than a word or two at a time. He said, “Ladies—and—gentlemen:—From
time—to—time, I shall—announce—the nature—of the—display,” and so on.
One seldom hears so forcible an oration.

He announced one by one the bands of Indians, their chiefs, the white
men, their captains or leaders, and each of the items upon the program.
But his shouts can be omitted with the assurance that he did his level
best. One example will be enough.

“The Arapahoes!”

A gate is unbarred, yells break through, and helter-skelter come a
troop of almost naked savages painted and bedecked, riding their
ponies at a run. They draw up before the grand stand.

“Their chief!”

A single Indian comes flying across the field lashing his running pony,
and draws up before his band.

Then, in order, come other tribes until a motley, bright-colored
rank of mounted warriors are ranged all along the front of the
field. Then French cavalry ride in with similar heralding, except
that the color-bearer is announced separately and the band plays the
Marseillaise. German lancers follow to the tune of “Die Wacht am
Rhine,” and after them, Mexicans, American cowboys, British Lancers,
and Cossacks perched on high saddles. The Indians are holding their
shields above their heads to protect themselves from the rain. Now
Arabs come, and two women riders; an old guide, gray-bearded and
dressed in fringed buckskins; United States cavalrymen, riding upon
gray horses; and at last, cheered even more than the Stars and Stripes,
there gallops to the head of that great array an honorable gentleman,
of whom Harry remarks: “That is Biffalo Bull himself—and a fine-looking
man he is!”

At a signal from the scout the whole cavalcade springs into life
and rapid motion. The plain is dotted with horsemen dressed in gay
uniforms; and just then the sun breaks out to brighten the scene,
and a rainbow is seen above the right-hand portion of the grounds as
the riders follow one another out. It was certainly a brilliant and
cheerful pageant.

A well-known markswoman runs over the liquid mud, making swimming
motions with her arms, and taking up a gun breaks clay pigeons and
glass balls as fast as they can be supplied by the attendants. Fancy
shooting follows, and, making a miss, the woman walks around the table
where the guns are resting. This whimsical performance makes the people


Several usual features follow. A race between riders of different
nations; the “pony express,” an exhibition of rapid shifting from one
horse to another; an emigrant-train attacked by Indians, but saved
by the blank cartridges of the Hon. Mr. Cody and his rough-riding
friends; and then come Syrians and Arabians in wonderful feats of
balancing, juggling, and pyramid-grouping. In this last act one of the
men supported nine others in the air—a weight of perhaps twelve hundred

“And yet,” Harry remarked, “some men find it hard to support a small

Always interesting, the thick mud made the show funny as well. It was
hard for men and horses to secure a foothold: Syrian acrobats stopped
to wash their muddy hands in almost equally muddy water; some of the
fierce horses were compelled to drop almost into a walk instead of
running madly across the arena; when a marksman wished to lie down in
order to shoot from that position, it required careful search to find
firm ground for his blanket; the men who built themselves into pyramids
bedaubed one another until their dresses were mud-color instead of
crimson; and all through the long, delightful program the sticky mud
took a prominent part in amusing the spectators.

When “Old John Nelson” rode up near where the boys sat, and delivered
the mail from the old original Deadwood coach, he hurled it off with
the regulation speech, “Here’s the Deadwood mail,” and then added,
winking to Harry, “A little damp, too; but never mind!” The same genial
old guide, who was lying lazily across the coach roof, raised himself
coolly as the scouts cried, “Indians! Indians!” and again grinning at
the boys, remarked in a low tone, “Going to be Indians, eh? Then I’ll
get up!”

[Illustration: A COW-BOY.]

This by-play delighted the boys; but best of all was “Custer’s Last

First came the Indians, and encamped far away across the plain. A
scout followed; discovered them with plenty of gestures to let the
audience into the secret; reconnoitered them over the imitation rock;
rode off to tell “Custer” and his staff—mainly buglers—of the great
find; brought back the general, who gazed meaningly at the red villains
through a warlike night-glass, and then all the white men retired for

Coming back, the cavalrymen charged fiercely on the Indians, fired off
several dollars’ worth of gunpowder, and disappeared behind a curtain.
Mournful music indicated the terrible fate of the cavalrymen.

During the whole afternoon the boys sat beside a boy from Chicago who
told them many particulars about the show and the riders. He said he
had seen the performance four or five times, but seemed nevertheless to
enjoy it. Harry learned that the young Chicagoan sometimes came to New
York city, and gave the boy his address, inviting him to call.

It began to rain again as they went home, but it was only a short
distance to the hotel, and they went straight to that goal in spite of
a most pressing invitation to “Take supper here now for twenty-five
cents, and go home by the light of the moon!”

Harry was rather silent on the way home, but showed the course of his
thoughts by remarking: “I think perhaps I will give up being anything
too civilized; I’m going to ask my father to buy me a ranch far out

“I wonder,” said Mr. Douglass, “whether the young Indians who come to
the Fair with the Indian schools ever go to see the Wild West Show?”

[Illustration: A CHICAGO STREET.]

[Illustration: FORT DEARBORN. (CHICAGO, 1804–1816.)]

                             CHAPTER XII

     _The Tally-ho_ — _How it dashed along_ — _The Parks along the
     Lake_ — _Chicago_ — _The Auditorium and other Sky-dwellers_ —
                           _The Whaleback._


On Tuesday morning the party hurried through their breakfast in order
to catch the tally-ho which was to pause in its mad career to pick
up passengers from their hotel. Although it was a cloudy morning,
threatening rain, they did not like to postpone this trip again.
Consequently ten o’clock, the hour set, beheld them “all agog to dash
through thick and thin” like John Gilpin.

Presently something drew up at the door. It was not what would be
called by the critical a tally-ho. It was not even a coach. It was
on wheels, it had seats here and there, and four animals dragged it.
Baron Munchausen once had his horse cut close off by the fall of a
portcullis. If the same accident had befallen a tally-ho, and it had
been then spliced to the end of a park wagon, the resulting vehicle
would have been not unlike the wagon which presented itself at the door.

“Is this it?” asked Mr. Douglass, dubiously presenting his ticket.

“This,” said the man (he was hardly yet a voter), “is it. Yes, sir. The
tally-ho, sir.”

“Well,” remarked Mr. Douglass, turning to the boys, “what do you say?”

“We’d better go,” said Harry. “It’s all arranged; and the wagon looks
comfortable anyway. Don’t you say so, Phil?”

“Yes,” said Philip. “It’s no tally-ho, but I don’t know as that makes
any great difference. It has wheels, and—horses,” after a pause.

Having taken outside seats, they climbed up on the wheel-hub and two
steps, and were soon perched some ten feet above the ground ready to
start. Just as they settled themselves in their places, a policeman
came to the curb and spoke warningly to the driver, who said, “I can’t
help it,” and gathered up the reins.


Mr. Douglass, who was not used to fast riding, made up his mind that
their lofty seat might be a risky place to sit, and was gratified to
find a stout rail at the back of the seat, which afforded an excellent
place to hold on. Harry, too, concluded that they would soon be tearing
at breakneck speed through the crowded streets of the city, and began
to think he had been unjust to the “tally-ho.”

“We’re off!” said Philip, as the horses heaved at the traces and the
wagon changed its place leisurely: At a slow walk they drew the wagon
around the corner and stopped at another hotel. A man who seemed to be
in charge alighted and entered the door. That was the last seen of him
for a considerable period. Queries to the driver were smiled away. They
waited and waited. Nothing happened. After their patience was gone, the
missing man came back, and the coach floated on.


“Now we’re started!” said Mr. Douglass, with an expression of relief.
But the coach rounded a corner in a leisurely manner, and drew up at
another hotel. Again the man disappeared, and the waiting was repeated.

“This is not a tally-ho,” said Harry, “it is a tarry-whoa”; and so
it proved. Even after the man was again at hand, the old coach went
no faster than the slowest of jog-trots. And at the same dolorous
gait they loitered along on Woodlawn Avenue, a straight street
beautifully paved, and fit to be a blessing to bicyclers. They were
as long in passing a given point as was possible. Every vehicle went
by them except children’s carriages with nurses; wagons of heavy
iron-castings, dirt-carts, streetcars—until one man remarked jocosely
that he was afraid a funeral might come up behind and run over them.

Then Harry remembered the policeman who spoke to the driver just as
they were starting, and a light dawned upon that mystery.

“You remember that ‘cop’ who talked to our driver?” he asked Philip.

“Yes,” said Philip; “I thought he was warning him against reckless

“So did I,” said Harry, laughing. “But I’m sure now that he was saying
a word for the poor horses. Why, those Fifth Avenue stage-horses they
make such fun of in New York are Arabian coursers compared to these!
See them creep!”


They passed some gray stone buildings on the way to the business part
of the city, and the driver said they were the Chicago University—a
statement they accepted at the time, but doubted when they became
better acquainted with the driver’s acquirements as a guide. Another
great establishment they saw was an old field crowded with tents and
labeled “Camp Jackson.” A sign upon its rainbow-tinted fence informed
the public that board in that field and under those tents was two
dollars a week and thirty-five cents a day.

“It’s a comfort,” said Harry, “to reflect that all these places, rough
as they are, mean to offer Fair accommodations.”

At another time this weak pun would not have been noticed, but upon
that weary, slow ride anything was a relief: when the horses stopped
to drink, it was an event; when a new passenger got on (one did), the
excitement was intense. But nothing hastened the wagon. It meant to
get to Chicago if it took all day; and after awhile they did begin
to see buildings more closely set, and then they entered a beautiful
park. The driver said it was Washington Park, and on consulting a map
afterward, the boys made up their minds that he had guessed right—there
were some things the driver knew.

The park was flat as a board, as is all the country for miles around;
but as the ground was mainly given up to beautiful green lawns
extending as far as one could see, the effect was excellent, and marred
only by some very florid designs laid out in colored plants. One of
these designs formed a sun-dial, called “Sol’s Clock”; another showed a
few bars of “Hail Columbia.”

photographic prints. By permission of C. Ropp & Sons, Chicago.)]

Even Mr. Douglass had now given up his visions of dashing along to the
sound of a “yard of brass,” and so far from being at all nervous, would
not have been afraid to stand upright in any part of the coach. He kept
thinking of a parody upon Shakspere’s description of the school-boy:
“A tarry-whoa, creeping like snail, unwillingly to Chicago.” By this
time they were in Michigan Avenue,—a thoroughfare with beautiful grass
plots along the street, but houses that did not please an architect who
was also on top of the coach. He declared all but a few of the houses
to be fussy and tiresome; and the boys noticed that those he commended
were plain and simple in their outlines, and little decorated.

At Twenty-second Street, they saw the Chicago street-cars, and found
that they ran in trains of three coupled together, an arrangement of
which they heartily approved. As they passed a baker’s cart, a small
boy leaned out and whipped the horses of their coach; whereupon several
of the passengers thanked him warmly, even though his efforts produced,
no result. Still, in time they did reach the city, and recognized the
lofty Auditorium, an enormous pile of stone, so many stories high that
the boys lost count in attempting to reckon them. Soon after they
admired the Art Institute, “a broad and low building of impressive
design.” They also saw the foundations being laid for another great
building, and remembered having read in _St. Nicholas_ that these heavy
structures could be supported only upon artificial foundations, such
as long piles driven deep into the soft ground. The Masonic Temple was
also seen as they passed through the busy part of the city.

There was a smoky smell in the air, and their first impression was of
being down-town in Broadway, New York, when a great fire was raging,
filling the air with smoke. Possibly the smoke was worse than usual,
for rain was falling at intervals and the air was heavy.


None of them talked much, for the slow drive was anything but
enlivening. They went along Lake Street for some time, and then
wandered on until they drew up at the Waterworks. Here, despite the
protests of the passengers, there was a halt of five minutes, and
some got out and went in to see the machinery. When all were on board
again, the scenery slowly changed, and they found out that they were in
motion once more. But as they had reached the Lake Drive,—a beautiful
boulevard, and one of the system of drives that encircles the city,
connecting Chicago’s great parks into a ring of pleasure-grounds,—the
slow driving was not so irritating. They saw Mr. Potter Palmer’s
castellated mansion fronting the lake, and passing other fine
dwellings, reached Lincoln Park.

Against the sky, in silhouette, appeared the statue of General Grant,
an impressive feature of the park, and they were sorry that their route
did not bring them within view of the even finer Lincoln statue, of
which they had seen many pictures. Looking forward along the drive,
they saw a dark point of land along the horizon beyond the lake,
and were told by the rather taciturn driver that it was the city of
Milwaukee, which information surprised them quite as much as if he had
said it was Bagdad. “Traveling certainly makes one modest,” said Mr.
Douglass, who doubted the driver’s statement. “I had no thought of
seeing Milwaukee upon this drive.”

(From a photograph by J. W. Taylor.)]

[Illustration: THE ART INSTITUTE. MICHIGAN AVENUE. (From a photographic
print. By permission of C. Ropp & Sons, Chicago.)]

photograph by J. W. Taylor.)]

photographic print. By permission of C. Ropp & Sons, Chicago.)]

Another statue of a man in an old-style curled wig was seen, and
the driver told them it was Linn. Even the tutor had never heard of
Linn, and all remained puzzled until a turn in the road showed the
inscription “Linné,” whereupon they recognized Linnæus. Though they
hated to lose the invaluable information the driver was giving them in
homeopathic doses, they were glad when the coach worked its way to the
front of a park restaurant, and announcement was made that there would
be a halt of an hour or more for lunch.

[Illustration: THE LAKE-SHORE DRIVE.]

“Mr. Douglass,” said Philip, “I don’t know how you feel, but my feet
are as cold as ice, and I’d rather get off and walk.”

“Oh, let’s walk!” Harry chimed in. “I’d rather ride in a canal-boat
than to stay in this old coach any more.”

“So would I,” said Mr. Douglass. “I consider this ride a regular
swindle. See here!” he went on, turning to the driver’s accomplice,—a
young man who rode inside,—“what is the matter with this conveyance?
We’ve crept all the way out. Are you going any faster?”

“No, sir,” answered the young man, turning State’s evidence and
revealing the whole secret; “the fact is, those horses—look at ’em!—are
all played out. They’ve been going over this road for months, and
they’re played out.”

“We have had enough of it,” said the tutor, a little sharply, “and
we’ll walk.”

“I don’t blame you,” the young man answered, as if he would have liked
to join them.


Leaving the park, they inquired how to get back into the business
center of the city, and were told to take the cable-cars. These proved
to differ in some ways from New York cars, and one feature seemed
worthy to be copied. At the ends of each car the side seats ceased,
leaving a clear floor all across the car near the door, so that those
who were compelled to stand should not obstruct the middle aisle at the

“That’s a good idea,” Philip remarked, as he pointed out the
arrangement to Harry; “for I’ve often noticed how people are sure to
stand right in the doorway, blocking up the passage.”

When they were near the end of their trip, the cars ran underground
through a whitewashed tunnel, and the boys made up their minds that
they were either running under the river or under the railway-tracks.

“It’s about time for lunch,” said Mr. Douglass, looking at his watch;
and turning to a young man beside him, he asked where there was a good
lunch-room. The young man recommended one, and they felt grateful to
him afterward. It was a large establishment, containing several kinds
of lunch-rooms. They went into the “business man’s lunch-room,” and had
an excellently cooked meal at a fair price.


Until it was time to take the steamer, they wandered about the city
looking at the more notable buildings and enjoying the sensation of
being in a strange place. The great wholesale stores were like those
in parts of New York, but New York had nothing just like some of the
lofty buildings of more than twenty stories. Harry said that if there
were two or three streets like Broadway and running across one another,
or if Broadway were cut off in sections and laid criss-cross, the
result would resemble Chicago. They saw the Auditorium again, and the
Chamber of Commerce building, as well as some others; but the rain was
unpropitious to sight-seeing, and they soon determined to make their
way toward the “Whaleback” steamer. Of course they went wrong at first,
for Chicago is a puzzling place to strangers, and Harry had to ask a
big policeman for directions. He was hardly old enough yet to have lost
his awe of “cops,” and felt relieved when the officer showed himself
courteous and obliging. From what he had read of Chicago distances,
Harry would not have been surprised to have been told he must “go
fifteen miles south, then take a cable-car four miles west”; but their
destination proved to be not so very far away.


Another cable-car rattled them down to Van Buren Street, and they found
themselves, after a short walk, upon the dock awaiting the iron vessel
so aptly named “Whaleback.”

The boys were struck with her likeness, as she came close along the
dock, to some of the dug-out canoes they had seen at the great Fair.
They learned, however, from their friend the architect (whom they met
again on the pier) that the boat was seaworthy, carried a large cargo,
and was very fast, going even twenty-two miles an hour.

Going aboard, they found her divided into three decks, and very finely
fitted up. The second deck, which was even with the top of the hull,
had walks along the curved sides of the vessel; for these “tumbled
home” so as to be almost level.

In the cabin, Harry found a phonograph which was advertised to sing
his favorite “The Cat Came Back”; and he persuaded Mr. Douglass to
try it. The tutor’s face, as the song began, lost its usual quiet
expression, and soon he grinned quite as broadly as the small boy Harry
had sketched at the Fair. Then the boys paid another five cents, and
listened to a lively song called, “Drill, ye tarriers, drill” —wherein
were introduced sounds of blasting, the singing, the orders of the
boss, and all the features of work upon a railway excavation.

But they wasted only a few minutes in the cabin, for the view of
Chicago, as the boat steamed out, was well worth seeing. A few rays
of sunshine struggled luridly through the heavy pall of dusky smoke
that drifted over the city. Here and there great buildings or towers
rose above the rest, but the whole effect was soft and hazy. It was a
picture of the city that was sure to remain long connected in their
minds with the name Chicago.


The trip was not a long one, but Harry found time to pick up
acquaintance with a young man from Indiana, and the two were soon
pronouncing words for each other’s amusement. He found Harry’s
slighting of the letter R very droll, and told the New York boy that
his mother had an aunt who was “a regular Yankee,” and said, “Why, I
could listen to her talking all day; it does sound so queer!” Harry
found the Indianian’s accent quite as strange, and said it reminded him
of peculiarities he had noticed in the speech of Virginians.

As they approached the long pier that extended out from the Fair
Grounds, Philip began to be uneasy.

“What’s the row, Phil?” Harry asked, noticing that his friend was
frowning rather fiercely; “are you sorry to get back?”

“The matter is this camera. I’ve got to take it through the grounds,”
Philip replied.

“I thought you had a permit for a week,” said Harry.

“So I have,” replied Philip ruefully; “but it is at the hotel. I took
the camera along this morning, hoping that the weather would clear up
so I could take something in the city; and I’ve been lugging it about
all day without getting anything to speak of. Now here I am with no way
to get to the hotel except by going through the Fair, and I haven’t got
a permit.”

“Whew!” Harry whistled. “Two dollars out!”

But when Mr. Douglass came up, he was inclined to think there would be
no trouble about the camera.

“I’ll tell you what I should do,” he said. “Just walk along boldly, and
if any one stops you, tell them the circumstances and then face the


Just as Philip was going through the gate, one of the ticket-takers
said, “Say, is that a kodak?”

“Yes,” said Philip, “it is.”

“Have you a permit for it?”

“Yes,” said Philip, “but it’s at my hotel. It’s good for a week, but
I didn’t bring it to-day”; and he went on to explain just how matters
stood, offering to do whatever was right. “But,” he said, “I’ll tell
you one thing—I don’t want to pay two dollars just to carry this camera
through the grounds on a cloudy day at five o’clock.”


“I should think not!” said the man, laughing good-humoredly. “I’ll find
the inspector and see what he says”; and he walked out along the dock.
In a few moments he came back saying, “It’s all right; take it in. The
inspector says he couldn’t let you if it wasn’t after four o’clock. You
won’t try for any pictures?”

“No,” said Philip, much relieved; and away he went, feeling that
honesty was the best policy.

Walking through the Court of Honor just at dusk, they were again
delighted with the appearance of the buildings in the soft evening
light. The Peristyle was especially artistic, for they saw through the
columns the heavy, curling black smoke of the “Whaleback,” as she set
out on her return trip to the city. The gilt decorations upon graceful
Machinery Hall shone brightly, and they had to stop and gaze around
them with renewed delight.


“Perhaps it is just as well that these buildings are not to be
permanent,” Mr. Douglass remarked, as they walked on. “We like them all
the better for knowing that they are, after all, mere bubbles of staff,
blown to delight the eyes for a little while. The architect whom we
met on the coach said to me, ‘Somebody hit the nail on the head when
he called these Fair buildings an architectural spree—it has been a
bit of fun for the architects to show in plaster what they could do in
marble; but why can’t some of our cities make a similar smaller show
in marble—say an ornamental building like this Peristyle, around a

When they asked for the keys of their rooms, Mr. Douglass received also
a letter. “Ah!” he said, “here’s the letter from your father, Harry.
Come up into my room and we will read it.” The letter was as follows:

                                                September 21, 1893.

  DEAR MR. DOUGLASS: When I telegraphed this morning, I was afraid
  you would think it strange unless I promised a letter. But now I sit
  down to write, I feel there is little to add to my despatch. I know
  Mr. Farwell will arrange business details, and that you will get
  safely to the Fair. I am sure you will know that I do not expect you
  to feed the boys on useful knowledge all the while you are in
  Chicago; but I should like Harry to look carefully after two things.
  I would like him to see the railroad exhibits, and to see the papers
  about Columbus. The latter is important, because there will never be
  so good a collection brought together again. The railroad exhibits I
  should like him to see, because I wish him to learn what an amount
  of skill and learning has gone into the modern railroad. Perhaps
  then the business will attract him, and I shall expect him to take
  it up when I must resign. As for Philip, he’ll learn more about the
  Fair by himself than any one can teach him.

  I think perhaps a fortnight should be enough to spend at Chicago;
  but as to that, use your own discretion. I hope that all three of
  you will enjoy the big show, and I’m sure you will be better
  Americans for having seen it.

  Tell Harry that his mother and I are well, and give him our love.
  With warmest regards to Philip and best wishes for you all, I am
  your obedient servant,


“That’s just what I thought,” said Harry. “He wishes me to get into
railroading, and that is one reason he sent me here. I see one thing;
I have got to go through the Convent again. I hardly looked at those
old documents.”

“We have a few days yet,” said Mr. Douglass; “we will certainly go
more carefully over those exhibits. I am glad to hear from your
father, though I know his ideas well enough to have been very sure of
his intention. I have still plenty of money, but I think that two
weeks will be enough to give to the Exhibition. One could not exhaust
it in years.”

[Illustration: THE WHALEBACK.]


                            CHAPTER XIII

      _Philip’s Day_ — _Visits the Photographic Dark-room_ — _The
    Fisheries Building_ — _The Aquaria_ — _Fishing Methods_ — _The
           Government Building_ — _The Japanese Tea-house._


Wednesday Philip had set apart on his schedule for the Fisheries
Building, intending to spend any spare time at some less important
places near by. He had already found that it was well to save himself
what bodily fatigue he could, and so he took a rolling-chair almost as
soon as he entered the grounds, from a conical tent not far from the
Pennsylvania Railroad exhibit. The man who pushed the chair told Philip
he was from Finland; and a few attempts to converse with him were so
fruitless that Philip gave up trying.

He went first to the photographic room where he had left a roll of
pictures to be developed. Then, after making the usual morning call for
letters, he went on to the appointed building. On the way, the Finland
guide woke up enough to show some interest in photography, asking
Philip, “Do you take in colors the pictures yet?” Philip in reply gave
a short account of the state of (what is called) color-photography, and
the Finland guide was probably more muddled than ever.

Philip had once or twice stepped into the Fisheries Building before,
but so far had never been in the east wing, where the aquaria were
situated; so he selected this part as a beginning. As usual, he had
brought his camera, and right at the entrance he found a good subject—a
young man who was perched upon one side of the steps. Philip “took”
him, and then set himself to studying the decorations of the outside of
the portico.

The pillars supporting the arched doorway had in relief upon them
forms of aquatic life, modeled life-size or larger, and arranged in
geometrical patterns. For instance, one pillar was covered with frogs
arranged in diagonal lines crossing one another so as to form diamonds.
Others in the same doorway showed turtles, snakes and lily-leaves,
newts and crabs.

Philip also saw that all of the ornamental work about the building
was composed in the same way. He thought it amusing in a temporary
building, but felt sure his friend the architect whom they met on the
Whaleback would never have approved of the decorations if applied in
equal profusion to a permanent building.

Inside the aquarium wing he found a circular corridor both side walls
of which were made up of tanks filled either with salt or fresh
water. To keep this water fresh and wholesome for the fish, spurts
of water shot down through the surface from above, making a silvery
fountain upside down at the top of each tank. There were no windows
in the corridor, all the light coming through the water from the top
of the tanks. This arrangement made that part of the building rather
gloomy, but enabled the people to see the fish under the best possible

The people seemed to enjoy the show very much, and had none of that
bored air with which they walked around some exhibits in other
buildings. Each aquarium was like a show-case, and the light playing
upon the moving fish caused them to glitter and shine. Philip heard one
girl exclaim as she entered, “Um—um! How lovely!” and wondered for the
hundredth time at the queer adjectives girls apply to what pleases them.


The building was jammed full. Judging from photographs he had seen,
Philip was sure that in the earlier days of the Exposition there was
a better opportunity for examining exhibits. Now, everywhere he went,
there were such throngs of people that he found it difficult to use
his note-book. Every time he entered a building, he found his camera a
burden and a trouble; but no sooner was he out again than he was glad
he had brought it with him.

Here he had to fall into line if he wished to make any progress at
all. People would gaze upon some slab-sided, pop-eyed fish until they
entirely forgot they were keeping others away. Then the crowd would
move forward with the gentle force of a glacier, and progress would
begin again.

[Illustration: SKELETON OF A WHALE.]

The first tanks Philip saw held various sorts of bass, sturgeon, trout,
and pike. It was a strange sensation to see the fish so near, and so
confined that they could not dart away. It gave one the idea that
swimming in the sea was not so very different from flying in the air,
except that a bird has to keep moving or descend, whereas the fish can
stop where he pleases, and hang suspended as comfortably as Mahomet in
his coffin, or more so.

[Illustration: FLYING-FISH.]

Other fish he saw were the sheepshead, who had the true sheepish
expression; catfish, with their odd sparse whiskers; some strangers
labeled “small-mouthed buffaloes” (Philip wondered how it would sound
to go into a restaurant and order “a fried small-mouthed buffalo,
please, for one”); something that was written down in his note-book
as “red-horse”—but what the creatures were like, and what their true
names might be, Philip had no recollection at all when he read over his
notes. There were, though, some whose names did recall exactly their
appearance,—the “short-nosed gars,” for instance, who had particularly
long noses.

The tank of goldfish was really “lovely,” for as one approached them
the light shone upon them as brilliantly as if they had been sunset
clouds. One visitor was so impressed with this fine display that he
remarked with more feeling than logic, “It is wonderful what human
flesh can do when they put their heads together!” Philip laughed at
this, and after having had his elbow joggled four or five times,
succeeded in writing it down so that he hoped he could tell Harry about

fisherman has woolen rings upon his hands to protect them from the

Harry and Mr. Douglass were at the other end of the grounds; for Harry,
in view of his father’s letter, felt that he ought to go through the
little convent, and Mr. Douglass found that end of the Fair full of

It was oppressively warm in the Fisheries Building, and Philip, often
over-prudent, had carried his overcoat with him. He had heard so much
before coming to Chicago of the “cold breezes from the lake,” that he
hardly dared to enter the grounds without some protection. At first the
coat was light enough, but as time went on it seemed that each moment
dropped a leaden bullet into one of the pockets, and his arms ached
though he changed the burden continually from one to the other. His
camera he made use of as a desk, fastening his note-book to the top of
it by putting a rubber band around one end, but the coat became a great
nuisance before the tour was finished.

In one tank he saw a queer turtle whose flippers were so broad that
they reminded Philip of four fans on the ends of a frog’s “arms” and
legs. The sand-pike, the golden ide (“A queer way to spell it!” said an
old lady), and the Missouri catfish occupied more tanks, and claimed
Philip’s attention in their order. The last tank of the outside row was
filled with minnows,—such as boys call “shiners,”—and reminded him of a
big bait-box.

Then came salt-water fish, and the change in the color and clearness
of the water was very noticeable. It was much harder to see the fish,
and when they scooted off to the other side of the tank, they were
lost to view. The lobsters had a sort of pile of rocks to which they
clung fast, and the crabs also seemed disinclined to move about. When
he came to a tank labeled “sea-robins,” it was some time before Philip
could see why the queer little fish were so called. At last, when one
came near, he noticed a red spot beside its head, and concluded that
this accounted for the name. One of the oddest specimens he saw was
called the “paddle-fish.” It had a long flat nose extending out flat
forward—probably it was used by the fish as a sort of shovel to stir up
the sandy or muddy ground where its food was found.


Philip wondered what the fish thought of their queer situation. Instead
of having the whole ocean to roam through, they found themselves in
narrow quarters around which great animals with staring eyes pressed
continually. They did not seem at all frightened, and had probably
given up their situation as a problem the solution of which was not
meant for them to know. At least they must have found some satisfaction
in the absence of the enemies who usually chased them about without
regard for Sundays or holidays. Philip, who was of a speculative turn
of mind, wondered how it would seem to men if lions and tigers might
at any moment come around the corner to devour them. He hoped that the
fish were less sensitive, or he was sure their lives in the ocean would
be so unbearable that they would commit suicide by leaping out on shore.


“Them’s catfish.”

“Oh, no, they ain’t.”

“I tell you, they be.”

“Wal, I guess not.”

“Wal, I guess yes.”

“Oh, you go ’way; I guess I know!”

The scientific discussion given above had proceeded no further when a
cooler-headed member of the party pointed with a peace-making finger
to the label, which read “Catfish,” as plain as print. Hoping that
these visitors’ knowledge of fishes had been improved by this little
difference of opinion, Philip found that he had exhausted the contents
of the outer corridor, and went into the middle, where he found a
rockwork fountain surrounded by a pool full of other fish. He went
around the tanks seen from the middle of the building with the same
care he had given to those outside, and found plenty to pay him for the


In one compartment were several sharks, and affixed to one of the
sharks were two of those fishes called “remoras,” who have upon their
heads a sort of sucker that can be used to hold them to any smooth
surface. Philip remembered reading that the ancients thought these fish
could stop even a large galley. He had always regarded the statement
as a wild yarn of antique romancers, but he was glad to see just how
the remora applied himself to his vocation. The shark was unable to
get at his unwelcome guests, and there were two of them, each more
than half as long as his host. Philip said to himself that it was a
shame, and then he happened to think that it was not necessary to be
very sorry for sharks—which are not a kindly race. What the remora had
to gain by this attachment he couldn’t exactly see, unless it was mere
transportation from place to place. Possibly the shark would leave
something of every meal, and then the remoras would dine at the second
table. It was as if a banker should have two professional beggars sit
upon his shoulders, and pick up the odd change that he didn’t look
sharply after.


The next remarkable fish that attracted his eye—or rather, repelled
it—was the file-fish. This creature, if it _was_ the file-fish, had a
strong family resemblance to an unequally cooked and lumpy buckwheat
cake, and was hardly thicker. It was an animated pancake swimming edge
up. But what interested Philip was its method of propulsion. Along
its back ran a fin for nearly the fish’s whole length, and this fin
waved in a curving line like the path of a serpent. Philip had heard
Harry wonder why ships were not propelled by some such device, and he
resolved to tell his cousin that Nature was ahead of him in using that
means of going through the water.

Then Philip walked along the curving corridor with ornamented columns
that led to the main building. Just as he entered this part of the
central hall, he saw a clever bit of advertising. It was headed, “They
say it’s hot in Southern California,” and below was a statement of the
daily temperature contrasted with that of Chicago. For that day the
California temperature was 67° as contrasted with Chicago’s 73°.


Philip did not find this main building as interesting as the aquarium
part. There were many models of fish, but they seemed very tame after
the live ones. In the Netherlands exhibit (as, indeed, in most of them)
was a model fishing-boat, but Philip did not know enough entirely to
comprehend the purpose of the different devices shown, so he gave them
only a glance. The exhibits of nets were likewise of small interest to
him, though a fisherman would, no doubt, have been long entangled in
their meshes.

The red disk on a white field that again marked the Japanese show
promised him more entertainment, and he entered the inclosure. Here he
found several fine little models, the most novel being that displaying
the method of fishing with cormorants. A little boat full of fishermen
was upon the painted waves, and in the bow was a torch made of an iron
basket wherein flamed some material that had been soaked in oil. In the
model this was represented by dyed wool. Each fisherman held in his
hand a cord fastened to a ring fixed tightly around a bird’s neck. The
birds were swimming about and diving for fish. When a fish was caught,
the bird was hauled in, deprived of his prey, and sent out to try again.




There were in cases different kinds of fish-hooks, twisted and turned
into all European shapes, besides some eccentric ones of their own,
spoons and other devices for trolling, snells and lines, not very
different from those used in America and Europe. Their sail-boats
differed, however, from ours in the way the sails were made. Instead
of being in one piece, the sails were in perpendicular strips fastened
together by a network of cords so as to leave open spaces.

Philip saw a young Japanese (he looked young, but may have been fifty)
who was eating lunch in a corner of the room, and asked him the reason
of this arrangement. “To hold wind less,” he said; but the American boy
was not quite satisfied, for he could not see why a smaller sail would
not meet the same need. He thought it more likely that the sails were
so made in order to stow away more easily. The Japanese boy saw nothing
queer in the boats, but Philip’s camera was to him a great wonder, and
he politely asked an explanation of its working. This Philip gave, and
took the little Jap’s picture in the course of his lecture on cameras.
He also gave the foreigner a memorandum of the name and price of the
camera, whereupon courteous Japan presented a catalogue of the exhibit
and a business card.


In the main hall the State of Washington had hung an enormous
“humpbacked whale” skeleton nearly forty-eight feet long, and showed
the jaws of another as a gateway to its inclosure. Norway showed great
harpoons and guns to project them. Baltimore, Ireland (a critical
passer-by said, “How very Irish to have a Baltimore in Ireland!”),
showed a model fishing-school, a set of tiny buildings with little
dolls at work making nets. The dolls’ idiotic faces took away all
likeness of the exhibit to nature; and Philip, just from the tiny
Japanese fishermen, so perfectly modeled, thought the difference spoke
strongly in proof of the artistic sense of Japan.

Philip examined the models of German fishing-craft, and was
particularly curious to know about a small boat moored to a tiny tree,
one of three trunks below the surface of the water. He consulted the
label, and found out that this was a “_Miesmuschelzucht in der Kieler
Bucht_,” and with that information written down carefully he departed,
satisfied to wait until he had more time and a German dictionary.


More netting exhibits—“strings and things”—did not long delay Philip,
who had caught sight of the space covered with green cloth where
Gloucester, Massachusetts, had arranged her boats and buildings so that
one could understand how they contributed to the comfort of mankind and
themselves. A lobster-packing house had made the same attempt to inform
the world just how the poor lobster came to be caught, canned, and sent
to table; but here some cheap dolls again marred the effect of the
well-made apparatus.

North Carolina showed a “rush camp,” a round hut of rushes in which
had been put the proper fittings to show what accommodations their
fishermen made for themselves. Mexico had a display that may have been
worth seeing, but Philip noticed the fence only, which was a clever
bit of work. As he left the Fisheries Building, he felt that, like the
others, its display was too good and too full to be appreciated by any
but experts—for whom, probably, it was especially prepared.


He felt sure that every man or boy who went to the Fair saw some device
or method that he would either adopt or improve in his own work. With
a people so quick of apprehension and so inventive as Americans, the
benefits arising from the World’s Fair must be beyond exaggeration.

After leaving the Fisheries, Philip made up his mind to give the
Government Building a good two hours of his day. He had passed through
it several times, but he had never examined thoroughly the guns and
wax Indians and mail-wagons which seemed especially provided for the
delight of boys. Now he was glad that he had saved up the pleasure.

The Government Building was as crowded as the Fisheries had been, but
Philip pressed slowly along, catching sight first of a fishing-boat
and the figures of two men in it arranging their shad-nets. The
Patent-office exhibit, which he had promised himself much joy in
looking over, he found almost too confusing, as had Harry before him.
So he passed quickly through this section and reached the exhibit of
the Post-office Department, where one could see at a glance every
possible way of carrying the mail, from an old stage-coach to the
latest mail-car.

The Smithsonian Institution and the Ordnance Department of the United
States Army exhibited what Philip felt were really just the most
interesting things he had seen in the whole Fair. The groups of wax
Indians, the great guns, the army-wagons, and the dog-sledges were
surrounded by groups of delighted people of all ages.

Then Philip decided that he would go to the Japanese tea-house, taking
in the beautiful model Japanese house on the Wooded Island. He found
the model house, but it took him fully twenty minutes to find the
tea-house, with four consultations of his map; and while seeking it he
saw the Brazilian Building for the first time, although he must have
passed it again and again. This will give some idea of the size of the
Fair, for that building is 140 feet high, 148 feet long, and of equal

In the Japanese tea-house Philip sat upon a wicker stool, and received
a cup of “ceremonial tea,” a half-pound of the tea, a wafer, some
sweetmeats, a souvenir, and elaborate courtesy. He also received a
ticket entitling him to enter the tea-houses where the cheaper tea
was served. After a long rest within this pretty inclosure, Philip
took the electric launch to the southern part of the park, where he
wandered about, taking an occasional snap-shot, until he felt his legs
would no longer submit to be imposed upon. He went home very weary; but
he was getting used to that.


Convent of La Rábida. Lent by James W. Ellsworth.]

                             CHAPTER XIV

         _The Convent of la Rábida_ — _Old Books and Charts_ —
      _Paintings_ — _A Fortunate Glimpse of the “Santa Maria”_ —
        _Portraits of Columbus_ — _The Cliff-Dwellers_ — _Cheap
               Souvenirs_ — _World’s Fairs in General._

[Illustration: AN ANCIENT CARAVEL.]

As has been said, Harry and Mr. Douglass set out for the Convent of
Santa Maria de la Rábida, which means “Blessed Mary of the Frontier,”
according to the wise men who write guide-books. Appropriately built
upon a point of land, it was surrounded by green turf to the shore,
where pointed rocks made an irregular wall. Even to one coming through
the Court of Honor—an architectural display unequaled—the quiet little
convent presented an aspect of quaint simplicity that was full of
dignified repose. Its plain walls and low-pitched roof were relieved
only by two features that broke the sky-line, a tower and a belfry.
Probably its designers thought little or nothing of architectural
beauty, and had attained their object when they had made an inclosed
court surrounded by small rooms, with one or two large enough for a
refectory and chapel.

Entering a narrow doorway at the back, Mr. Douglass and Harry found
themselves in a large hall, which was no doubt the chapel of the
original building. To their right was the place where the altar had
stood, but in the model this inclosure contained pictures on the
walls. They were very old, no doubt; but when a Columbian guard told
an inquirer that they were “more than a thousand years, I guess,” Mr.
Douglass and Harry concluded that the guard’s uniform was no guaranty
of his knowledge.


In the front of this chancel was an easel sustaining a frame that
protected the commission authorizing Christopher Columbus to go and
see what he could find. A placard requested “gentlemen to remove their
hats,” as Philip had said; but the American public had made up its mind
to disregard this inscription. Mr. Douglass said to Harry, in a low
tone, “I can see no reason for removing one’s hat to a piece of paper
with ink on it. One can show a proper respect and appreciation for a
relic without flunkeyism.” And Harry quite agreed with him.

The commission was a bit of brown parchment written in a crabbed hand,
probably by some court copyist; and not even the signatures were
intelligible. Moving onward through the crush of people, they came next
to the west wall, where there was a glass case containing the rarest
ancient treatises upon geographical matters. There were twenty or
thirty in the case, some ornamented with woodcuts; but though Harry had
come with the best of intentions to study the exhibits carefully, he
could do nothing but gaze wonderingly at the type, saying to himself,
“This is an old, old book. Columbus may have read it. Here’s another.
What a queer picture!” At length he said to Mr. Douglass:

“What do you make of them, Mr. Douglass?”

“Very little, I must confess,” said the tutor. “One has to read such
books to learn how much wheat there is amid the chaff of fable, folly,
and guesswork. Even if I could read all the languages, I could get
little from the two pages which are all they can show. All you can
do now, Harry, is to get a good idea of what these old books and
charts are like. Perhaps we can buy a catalogue which will give us
translations of some parts of the books and of the letters that are
also shown here.”

“What can one learn from these old books?” asked Harry. “Surely there
is nothing in them that we don’t know about.”


“No, of course there isn’t,” said the tutor. “We can only take an
interest in them as showing the beginning of events that have resulted
so wonderfully. It is also true that now and then we find a sentence
throwing light upon how men did things in old times. But it is rather
as a matter of curiosity than of learning that these relics are

Upon the west wall was a very large painting showing the “Landing.” It
represented Columbus, just after he had stepped ashore, raising his
eyes upward in thanksgiving for his success. The men in the boat seemed
to show curiosity and enjoyment rather than piety. The painting was not
remarkable except that the expression upon the discoverer’s face was
well rendered.

At the left of the picture the original anchor of the wrecked “Santa
Maria” leaned against the wall. Both flukes were gone. Mr. Douglass
felt a little doubtful of the genuineness of this relic, but was
willing to be convinced. There seemed to be no proof that the anchor
belonged to the old caravel; but, on the other hand, it was found where
her anchor might have been, and it was pleasant to believe that it
might be the very piece of iron upon which the hand of the discoverer
had often rested.


Mr. Douglass asked a young man who was selling catalogues whether he
hadn’t one telling just what letters and papers were in the building;
but, to the tutor’s disappointment, the catalogues of the old
manuscripts were all sold. There were a number of old paintings around
the walls, but after examining a few, Mr. Douglass advised Harry not to
waste much time over them, as their connection with Columbus was rather

Going up the narrow stairway, they came out upon a corridor that looked
upon the open court through graceful arches; and from this corridor
opened small square rooms—originally the monks’ cells. The doors were
as plain as possible, and each had a latch lifted by a string coming
out through a hole in the door; the windows were small and square,
embrasured, or sunk, into the thick walls.


Various relics were hung at every point, either along the corridor or
in the cells. Many of them were queer drawings or paintings, meant to
show the manners and customs of the Indians; others were charts and
maps, some earlier than Columbus and others later.

At one place Harry suddenly stopped and pointed delightedly out of the
little window.

“See!” he cried. “Isn’t that just right?”

Mr. Douglass turned, and gazing through the little opening saw the
“Santa Maria” lying near the wharf opposite.

“It makes one feel as if he were back four hundred years,” said the
tutor, quite as much delighted with this fortunate view as Harry was.
“Looking through this little window, we see nothing of the crowd, and
are all alone with the convent and the caravel.”

They were most interested in the “Columbus Room,” which occupied the
place of the cell where lodged the monk who became interested in the
man with a theory. There were dozens of portraits of Columbus, and they
certainly gave one plenty of choice. Broad-faced, narrow-faced, round,
oval, bearded, or smooth, the great discoverer might well have been
puzzled to know which was his likeness. People’s remarks were droll

One young woman who had been critically scrutinizing the array of
“Columbuses, various,” finally stopped delightedly before a large
portrait and exclaimed:

“Oh!—_that’s_ more like him!”

Harry longed to ask how she knew that, but concluded it would get him
into trouble. Harry himself had no choice. He felt just as another
critical visitor did. This was a young man in a broad felt hat, who
sailed around the room, and left with the parting remark:

“There isn’t one of them that looks alike!”

Mr. Douglass and Harry spent a long morning in the convent, but Harry
wearied of it. He tried to be interested, for he wished to please his
father; but he couldn’t find anything to take hold of in making a
beginning. Still, by sitting quietly in the rooms and corridors, the
boy, without realizing it, carried away a perfectly clear idea of the
old convent, its arrangement, how Columbus must have been lodged and
entertained, what the old documents were like, and how much modern
maps differed from the rude charts of the Middle Ages.

He told Mr. Douglass that he couldn’t make much of it; but the tutor
consoled him.

“You never know how much you have learned until long after you’ve
studied and gone past a subject,” said Mr. Douglass. “Some day you’ll
read more about this old building and its documents, and then you’ll
find a peg to hang the knowledge upon. Have you ever seen a negro
minstrel try to hang his hat on a wall where there is no hook?”

Harry laughed, and said he had.

“That is what people must do who have no general ideas to hang
particular bits of information upon. Now, in this case you would be
surprised to see how much you know about Columbus compared with what
you knew before you came to this Fair. I won’t bother you now to review
it; but some day, when we are studying again, I’ll let you note down
the facts about Columbus that you learned at the World’s Fair.”

“Thank you,” said Harry, smiling.

“You’ll like to do it,” said Mr. Douglass. “You’ll see. Now let us take
something a little simpler. I hear that the Cliff-Dwellers exhibit is
really good. Suppose we go over there?”

Harry was very glad to agree, and they walked still further southward
past the Anthropological Hall and the Forestry Building,—a most
interesting place, where none of them had yet been,—and came to
the curious imitation of a great cliff which gave room to the
Cliff-Dwellers museum and models.

Here they found that there were guides to go about and explain the
different parts of the show. They followed one of them for a while, but
found that he talked so fast and paused so short a time in any place
that they could hear and see little.

Starting out upon their own account, they looked first at models built
into the sides of the imitation rock,—for they were inside a great
structure dimly lighted, and looking like a great cavern,—showing that
the “villages” were really a collection of rooms made by erecting
walls from floor to roof of a cleft in the cliff.


Then they went into the museum, and saw relics of the strange people
of whom little is known. Some believe there are no remnants of these
Indian tribes of the Southwest. Others think the Pueblos are the same
or a closely connected people.

[Illustration: A LAMP.]

There were in the cases bits of sandals woven of cord, cloth remnants,
some as finely woven as canvas; bits of bones, scooped out into spoons
or sharpened and faced for needles; bits of straw hats, large stone
mortars for grinding corn, the corn itself in jars and corn-cobs, and
even skeletons, skulls, and mummies in a fair state of preservation.
The skulls were finely developed in front, but nearly all flattened at
the back. The skull of a Cree Indian was set in the case, in order to
show how much finer were the foreheads of the Cliff-Dwellers. Harry was
especially pleased to find a little bear made out of pottery,—a tiny
little thing that was probably a toy. He made a sketch of it.


Going into another part of the cavern-like structure, they saw some
oil-paintings of the original rocks and dwellings from which these
relics were taken. In yet another compartment were some of the donkeys
used by the exploring party, and young girls and children took rides
upon their backs.

Harry was standing just at the heels of one of these little gray beasts
of burden when a gentleman of an inquiring turn of mind asked, “Does he
kick?” at the same time pinching the donkey to see. Luckily for Harry,
the donkey didn’t kick, or there might have been a new mummy added to
the collection in the museum.


Another place was set apart for full-size models of the houses, and it
was curious to see how the walls surrounded a sort of fireplace. The
Cliff-Dwellers apparently slept in stone bunks cut in the rock, for
there were several of these mineral sofas around the walls.

A path here and there led up out of the interior to the surface of the
imitation cliff, and many people went clambering up and down these
strange highways, clinging to ropes that had been fastened along the

Now and then the lecturing guide would come near enough to let Mr.
Douglass and Harry hear part of his explanation. He spoke of the deep
wells that supplied the dwellers with water; of the narrow trails that
made the settlements inaccessible to the hostile tribes that drove this
people from the fertile plains up into these rocky forts; of the lamps
and the cooking-utensils: but all at such lightning-express speed
that Harry could find out nearly as much by examining the objects for

When they came out, Harry was amused to see that even the turnstile was
made of rough logs, to be in keeping with its surroundings.


As Mr. Douglass intended to go out to see a procession of boats in the
evening, they went home early. On their way they passed the Alaskan
totem-pole settlement, but concluded not to make their way through the
press in order to get into the hut where souvenirs were on sale. At the
Indian village they did succeed in making their way within doors, but
found nothing to repay them for their trouble—merely the regular array
of baskets, bows and arrows, and similar trifles.

Some North African booths, kept by people of the French colonies,
offered for sale all sorts of little trinkets in brass and silver
filigree or cheap enamel; but in spite of the continued cry, “Sheep,
sheep; everyt’ing werry sheep!” the party kept on toward the outlet.

Reaching home, they found that Philip was already there. He was at the
window, much amused over the doings of some of the negro waiters who,
sitting around in the sunshine, were musically singing or talking over
their experiences.

Philip displayed his photographs, and Harry showed the sketches he had
made. But the party had ceased to be very talkative over the Fair.

“What I should like to see,” said Mr. Douglass, “is a fair from which
all the ordinary, commonplace exhibits are excluded. Cans and boxes of
ordinary merchandise, even if piled up in ornamental forms, are better
suited to an agricultural county fair than to a World’s Exposition. A
small, choice exposition, where every exhibit was unique of its kind,
would be more manageable and much better worth seeing. This Chicago
World’s Fair has in it the very best material the world can produce.
But it would take two years to see it thoroughly, and no one man could
understand it then.”

“I’ll tell you what I should like to see,” said Harry; “and that is a
grand procession where people of the same States should be in ranks
together. Then we should see how they differed.”

“And my idea,” added Philip, “is to have a Children’s Fair, where
everything that is interesting to boys and girls should be on
exhibition. That would be something like!”


                             CHAPTER XV

       _The Electricity Building_ — _Small Beginnings_ — _A New
     Souvenir_ — _The Curious Exhibits_ — _Telephones and Colored
       Lights_ — _The Telautograph_ — _Telegraphy_ — _Mines and
                     Mining_ — _A Puzzled Guard._

“It is interesting to reflect that the beginnings of all the marvels we
shall see in this building,” said Mr. Douglass, as he walked with the
two boys toward the Electricity Building, “are found in two trifling
circumstances that the majority of men would have overlooked. Do you
remember what led to electrical research?”

“I know,” said Philip, “that the word comes from the Greek for amber,
and I suppose you mean the attraction of amber for little things was
one of the two.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Douglass. “Now what was the other?”

“Frogs’ legs,” Harry answered. “I remember reading about that not long
ago. Volta salted the frogs’ legs, thinking they were too fresh; and
they kicked. That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” said Mr. Douglass, laughing. “And that frog-kick was the
beginning of the impulse that laid the Atlantic cable. It was no doubt
a great achievement to come upon a new world, as Columbus did; but
really Volta, who knew exactly what he was about, deserves nearly as
much credit. So you see that by carefully noticing what takes place
in his own home in the course of his every-day life, a man may become
renowned quite as well as if he braves the elements in search of a new

“Do you think electricity will take the place of steam?” asked Philip.

“No,” answered Mr. Douglass; “for, judging by the past, few really
useful things are ever displaced. Every housekeeper still finds a need
for candles, even where not only gas but electricity is at hand. The
stage-coach is still built and used, though for different purposes than
at first. We shall see to-day, in the Transportation Building, how many
old inventions are yet on duty.”


As they entered they heard a sharp pounding, and saw a crowd
gathered—the surest sign of something interesting—near a counter.
Gradually making their way to the front, they saw a sign announcing
that they could have their own coins made into Fair souvenirs, and
found upon the counter small scarf-pins, medals, monograms, hair-pins,
and paper-knives made from silver and nickel coins. The charge was
only five cents, so Philip drew forth a half-dollar that he had been
intending to spend on a present for his sister, and putting five cents
with it, handed the coins over to the woman at the counter.

“What would you like?” she asked.

“A hair-pin like that,” said Philip, pointing to one that had 1893
upon the top in openwork. The woman gave the half-dollar to the man at
the stamping-machine, and he pushed it under the die. In a few moments
Philip’s coin was transformed beyond recognition, and came out properly
shaped and labeled “Columbian Exposition, 1893.” Harry satisfied
himself with a nickel rolled into an oval and also stamped.


A little further on they saw a counter where handkerchiefs were
embroidered with appropriate inscriptions, also to serve as
“souvenirs”—a word of which the party were becoming weary, as it was
bawled, shouted, and whispered in their ears from morning until night.

Many of the electrical exhibits were interesting only for their
arrangement: there were, for instance, carbons arranged in geometrical
patterns, and push-buttons forming letters and inscriptions.

It was not until they had reached the southern end of the building that
they began to think well of the electrical exhibition. But toward this
end the attractions were most striking. There was a whirling ball of
electric lights, hung near the ceiling, that Harry remembered noticing
on the first evening, when they had so much trouble to get in and out
of this building. Not far from this ball was a column of colored-glass
lamps, from the top of which lines of lamps ran zigzag over the
ceiling, each ending in a hanging lantern.

This column would suddenly gleam with colored fire at the base, then
further up, then to the top, the waves of light dying out below as they
ascended. Reaching the top of the column, the zigzag lines flashed
out in wavy lightning flashes to the hanging lanterns. Then all would
become dull, until another impulse made its tour of the line.

Another beautiful exhibit was an Egyptian temple. The pillars were of
roughened green glass lighted from within so as to glow like emeralds.
The walls contained show-cases displaying electric fixtures.

The boys had heard praises of the electrical theater situated in this
corner of the building, and it was one of the places they had made up
their minds to visit. But they found a line of people ranged before
it, and extending back far enough to discourage any but an electrical
crank. Reluctantly they withdrew, and went instead into the Greek
temple, where a telephone was in working order. A row of young girls
sat upon high stools facing a bewildering array of pegs. Upon their
heads the girls each wore a light frame of metal bands that held
telephones to their ears. It was a striking illustration of the line
about “lend me your ears”; but in these modern days the ears are hired
by the week. Every now and then one of the girls would lean forward and
change a peg from one place to another.

Besides the receiving instruments, a transmitter hung down just in
front of the lips of each operator. In fact, every care was taken to
enable these young women to hear all conversation addressed to them,
and every facility given them to answer back.

Harry said he thought it was just the sort of work a girl liked—nothing
to do but to be talked to all day, with full liberty to talk back from
a safe distance; but Mr. Douglass said that he had heard the work was
very hard and exhausting.

In the gallery they found a number of amusing or astonishing novelties.
One that Philip found attractive was an electric boot-blacking machine.
In front of chairs like those belonging to the regular “Have-a-shiners”
of commerce, there were two brushes revolving rapidly. A man sat in the
chair applying his well-developed foot to the brush, and receiving an
electric shine that was nearly as good as the regular article.

Harry watched this device critically, and at length said he didn’t like

“Well, I do, then,” Philip answered. “Wouldn’t I like one to use every
morning, though?”


“I mean that the principle isn’t right,” Harry insisted. “That inventor
is making the man twist around so as to apply his foot to the brush. He
ought to make an electric brush that can be held in the hand and put
against the boot. Don’t you think so, Mr. Douglass?”

“Your argument seems reasonable,” said the tutor; “but it’s often wise
to remember that the inventors have thought more about these problems
than we have; so it is not likely they have overlooked the most evident
criticisms. Still, in this case I think Harry is right.”


At another place in the gallery there was an electric door, and people
were invited by placards to walk through it. It had a handle like other
doors, but no one ever touched it; for no sooner did one approach than
the door opened politely, closing after the person was upon the other

One man—“who thought he was smart,” Philip said—walked up to the door
as if he meant to pass through the doorway, and then halted. The door
remained open so long as the man stood before it, and closed when he
turned away.

“It seems a pity to fool a door that is so polite,” Harry said. “Look,”
he added; “there is a nice little girl trying it. See her laugh! It
reminds her of ‘Alice in Wonderland.’”


Germany had a historical exhibit showing the earlier and cruder forms
of dynamos; but the boys were not very well acquainted with dynamos.
Mr. Douglass tried to explain how they worked; but after he found he
had lost the trail of his ideas, he said frankly: “Well, I thought I
knew the theory of dynamos and converters; but when I see the real
machines here, they seem so much more complicated than the ones in the
text-books that I find I don’t know the reason for many of the parts.”


The boys took more interest in the Western Union exhibit, where they
saw Professor Morse’s earliest receiving instrument, and photographs
of the original first message, “What hath God wrought!” The same words
were affixed to the front of the pavilion, where not only the original
instrument but the modern quadruplex system—a method of sending two
messages each way, and all at once, on a single wire—was shown.

“I wish,” said Harry, “that I could see the game of leap-frog these
quadruped signals must play to get by on the same track!”

Farther on were other German or Austrian exhibits, in one of which the
boys saw a dome copied from that on some central telegraph station,
and made up entirely of openwork so as to give room for hundreds of
insulators. These insulators made up the curved surface of the dome,
and the effect was very decorative, while the arrangement must have
been a great saving of space.

What a lot of things there were besides! There was an electric
cooking-apparatus where water was boiled upon a flat iron plate; there
were clocks so contrived as to note the times a watchman touched a
button on the front; there was Professor Gray’s telautograph, which
merits some description.


Holding a pen as in writing, the sender marks down his message, draws
a design, inscribes his name—in fact, uses the pen as freely as if it
had “no connection with the establishment across the way.” But two
cords extend out from this pen and work an electric apparatus so as
to pull two other cords or wires just as the first ones are moved: if
he makes a mark down, the other pen is pulled down too; whatever one
pen does, the other must do. Of course, then, any drawing or writing
made upon one machine is also made on the other—no matter whether it
is in the next room, the next county, or the next State. That is the
telautograph—the name being Greek for “far-self-writer.”

In the exhibit of the Commercial Cable Company were shown the method of
writing messages in wavy lines, and bits of cable where the covering
had been injured, and the injury—sometimes no larger than a tack would
make—traced and located many miles from shore by means of delicate

Down-stairs were great dynamos, electric cars, the Edison-light tower,
which they had already seen in operation on their first evening at the
Fair, and such an array of complicated measures, meters, and tests
that the boys walked humbly out, feeling very small indeed as they
passed the heroic statue of Benjamin Franklin in the portico. They
felt that for the first time they understood how great a man was the
printer’s boy who began by carrying two rolls under his arms and ended
by carrying a thunderbolt under one arm and a scepter under the other.

“But even he,” said Harry, as he jingled a pocketful of expensive
souvenirs, “once paid too dear for his whistle.”

The Electricity Building’s stocky twin, the Mining Exhibit, was right
next door, and came next upon Philip’s neat list. But they did not
intend to give a very long time to this building. They knew it to be
full of minerals and mining machinery, and now felt small enough to
admit there were two or three things in each display that they did not

The first distinct feature was the Stumm exhibit, which, behind a most
imposing gateway of wrought-iron, showed rails and pipes in sizes
ranging from mammoth to midget, built into two towering obelisks, and
two trophies that resembled iron fountains. They gazed upon these with
vague admiration, and then set out to find the Tiffany diamond show;
they “found it, indeed, but it made their hearts bleed” to see the
crowd piled three or four deep against every loophole and knot-hole
where a wheel or a band was visible.

The same result followed an attempt to inspect the Kimberley
diamond-washing. They did see an enormous Zulu with embroidered
suspenders pour a bucket of bluish mud into a great hopper, but though
they lingered round in a most lamblike way, nothing else was to be

Iowa showed a life-size model of a coal-miner at work in his gallery;
and at one glance the boys learned how it would feel to be “down in a
coal-mine, underneath the ground, where a ray of sunlight never can
be found.” They also enjoyed hearing and seeing the steam-drills, and
gazed curiously at a model of “Lot’s wife,”—a woman built of salt,—in
the Louisiana Exhibit. Various mines had sent models showing just how
their galleries were built, and the boys inspected them critically.
But they did not find very much to detain them in the Mining Building.
Other people, too, seemed more interested in the souvenir stands than
in the profusion of ores and stone blocks. Montana’s silver statue of
Justice seemed to the boys more of a curiosity than a work of art,
and they had no patience with the long arrays of machinery that meant
nothing to them. Those who were examining the exhibits were few,
and the large crowds were watching the counters where small metal
articles were plated, or were sitting in corners where they could rest

A Columbian guard noticed that Philip had his kodak, and said, “You
can’t take pictures in here; it’s not allowed.”

“I haven’t taken any,” said Philip; and then, as the guard seemed
good-natured, he added, “I don’t see anything much to take. Why don’t
they let you take things in here?”

The guard grinned. “I’m sure I don’t know,” he said. “There doesn’t
seem to be any sense in it.”



                             CHAPTER XVI

       _The “Golden Doorway”_ — _Transportation Building_ — _An
     Endless Array_ — _Bicycles, Boats, and Bullock-wagons_ — _The
                   Annex_ — _The Railroad Exhibits._


From the steps of the Mining Building the boys looked over toward the
“Golden Doorway” of the Transportation Building, and made up their
minds that it looked promising. By this time the white buildings
had made them glad of the fancy harlequin costume worn by the
autumnal-colored member of this interesting family. They liked even the
angels painted along the walls, and as for the brakeman, “Mr. Land,”
they thought he appeared to be a young fellow well worth knowing.

So they entered with a readiness to enjoy whatever they should find.
But they soon discovered there was no need to make excuses for the
Transportation Building, and before long they carried out to the letter
Harry’s punning prediction, “Now we shall go into transports!”

They had missed so much at other times by leaving the galleries to the
last that this time they went at once up the stairs. But on the landing
they turned to take a view of the Lord Mayor’s Coach, an elegant
turnout, as fine as a fiddle, which made the boys think at once of poor
little Dick Whittington.

It was Harry’s proposal to go into the gallery, and he was led to
make it because there were set upon the gallery-railing two bicycles,
ridden by dummy figures of a young man and a young woman. Harry liked
bicycles, and meant some day to have “a beauty”; and he thought this
was a good opportunity to get points.


He got points; in fact, he picked so many points that he couldn’t
remember them, for there were bicycles enough in the gallery to
bend all the backs in a city into the letter “C.” But before
examining these, the whole party were glad to give some time to Mrs.
French-Sheldon’s camping-outfit and traveling sedan-chair. Shortly
described, it was just a basket on poles, but it was sumptuously fitted
up with cushions and awnings, and most ingeniously contrived so as to
be light, comfortable, and convenient.

“She’s the woman who collected all those odd things we saw in the
Woman’s Building,” said Philip.

“Yes, I remember reading about her in the papers,” said Harry. “She
carried a fine silk dress with her, and always put it on when she
received a native ruler. She seemed to think they liked it. But I have
my doubts. I believe old Sultan Alkali Ben Muddy would grin when he
was climbing back on his camel, and say to his first camel-driver, ‘The
white woman is plucky, but I must say she puts on a lot of style!’”

Really Harry could not help a feeling of great admiration for Mrs.
French-Sheldon, and he would have liked to own a tent and palanquin of
his own. Passing through a corridor of photographs showing “foreign
scenes in New Jersey,” as they heard a jocular Irishman remark, they
saw next an Indian ox-cart, heavy enough and clumsy enough to make any
civilized Buck and Bright weep. Then came a tobacco-hogshead to which
was attached a branched iron pole, so that the hogshead was its own
wheel and cart in one.

They heard a Southern girl say to her friend, “I’ve seen one just like
that in Richmond.” But she hadn’t seen the next exhibit, for it was
the model of an antique chariot found near Thebes, and supposed to be
a racing-sulky of such antiquity as to be labeled “the oldest vehicle

Harry, and indeed all three of the party, wondered at its beauty and
elegant finish. It was made of some smooth-grained wood and rounded
into exquisite curves. Harry made a hasty sketch of it, but had little
hope that he could really draw its exquisite curves when he got home.


Then they went on, to be stopped by some African palanquins, fitted
with carrying-poles, and, in sharp contrast to the Theban chariot,
an African log-canoe so rude that it looked like the Missing Link’s
private yacht. In close succession came vehicles for carrying such
different articles as babies, dolls, and cash in dry-goods shops;
but all were quite familiar to the New York boys. They found two
“bicycle-railroads” more interesting, especially the one that hung from
an overhead track.

“It wouldn’t be surprising,” said Mr. Douglass, “if we should live
to see those tracks put up over large sections of the land. For the
bicycle is capable of displacing almost all passenger-carriers except
in special cases. You see them here in this gallery so arranged as to
be ridden by one, two, or three riders, so as to carry children with
their parents, or fitted up for the use of firemen or soldiers.”

At the end of a gallery they found figures showing how Mexican donkeys
are loaded, men carrying chairs for transporting passengers over
mountain-trails, and richly attired cavaliers mounted upon finer
specimens of the same patient donkeys that carry panniers.

An exhibition of leather saddles and similar wares brought them to a
counter where whips were being covered by little bobbins revolving
about as dancers whirl in the german. These whips were also for sale
as sou—. “I wonder,” said Mr. Douglass, “that they didn’t offer to
sell us the Cliff-Dwellers’ mummies as souvenirs. They certainly would
outlast most of the cheap bric-à-brac offered for sale.”

Japan showed in this building only a few models of engineering-works,
and the boys did not give much time to her exhibit. They were most
attracted by the smaller articles displayed on both sides of the
galleries: an English sedan-chair, such as they had seen in old
paintings; a springless velocipede called the “Dandy Horse,” and dated
1810; the small model of an old stage-coach; a wonderfully fine model
of Forth Bridge, Scotland, showing a miniature train of cars hardly
thicker than a lead-pencil; a modern club canoe, side by side with
barbaric outrigger canoes from the Friendly Isles (maybe).

There was also a large model showing just what style of boat the
fishermen used upon the Sea of Galilee in the days of the Saviour; it
was a double-ended deep boat, looking as if it was very seaworthy, but
gaudily painted.

The Chamber of Commerce of the Port of Dunkerque, France, had sent to
the Exposition an enormous reproduction of the town and harbors, so
large that each house had its tiny model in the mimic town. The boys
admired this exhibit, and concluded that the money and labor expended
upon it would not be wasted; for if they had been merchants they knew
that it would have been impossible for them to forget what an excellent
place Dunkerque must be for trading.

Another exhibit which they equally praised was that of a French
steamship company which had made a “diorama,” or series of life-size
views, setting forth exactly what traveling by their line would be.
And instead of being satisfied with inferior work, they had selected a
skilled artist to paint their pictures.

One will serve as a specimen. It was a painting that represented the
last moments before sailing from Havre to New York. The spectator saw
before him the long dock crowded with the passengers. Here an old
mother was tearfully bidding her son good-by; here a party of jolly
tourists were waving handkerchiefs to friends upon the steamer. In
another spot was a lonely traveler who seemed to have no friend other
than a carpet-bag. And, in short, the whole scene was vividly rendered
with artistic power and with feeling. There were eight of these
pictures, and the boys left none unvisited.

From a little beyond this point the boys could see the full-sized
section of an ocean-steamer that reached from the floor to the roof,
that is, counting the smokestack; and the boys agreed to sample that
section before leaving. As yet, they found it hard to get through
the galleries. Just as they had made up their minds to go down the
stairs, they would come upon something that must be looked at. Such
was a Netherland fishing-boat, so quaint that Philip succeeded in
photographing it, even though the light was anything but favorable.


Still more fascinating were the German exhibits of men-of-war—little,
fierce battle-ships with rifled cannon hardly larger than
darning-needles, but every detail so finely finished that it was like
watchmakers’ work. In this series were shown all sorts of boats, from
the swift cruiser down to the tiny torpedo-boat.

“What toys men can make when they try!” said Harry, enviously. “To
think of the clumsy things that are made for children when such little
beauties as these are possible! Why, there are models of boats here in
this Fair that are so neat the King of the Fairies would feel timid
about entering them—and I wish I owned one of them, that’s all!”

But there was no time to spare for enthusiasm. Folding-boats must be
seen, and a gondola,—the last so exquisite in its fittings that the
ones out on the Lagoon were like it as an ash-cart is like a state
carriage,—and models of boats from India, whole cases of them, in all
varieties and endless numbers.

Philip walked away and sat down in a corner.

“What’s the matter, Philip?” asked Mr. Douglass—“are you tired?”

“I have been tired all the time I’ve been in the Fair,” said Philip;
“but it isn’t that. I am getting mad. I want to see things; I want to
learn about them, and remember about them. And there is no chance.
It’s like trying to pick out stars in the heavens when you don’t know
a thing about astronomy. As soon as you look at one it disappears, and
you see another.”

“Well, Phil,” said Harry, “you know we leave for home to-morrow
afternoon. Bear up—be brave; it’ll soon be over now. Come and see the
ferry-boat with the side taken out so you can understand it—if you have
time. Why, you haven’t begun to see anything yet!”

But Mr. Douglass stopped Harry with a warning look; he saw that Philip
was really getting tired out. Harry took things more easily, and was
less in earnest; but Philip preferred to see things in order, and to
study them by system. Excellent as is this rule for ordinary cases,
a World’s Exposition must be treated differently. It is possible, of
course, to study only one subject in the Fair, and ignore the rest; but
no one ever does so. Human nature will not permit of it.

Descending to the main floor they walked up to the model of the
Bethlehem steam-hammer that made an arch across the center aisle, and
after some reflections upon the statistics attached to this monster,
resolutely passed whole platoons of exhibits no visitor should miss.

Mr. Douglass and Harry left Philip to rest awhile upon a settee in one
of the side corridors, while they went through the section of the big
Atlantic Liner. Beginning at the steerage, they worked their way upward
through the office, saloon, smoking-room, and state-rooms until from
the upper deck they could see Philip’s disconsolate form far below.


To Mr. Douglass, who had never crossed the ocean in one of these palace
steamers, the exhibit was wonderfully interesting; but to Harry it was
less of a novelty.

Returning to where Philip sat, they decided to take lunch before
going farther, and went into a small space where there was a
lunch-counter, some very independent waiters, and a slap-dash way of
serving that added no relish to the rather poor food. But the rest was
pleasant; and after lunch they felt quite able to enter the Annex,
where they found another bewildering array of locomotives, trains of
cars, torpedo-boats, car-seats, rapid-fire guns, and “other things too
numerous to mention,” as boys say in their compositions when they can’t
think of anything else.

[Illustration: THE “DE WITT CLINTON” TRAIN.]

They went through palace cars, and tourist cars, and English
railway-trains, and then sought relief by examining a military wagon
so made as to tip up and form a steel-clad breastwork. They could not
pass this, for a dummy soldier was leveling his rifle directly over the
edge, and a placard said, “Halt!” in very peremptory letters. It repaid
them for stopping, for they decided that it was new to all of them, and
a very ingenious invention.

Then leaving the building, they made their way toward home, but were
caught and held by the great express engine, shown by the New York
Central. They had often passed it, but had been reserving a more
careful examination until they should have seen the exhibits in the
Transportation Building. Now they walked through the whole train; but
they found it much like the “Limited Express” they intended to be in
next day, steaming along toward New York. The “De Witt Clinton,” the
first locomotive used in New York State, stood in front of “999,” and
looked like a dwarf kobold beside a splendidly developed giant.

[Illustration: THE “JOHN BULL” TRAIN.]

They heard some men sneeringly say, “That was the best they could do
then!” and Harry couldn’t help wondering how long the world would
have had to wait for “999” if such narrow-minded men were its only
dependence for improvement.

Crossing the broad white road, they next went into the Pennsylvania
museum of old engines and railroad appliances. Here they spent more
than an hour studying the curious history of railroad invention from
the beginning. There was a model of the “John Bull,” and of its
descendants from children to great-great-great-grandchildren. Nor was
this display confined to locomotives: there were a packet-boat, such as
Mr. Douglass remembered to have traveled in when he was a little shaver
in short trousers and velvet jacket, the still more ancient Conestoga
wagon with its boat-like body and long awning, and the old stage-coach
labeled “Twenty days from Pittsburgh to Philadelphia.”


Besides these models there were relics—old tools, old lanterns, and
ticket-punches; and systems of signaling were also illustrated. But it
is impossible to recall or put down even the leading attractions of
this clever little museum.

While Mr. Douglass and Harry were looking at these cases, and at the
photographs showing views along the road, Philip wandered away to the
other side of the room, and found diagrams, charts, and pieces of
mechanism for showing the statistics of the Pennsylvania road.

Gilded blocks as large and larger than a boy’s head, showed the amounts
of silver paid to employees every hour. An obelisk built from tiny
stones represented the amount of ballast in this great railroad as
compared with the pyramid of Cheops which was constructed on the same
scale just alongside. The pyramid was nowhere in comparison. A little
globe with a railroad-track going around the equator and lapping
enough to tie in a bow-knot showed the length of this railroad system.
Two bits of rail whereon were silver dollars laid edge to edge, were
meant to show the cost of the road—a sum large enough to cover all its
rails with a row of silver dollars. Another globe had models of little
locomotives running around it, to show the number of miles covered by
trains—enough to encircle our globe every two hours. Tiny coal-carts,
drawn by clockwork up from a pretended mine, taught that two and
one-half tons of coal were burned every fifteen seconds.

Altogether Philip thought the Pennsylvania had “done herself proud”
—except in the models of railroad-men in uniform. No one, however
deeply impressed with the rest of the exhibit, would care to ride on a
road run by such men as the dummies were. Philip would not have been
surprised at a strike on the whole system if the men could have seen
those great paste-board gawks that stood in their clothes.

For the last few days they had been really studying the exhibits
instead of wandering around with an idea of being amused. As the next
day was to be their last at the Fair, Mr. Douglass made no objection to
their going once more to the Plaisance, where there was more fun than
instruction; and with this prospect in view, they forgave the tutor for
the useful knowledge they had been so steadily acquiring.

collision with the “Camperdown.”]


                            CHAPTER XVII

      _A Rainy Day_ — _The Plaisance Again_ — _The Glass-works_ —
     _The German Village_ — _The Irish Village_ — _Farewell to the
                            Phantom City._

[Illustration: A BOY FROM JOHORE.]

The boys had seen a number of unpleasant days at the Fair, but their
last day was the worst. It did much to reconcile them to going away.
Not only did it rain in a fine, penetrating drizzle, but the wind blew
a gale, and kindly carried the dampness where it could not have gone
by itself. While walking outdoors, the boys saw nothing amusing in the
weather. But Mr. Douglass, in order to cash a check, had to call upon
one of the gentlemen whose office was in the Electricity Building; and,
waiting for him, the boys sat at a window that looked out upon the
Court of Honor, and then found that the storm had its funny side.

Visitors seemed to object to walking straight, and leaned over against
the wind like a fleet of fishing-smacks on a rough day. The launches
going northward found their propellers only a luxury, for their awnings
made excellent sails. Hats left their owners’ heads, and started to
see the Exposition alone. Small boys and men played short-stop at a
moment’s notice, and became very skilful in “dropping upon the” hat as
it rolled by upon its brim.

“Hats blown off while you wait!” said Harry, laughing as he saw a
vigorous man spear his own hat with a thrust of his cane. The boys
counted four similar hunts in a few minutes.

Women coming around the corner of the Administration Building seemed
suddenly impressed with the beauty of the MacMonnies Fountain, and
started for it at a run; but, quickly changing their minds, beat back
again to their true course. The flags floated stiff upon the gale, and
the water in the Lagoon changed color continually.


“I feel,” said Mr. Douglass, “that it is rather a pity to spend our
last few hours here in a visit to the Midway Plaisance. We should
really prefer to go again to the Art Gallery, which we have not half

“I know,” said Harry; “but the Art Building is long and time is
fleeting. The advantage of going to the Midway is that the poor shows
are not worth staying through, and the good ones are few.”

Entering the Midway they found that the rain had dampened the
enthusiasm of even this crowd—usually the liveliest and gayest on the
grounds. They passed by the “Congress of Beauty,” and the Philadelphia
Working-man’s Model Home (Philip wondered why they did not show an
Idle-man’s Home beside it), and selected the Libbey Glass-works for
their first visit.

Within a rounded building they found a tall brick chimney, the lower
part of which was made into a glass-heating furnace. About this boys
were carrying upon iron rods lumps of what looked like hot coal. When
the glass was just right, it was handed to a man, who cut and molded
and trimmed the lump of glass into a bottle, or goblet, or globe. The
men were so skilful that it was difficult to make out how they did
their work; and, somehow, they never seemed to be making any of the
more interesting pieces that were exhibited in the show-cases. The only
bit of skill the boys could discover was that shown in keeping the ball
of molten glass rounded. Whenever one of the rods was put down for a
few moments, the glass would become stretched by its own weight to a
long drop, and then had to be reheated.

When one of the workmen wished to cut a finished piece of work from the
end of the rod, he would hold a pair of cold pincers against it for a
few moments and it would snap away at a touch.

The tickets of admission to this show were announced to be good for
twenty-five cents applied upon any purchase made in the building. But
the boys concluded, after an examination of the prices, that it was
easy to see through _that_ little scheme. In fact, Harry declared that
if postage-stamps had been on sale there, the price of two-centers
would have been “two cents and a ticket.”


They bought little. Philip paid ten cents “and a ticket” for a
spun-glass book-mark, and Harry bought a tiny cup of white and ruby
glass. The compartments about the central hall contained, besides
show-cases, a loom for weaving glass threads, a glass-cutting wheel,
and, most interesting of all, a glass-spinning wheel. The boys studied
this for quite a while. There was a big wheel with a broad, thin metal
rim kept cool and moist. The workman sat at one side holding a glass
rod before a blowpipe and moving it round and round and slowly forward
so as to keep it melted fast enough to feed the single long thread to
the rapidly revolving wheel.

“How do you suppose he begins the spinning?” said Philip, turning to
Mr. Douglass.

“I can only guess,” Mr. Douglass replied; “but I suppose he heats a
glass rod in the middle, drawing the two ends apart until he makes a
thread, and then attaches an end of that thread to the wheel, turning
it slowly at first.”

“I should think it would be hard to feed the wheel just fast enough,”
said Harry; “but the man seems to take it easy”; and he did, for he was
laughing and winking at the crowd.


The Venetian Glass-works were just opposite, and as the charge was only
ten cents, the party went there also. The process was much the same;
but the men were foreigners, and therefore seemed more picturesque.
Their work was more interesting to watch. One man was making a sort of
spray of glass, and affixed leaves, pressed them with molding-pincers,
and twisted them so quickly that it needed close watching for the boys
to comprehend the work. He cut the softened glass into scallops with
scissors as easily as if it had been dough—every now and then reheating
the bit of work. The boys were amused to see him fasten on several
ornamental medallions—for he used lumps of red-hot glass for glue.

In the rooms where the Venetian glass was on sale, there was no
trace of the businesslike sharpness so noticeable in the American
establishment over the way. Here the salesmen moved around as slowly as
their own gondolas in contrast with the electric-launch movements of
the American shop-people. Leaving the glass-works, they were attracted
by a “Japanese Bazaar,” and walked through what proved to be only a
magnified Japanese store, such as they had often seen. But as they went
out, they saw a small boy who was delighted to have found a great cloth
fish upon the little lawn outside. With a joyful cheer, he tried to
raise it up so that the wind would fill it. But another and very fierce
small boy yelled out, “Here, you!—let that fish alone!” and the first
boy’s cheering stopped at once.


Upon the same side was the Javanese village, to which they now made
a second visit; but it was swept by gusts of cold wind and rain,
and bore little resemblance to the sunny, bright little settlement
they remembered. The band was silent, there was no chiming of gongs,
and the merry little Javanese were soaked and sad. The bazaars, or
shop-counters, were deserted except by those on duty, and they were
huddled together trying to cheer one another by feeble old Javanese

Upon the veranda of one of the houses, the boys saw a family of natives
at dinner, and one little boy put his hand into the dishes and helped
himself. He was not reproved, however, by his father or mother, for
they were doing the same thing.

“Here,” said Harry, as they passed the middle of the grounds, “is
something that only sings louder when it rains”; and he pointed to the
musical waterwheel that has been already described; but this time they
noticed there was an idol near by—a queer, grotesque figure with which
no self-respecting scarecrow would care to claim an acquaintance. He
looked as if a hairbrush would have been a shock to his nerves. Only
one more thing needs mention.

“There goes _five_,” said Philip, and Harry caught sight of a Javanese
boy chasing his fleeing straw hat across the road.

Having been advised to see the German village, they took that next,
and found it well worth a visit. It contained specimens of old German
houses—for instance, a “Black Forest House” dated 1480. The boys and
Mr. Douglass walked into its main room, and were becoming a little
sentimental over the antique furniture, pictures, and carvings, when
a voice brought them back four hundred years by inquiring: “Vill the
shentlemans come see my soufenirs? Here are some fine soufenirs!” They
declined to see souvenirs, and became absorbed instead in a towel-rack.
The roller upon which the towel hung was supported in the hands of a
jolly young peasant’s figure, who seemed smilingly to hold it forth.
Next to this came a Bavarian dwelling, the outside of which was all the
party cared to see, for they suspected that the German village required
a longer visit than they had intended to pay. And when they had come to
the museum, built in the form of a German castle, they were glad they
had not stopped to see the Bavarian and other model houses.


The collection in the museum began with suits of armor from the rudest
of chain-armor to the ornamented plate of later centuries. Arranged
upon the wall were specimens of old arms—halberds, pikes, hooks, maces,
lances, swords, daggers—every sort of iron tool which would serve to
mince one’s fellow-man. Besides the array upon the wall, there were
show-cases also containing weapons, as well as knives, forks, spoons,
and tools.

Philip was amazed to see how much the tools of the Middle Ages
resembled those of to-day. What difference there was, told in favor
of the old-time workmen, as they seemed to care far more how their
instruments looked, decorating the handles and putting ornamental
flourishes on the metal parts. The scissors, forks, and knives also
were carved and inlaid with gold or silver. Harry saw one enormous
pocket-knife that he would have liked to smuggle out. The handle was
some six inches long, and the knife had four blades—one plain, one a
saw, one a chopper, and the last a pruning-hook. Probably it had been a
Christmas present to the head gardener of some Serene High Mightiness,
given in recompense for having rescued one of Their Little High
Mightinesses from the horse-pond.

The last room in the German castle was filled with dummy figures
dressed in various historic German costumes. They were grouped as if
attending a reception, and faced a great figure typifying “Germania”
surrounded by warriors in helmets and armor.


Harry said he wondered that “no one had thought of calling the World’s
Fair City, ‘A City of Dummies,’” for all the nations of the earth had
gone into doll-making to furnish it with a resident population—a quiet,
orderly, law-abiding race, though not full of intelligence.

Just across from the German village, an enormous placard claimed for a
Panorama of the Alps the distinction of the “only medal awarded for an
exhibit on the Plaisance.” It is needless to say that this captured our
visitors. They went in and began the ascent of an inclined passage. It
curved spirally round and round until they heartily wished it wouldn’t.
But a party just ahead of them cried out, “Here we are!” and soon
they emerged upon a high platform in the middle of the great Swiss
Mountains. Harry said he recognized the Matterhorn, the Clatterhorn,
the Spatterhorn, and the Flatterhorn; but the lecturer gave other
names than these. The lecturer, with frequent allusions to “when I was
there,” and one condescending “doubtless some of you have _heard_ of
Interlaken,” conducted a sheep-like crowd of sight-seers along a spiral
iron fence that was meant to keep people from escaping till they had
been at least twice around.


Harry, who was not fond of fences as a rule, took in the situation at
a glance, and solved the difficulty by sneaking under the rails to
the exit. Philip went after, and Mr. Douglass saw nothing to do but
to follow suit. But although they did not care much for the lecturer,
the panorama was a fine piece of painting, and Harry said that “if not
the Alps it was at least a very good alp for a quarter, even with the
lecturer thrown in—still better if he had been thrown out!” But Harry
was unfair to this worthy man: most of the visitors enjoyed his clear
explanations of the painting, and walked at his heels around all the

“Samoa”—the South Sea Island show—consisted of a theater and grounds.
The grounds were what Philip called “muddish” (a new word to Mr.
Douglass, but one he could not disapprove), and the boys stopped only
long enough to buy two bark hats,—pointed nightcaps, very elastic and
a beautiful brown in color,—and to look in at a Samoan house where,
according to the sign, “the boy, for a trifling fee, will show how to
kindle a fire by rubbing two sticks together.” But the boy sat huddled
in a corner, looking as sour as a lemon, and they left him to dream of
his native land.

Besides, there was a stamping and a pounding and a yelling going on in
the theater that no healthy American boy could long keep away from.
When Harry was at the Plaisance one afternoon he had met the manager
of this show, and that gentleman had given him passes for the two
cousins; so in they went, to find a little stage whereon a gang of
savages, naked to the waist, were trying to give people their money’s
worth so far as stamping, yelling, and racket would avail. They had not
even “kept their shirts on,” but were all in chocolate-tinted negligé.
When the curtain (painted with a Moorish landscape) hid the row, there
was only a short intermission before the stage-manager hung out a
sign-board announcing a “Religious Dance.”


After that act was stilled, Harry said: “I didn’t know shinny was a
religious dance, but I think now it must be. Perhaps among some of
the Pacific Islands a foot-ball scrimmage would be considered a kind
of prayer.” The dance really was clever, consisting of wheeling about
and clattering long and short sticks together rhythmically. The next
act was some guttural singing by several women and all the men, who
sat in rows cross-legged along the stage. It was just like the song
“Swee-ee-eepo—sweepo-o-o! Sweep-ee-o—sweep-o!” that may be heard from
certain dusky residents of Manhattan Island on the Atlantic coast. A
Fiji war-dance came next, and consisted in showing how bravely they
would jab an advancing enemy with a paddle provided he would not go and
spoil the little game by warding off or hitting back. It was grand, and
the boys were especially delighted to see one of the younger girls come
in at the back of the stage and go through the whole dance. “She’s a
regular Tomboy Fiji,” said Philip.

There was more to the program, but the boys tired of it, and betook
themselves to one of the Irish villages.

Here were souvenirs of peat, of bog-oak, of lace, all sorts; all sold
by tidy little Irish girls with a brogue that it was hard to resist.
Mr. Douglass picked up a black bog-oak cane. He seldom carried a cane,
and had little idea of buying it. But the Irish girl looked at him with
so cordial a smile that he felt bound to say something.

“How much is it?” he asked.

“’Tis a dollar and a half, sir,” she answered in a tone of heartfelt
regret. Then confidentially, “But it is a fi-i-ine cane, that is, sir!”

He bought it, and the boys grinned. They had seen that the “blarney
stone” was at the Fair, and were on their guard. Nevertheless they each
bought a tiny black pig cut out of the same bog-oak, and were, as a
matter of course, blarneyed in turn.

“How different the people in here!” said Mr. Douglass. “Did you notice
that there was a row at the gate, and nothing but joking within?”

“Yes; it reminded me of New York at once,” said Harry; “just as Irish
Day did.”

It was now time for them to leave the grounds; and although they were
glad to get home and rest from sight-seeing, they felt very sentimental
about taking their last look. They stood in the Court of Honor
gazing silently about them, feeling as one feels in giving a parting
hand-shake to a loved friend; and then they turned away, knowing that
the beautiful dream they had seen and lived in was no more than a
dream: that the day would come when all that beauty would be a memory,
and the “Ghost City” only a legend.

But the phantom city has taught the American nation that they are
a great people, who will some day make true in marble all that was
imagined in that short-lived fairy-story of staff.


                            CHAPTER XVIII

      _Packing for Home_ — _A Glimpse of Niagara_ — _Philip tells
     his Adventure_ — _Foiling a Clever Swindler_ — _A Convincing

They packed up that same afternoon, after considerable trouble in
finding room for the knickknacks they had picked out, and took a
carriage to the station. They found no signs to direct them, and had
to inquire several times to make sure which was the track upon which
they might expect the train for New York. When they thought they were
certain of this, they saw a train come in on schedule time and on the
proper track. But, to their surprise, a man called out, “Illinois
Central train for Cairo and St. Louis!” which threw the crowd into an
uncertainty anything but pleasant. Missing a local suburban train is
troublesome enough; but missing a train that is going one third across
a continent is a disaster.

To their great relief, the obliging colored porters very promptly
corrected the stupid error, and they found themselves safely upon the
train for New York.

Their journey was a repetition of their trip out, except that this
time they stopped to see the Falls of Niagara, viewing them, as young
Phinney had done, from above the falls.

“It’s a pity to see them from a distance only,” said Mr. Douglass. “I
should like to stay awhile.”

“They are well worth going over carefully,” said Harry, thoughtfully;
and Philip looked at him inquiringly.

During the second day on the train, Mr. Douglass was talking to the
boys as to their experiences at the Fair; and then Philip’s little
adventure, before referred to, came out. As he told the story it ran
something like this:

       *       *       *       *       *

That day when I was taking photographs in the Plaisance, I went into
the Cairo Street a second time. I wanted, if possible, to get a picture
of the little boy who leads the camels. They stopped me at the door,
and while explaining that I had been permitted to take photographs
there, I put my camera for a few moments on a camp-chair.

[Illustration: A KODAKER CAUGHT.]

When I looked around for it, my camera was missing. I tell you, I
felt pretty mean. At first I didn’t know what to do. I asked the
ticket-taker about it, but he hadn’t seen any one take it. Then I
thought, quick, what a man would do who had picked up a camera like
that, and I made up my mind that he would want to get out of Cairo
Street as fast as he could. Of course, most of the people there were
sight-seeing, and just moved along slowly. So I hopped up on top of the
camp-chair, and looked over the crowd. Luckily, I caught sight of a
man with a brown felt hat, who was moving fast through the slow-moving
people. I made up my mind that it was my last chance for my kodak, and
I went through the crowd like a snowplow through a drift. I kept my eye
on that brown felt hat, and pretty soon I caught up to the man. Once
I thought I had lost him, for a camel came by, and I had to get out of
the way; but I found him again, and, as I said, I got near to him.

I saw at once that he had a camera in his hand, and I was pretty sure
it was mine. But just as I was going to catch hold of it, I happened
to think it was a serious matter to tell a man he was a thief, and I
stopped to make sure what I ought to do. The man was pushing through
the crowd so fast that I had no good chance to take a real square
look at the camera, so I concluded I would just keep after him till
he thought he was clear away. He kept looking behind him at first,
but now he began to go slower, as if he thought everything was all
right. [“Little dreaming,” Harry put in, “that a sleuth-hound wearing
magnifying-glasses was upon his tr-rail!”]

I kept off to his left, and he didn’t see me. Pretty soon he came out
into the Fair Grounds, and there weren’t so many people there. He
turned toward one of the north entrances, and I kept a sharp lookout
for a Columbian Guard. I didn’t take the first one I saw, because he
looked sleepy and stupid, and I was afraid he would arrest _me_; but
the next was a soldierly-looking fellow, and after seeing my man was
taking it easy, I went to this guard and said:

“That man with the brown felt hat, there, picked up my camera when I
wasn’t looking, and walked off with it. I want you to get it back for

“Sure, young fellow?” he said, looking at me hard.

“Sure,” I said; for by that time I had seen a bruise on one corner of
the camera where I dropped it once.

“All right,” said he. “Come along. You go after the man, and don’t lose
sight of him, and I’ll go around this little building and meet him.”

So we did. And it worked first-rate. The guard was a fly sort of a
fellow, and instead of asking the man whether that was his camera, he
asked him whether he had a permit for it.

The man stopped and looked puzzled for a minute, then he put on a face
as bold as brass, and said: “No, sir. I have not yet obtained one, but
I was going to get one.”

“Where were you going for it?” said the guard, to catch him.


“I was about to ask you,” said the man, with a sharp kind of a smile,
seeing the guard’s little game. This made the guard lose his temper,
and out he came with the whole story.

“This young man here says that camera is his, and that you picked it
up,” said the guard.

“The impertinent young rascal!” said the man, who must have been a cool

“We’ll see about that,” said the guard, who began to wonder which of us
was lying.

“I don’t propose to be bothered by this young scamp,” said the man,
seeing that the guard hesitated a little. “If you will tell me where to
obtain a permit for my camera, I shall be obliged to you.”

Well, his coolness staggered the guard, and it did me. I wondered for a
minute whether I had made a mistake; but when I looked at the camera,
there was the bump on the corner, and I was sure again.

“Ask him,” I said to the guard, “what is the name of his camera.”

“You saucy young villain, I don’t propose to be questioned about this
any longer!” said the man, and he turned to walk away. But that decided
the guard.

“No, sir!” he said. “You’ll come with me, and we’ll have this question

The man looked around quick, as if he was wondering what the chances
were if he should run for it; but the guard laid his hand on the man’s
shoulder, and the swindler then decided to brazen it out.

“Very good,” he said, looking at his watch; “I shall lose my train, but
I suppose this absurd matter must be disposed of.”

“But I thought you wanted a permit for your camera?” said the guard,
with a grin; and then the man bit his lip. That time _he_ made a

The guard went to a sort of little sentry-box, and sent out a signal.
Pretty soon a patrol-wagon came driving up, and we were taken in it
outside of the grounds to a police-station.

“Officer,” said the man to the sergeant (I suppose it was), “this
foolish boy has laid claim to my camera, and—”

[Illustration: ALONG THE LAKE.]

“Now, don’t be in a hurry,” said the officer, coolly. “I’ll hear the
guard first, please.” The guard told the story very clearly and plainly.

“Is that correct?” said the sergeant to me.

“Yes, sir; and I can prove—” I began.

“Go slow, young man,” said the sergeant, motioning to me to stop
talking. Then he said to the man who had my camera:

“Is that story correct?”

“Entirely, Sergeant.”

“Very good,” the sergeant said. “Now, young man, how can you prove it
is your box?”

“Well,” said I, “it’s a Kodak No. 4, and it has a bruise on one corner.”

“Yes,” said the swindler, “I see. That is what has caused the trouble.
Mine has a bruise on the corner, too. I dropped it this morning as I
was coming through the turnstile.”

“That’s rather slim proof to arrest a man on,” said the sergeant,
looking hard at me. Then I began wondering how I could prove my
ownership, and I thought of the pictures I had taken.

“I know!” I said. “I can prove it by the photographs I took. I remember
some of them anyway. There was one of—”

[Illustration: THE DARK ROOM.]

“Hold on!—hold on!” cried the sergeant, quick as lightning. “It’s the
defendant’s turn now. Perhaps, sir, you will tell us what pictures are
in the camera?”

“I am sorry to say that I cannot,” said the man, still polite. He was a
smart fellow. “Indeed, the camera belongs to a friend of mine, and he
lent it to me this morning for the day. He may have taken pictures with
it. I took only one myself, and that was a view of the crowd in Cairo
Street. If you will have the pictures developed, you will see that I am

Then I was scared. I wish you could have seen the fellow—he was as cool
as a cucumber. He was no common swindler, I’m sure.

“That’s a fair proposal,” said the sergeant, who was puzzled by this
queer case. “Let us adjourn to a photographer. And don’t let either of
these men get away,” he added, turning to a policeman.

So then we formed in procession, and went around the corner to a
photographer’s and into his dark-room. The sergeant explained what we

But before the photographer began to develop the film, I spoke up and
said: “Sergeant, this man probably took one picture just after he
picked up the camera. It was all set, and all he had to do was to touch
the button. Now, it isn’t likely he knows anything about the camera if
he stole it. If he didn’t, his friend must have told him how to work

“I think that’s a sound argument,” said the sergeant. “But suppose you
write down all the pictures you remember taking.”

“I don’t know how to manage the camera entirely,” said the man; “but I
intended to get the photographer to explain it to me.”

While I was writing down all the pictures I remembered, and the
photographer was developing the film, the sergeant turned to the man
who had taken my camera, and said quickly: “By the way, what was the
name and address of the friend who lent you the camera?”

Well, that staggered the fellow completely. “I brought it from New
York,” he began, “and his name is—”

[Illustration: LUNCHING OUTDOORS.]

“Don’t trouble yourself to invent a name,” said the sergeant, sharply.
“You said he lent it to you this morning for the day. Now, I doubt
whether you came from New York this morning. Don’t you think that you
_may_ have picked up this camera by mistake for the one your friend
lent to you this morning in New York?”

But before the fellow could answer, the photographer said: “The
pictures tally with the young man’s list, and the one of the crowd in
Cairo Street is a double exposure showing that the film hadn’t been
wound up after this young man had taken the previous picture outside.

“And, Sergeant, the funniest part of it all is, that one of the
pictures that the young man took just at the door of Cairo Street,
shows this man standing looking at the camera, but without any of his
own!” and then all the men in the room looked at the thief and grinned.

“Well,” said the sergeant to the man, “what do you think about that

“I’m afraid it must have been an error,” said the man, rather shakily.
“I picked up this camera thinking it was my own, and—”

The sergeant said sharply, “Now, you get out of here, and quick too. It
wouldn’t pay to prosecute you, for you’re too slippery. Get out—quick!”
And the man just skipped.

“Now, young man,” said the sergeant, “you take better care of your
camera next time. I’ll see you into the grounds again.”

So I thanked him. He saw me through the gate, and that was the end of
my adventure. But it was a close shave. I didn’t tell you about it
before, for fear you would think I had been stupid.

[Illustration: WONDERFUL!]


                             CHAPTER XIX

              _Mr. Douglass has a Remarkable Experience._

“No, sir; not this afternoon, sir. I’m very sorry, but that’s the
orders. We have to be very careful with her, sir. There hasn’t been
anybody in it for full two hours,” said the man at the gate.

“But it’s one of the advertised attractions of the Midway, and I
insist,” said Mr. Douglass. He had already been in the Ferris Wheel
once before, and had not meant to return to it, but circumstances were
too strong for him, and here he was, ready to pay, but unable to get a

“Insist or not,” said the man at the gate; “you can’t get in if you
want to; we can’t let you in if we want to. The wheel is sulky, and
has been turning slow and ugly like that since noon to-day.”

“But I leave the city to-night,” said the tutor, “and I will not leave
without another ride in the great wheel.”

“Very good,” said the man, turning on his heel; “get in if you can. The
machinery is out of order, and we can’t stop the wheel—maybe you can”;
and he walked off whistling “Comrades.”

The man’s indifference roused Mr. Douglass. “We’ll see,” said he,
“whether I won’t have one more ride on the Ferris Wheel!”

After a brief glance around him, his eye caught the sign of the Bedouin
encampment. Rushing toward it, he threw a twenty-dollar gold piece upon
the counter, told the attendant to keep the change, and was soon in
earnest conference with the Arab sheiks.

He gave each a golden double eagle, and they bowed low. “Allah be
praised, the white chief’s will shall be done!” they exclaimed.

Then, without losing a moment, the three hurried to the great Ferris
Wheel, which still went painfully, jerkily about, with a low growl
that boded mischief. But if the wheel was out of temper, so was Mr.
Douglass; and, saying “Ready!” to the Arabs, he placed himself between
them, one grasping each of his arms. “Let go!” the tutor called; and at
the word, the sinewy Arabs raised him from the ground, and, after one
or two preliminary swings, hurled him through the air as if he had been
a stone from a sling.


Crash! went the tutor through the glass, just scraping his way between
two of the iron bars, but landing safely in a car.

“There!” he cried, “I _shall_ have another ride in the wheel!”

Up it went, over, down, and he came slowly toward where the Arabs stood
in earnest talk. As he approached, one stepped forward:

“Give more bakshish!” he cried, “or—”

Mr. Douglass shook his head. The Arabs shook their fists. He laughed
at them. Then, raging with fury, one turned and said in Arabic to the

“Seeme letim sleyd!”

No sooner said than done. Each Bedouin seized one of the gigantic
supports that upheld the wheel, and pulled with all his might. They
were both well-developed and had a strong pull. With a long pull and a
strong pull and a pull all together, they sprung out the supports, the
great wheel fell from its place, and the Bedouins, seeing the mischief
they had done—and perhaps repenting of it, for they were only hasty,
not wicked—leaped upon their priceless donkeys, and were soon lost in
the suburbs of Chicago. Unlike the cat, they did not return, and have
nothing more to do with the story. But no doubt they often regretted,
as they grew older, the hasty outburst of temper that was now to do so
much mischief.

For the wheel, with Mr. Douglass an unwilling passenger, dropped to the
ground, and rolled slowly up the Plaisance.

Its first victim was the Turkish village, and when the wheel had
passed, the village looked like a flat, hand-colored map.


Mr. Douglass, as soon as he saw what the Arabs were at, had climbed
out of the car, and, more like a spider than a tutor, made his way to
the axle, where he stood upright, walking backward upon the axle as
the wheel ran forward. From this well-chosen perch, he could, and did,
witness the ensuing scene—which was described by the Chicago reporters
as “unusual.”

The Turkish village, being a trifle lumpy, diverted the wheel but
little, and the next assault was upon the corner of the Panorama of
the Alps. The end of the canvas became entangled in the wheel, and was
stretched from one side to the other, so that subsequently many thought
that there had been a land-slide when they saw the wheel pass.

Mr. Hagenbeck’s far-famed Animal Show also came in for a share of
damage, the wheel crushing one corner of the menagerie, and picking up
the small performing-bear in such a way that he was compelled to leap
from car to car as each came upright, and walk the wheel as if it were
a circus ball. He was rescued unhurt, but considerably fatigued, when
the wheel finally—but it was not yet through.

Glancing to the other side of the Plaisance, the Libbey Glass Company
was splintered into what one of the Irish dairymaids declared to be
“smithereens,” and the monster rolled onward to where the International
Dress and Costume Exhibit was situated. Here it broke in one side
of the building, and then, catching sight of the contents, with a
shriek from every cog fled into the Fair Grounds, cutting its way
through the Illinois Central and Intramural bridges, with no more than
slight crunches. The bear and Mr. Douglass were still walking their
tread-mills, and the Panorama of the Alps still decorated a whole side
of the wheel.


But the great wheel, though out of temper, was not yet without feeling.
It swerved aside upon reaching the Woman’s Building, plunged into the
Lagoon, where, frightened by the squawking of the swans, it shot madly
toward the Government Building. Probably it would have gone entirely
through except for the fact that the Department of Justice lay directly
in its course. It could not face the stern portraits of judges upon its
walls, and, destroying only the big tree and a few other antiquities
of slight importance, it encountered the Liberal Arts Building but
slightly checked in speed.

Mr. Douglass was tired of his ride, and, from the bear’s growling,
concluded that his fellow-passenger was also ready to stop.

“I wish,” said Mr. Douglass (never relaxing his backward walk), “that
I had omitted this last visit to the Fair. It is rather exciting, but
too wearisome after my long weeks of tramping. I am glad to see the
Building of Manufactures ahead. The wheel may get through it, though I
couldn’t; but it won’t go much farther.”

But he was wrong. The lath and plaster offered little resistance to the
iron wheel, and the little elevator boy in the center of the building
opened all the throttles, shot bodily out through the roof, elevator
and all, and landed in the Viking ship, much put out but little hurt.

[Illustration: A LITTLE VISITOR]

On its way down the center aisle, the wheel picked up the big
telescope, and on its next revolution flung that marvelous instrument
high in air. But Ben Franklin was waiting for just such a chance, and
he promptly accepted it. Chucking aside his key and kite-line, he
stepped lightly out from the portico of the Electricity Building and
caught the telescope on the fly (for which feat he afterward received
a vote of thanks from the University of Chicago), placed it carefully
on the Wooded Island, and modestly resumed his place on the pedestal,
saying simply, “A penny saved is two pence clear.”

Cutting a clear channel through the biggest building, the wheel leaped
the Basin—a sight that so astonished Miss Progress that she called to
the Sciences and Arts to save themselves, came down from her perch,
fled shrieking into Machinery Hall, and took the Crane for the other

Miss Republic noticed the passing of the wheel, but, until it was gone,
did not understand what was going on.

The wheel was now headed directly for Agricultural Hall, but as it came
within a threatening distance, the three young women of the Zodiac
family, with a single impulse, threw their globe at the wheel—at the
same time uttering three shrieks that did more execution than the ball
they had thrown. The ball shattered one of the towers on the Convent;
but the shrieks saved the Agricultural Building, with all its priceless
corn-cobs, preserved prunes, and patent harvesters.

Scared from its course, the wheel sought an avenue of escape. To Mr.
Douglass’s horror, and the bear’s regret, its course lay toward the
Moving Sidewalk. Striking the wrong (the incoming) side, the wheel
began to see that it had made a mistake, for gradually it was compelled
to slow up.

Mr. Douglass and the performing-bear seized the opportunity to take a
short rest. Both were experienced travelers, and never failed to take
advantage of any chance to relieve the monotony of a journey.

Meanwhile, an alarm had been sounded upon all the trumpets held by
figures upon the Administration Building; telephones were at work
calling aid; the Fire Queen and all the patrol-wagons were dashing to
and fro; the Krupp gun was loaded and trained upon the wheel; and all
was bustle and excitement.

Buffalo Bill, Texas Jack, and Professor Hagenbeck with high boots on,
came riding like mad across the Court of Honor, and charged bravely
down upon the motionless wheel. When within range, Mr. Cody opened
fire, and succeeded in breaking all the windows that still remained
intact in any of the wheel cars. Texas Jack lassoed the bear, and
dragged the grateful beast from the top of the wheel, whereupon the
professor consoled the little animal by giving him the usual lump of
sugar taken from the professor’s coat-tail pocket. Just at this moment,
Engines “999,” “John Bull,” and “De Witt Clinton” arrived for the
purpose of hauling the wheel back to its place.

They were just too late.

The wheel having lost headway and remained still for a short time, now
began to be carried back along the sidewalk. It rounded the curve, ran
along the pier to the end, and, on coming back, had acquired a speed
that sent it off upon a new expedition.

This time the Statue of the Republic realized there was something
irregular in the action of the wheel, and aroused from her lethargy
enough to step languidly ashore and let the wheel go by. The Krupp gun
was discharged, but the missile, missing the wheel, put an end to the
battle-ship “Illinois,” who went into plaster chips with her flag still

Mr. Douglass said, pettishly, “I am getting very much bored at having
to run about on this axle, and I do think the authorities of the Fair
ought to do something to protect a visitor from such an accident.”

But his conscience told him that he had done wrong in entering the
wheel without having secured permission.

As the great unicycle ran for the Transportation Building, the statue
of “Land” remarked, “For the land’s sake!” and hastily put on brakes,
a course for which he was commended by Messrs. Fulton and Watt, his
neighbors. Stephenson, however, blamed him for not first securing one
of the air-brakes, of which there were plenty inside the building.

Striking the Intramural line, the wheel ran over Festival Hall,
exploding the bellows of the great organ, and then ran triumphantly up
and bursted the Horticultural bubble of glass.

Just here, however, the wheel and Mr. Douglass caught sight of the dome
of the Illinois State Building, and the iron creature turned aside
with a sigh that could be plainly heard at the British Building on the
lake-shore, and then ran down the Midway like a hunted stag.

Here Professor Hagenbeck and his young men received the wheel with
stern glances that even that awful monster of iron and glass found
irresistible. With a few lashes of his long whip, the professor soon
reduced the wheel to submission, and at the word of command it ran
to its place, climbed into position, and was still. The professor
immediately gave the wheel a lump of sugar from his coat-tail pocket,
patted it upon the cogs, and saying, “There will be no further trouble,
I think,” walked serenely back to lunch.

He had forgotten Mr. Douglass!

How was the poor tutor to reach the ground?

He tried to climb down one of the spokes, but slipped, lost his hold,
and was falling, falling, fall—

“I really believe, boys,” said Mr. Douglass, “that I’ve been asleep.
I’ve had a remarkable dream. It was—” But the brakeman called:

“New York, last stop, all out!”

[Illustration: THE 194,000,000 CANDLE-POWER SEARCH LIGHT.]


Transcriber’s Notes:
  - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
  - Leading blank pages have been removed.
  - Silently corrected one typographical punctuation error.
  - Spelling corrected: Pittsburg-->Pittsburgh, alloted-->allotted.
  - Otherwise, inconsistent hyphenation and spelling has been retained.

*** End of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "The Century World's Fair Book for Boys and Girls - Being the Adventures of Harry and Philip with Their Tutor, - Mr. Douglass, at the World's Columbian Exposition" ***

Doctrine Publishing Corporation provides digitized public domain materials.
Public domain books belong to the public and we are merely their custodians.
This effort is time consuming and expensive, so in order to keep providing
this resource, we have taken steps to prevent abuse by commercial parties,
including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.

We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Doctrine Publishing
Corporation's ISYS search for use by individuals, and we request that you
use these files for personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain from automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort
to Doctrine Publishing's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a
large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the use of
public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Keep it legal -  Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for
ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just because
we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States,
that the work is also in the public domain for users in other countries.
Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we
can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of any specific book is
allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Doctrine Publishing
ISYS search  means it can be used in any manner anywhere in the world.
Copyright infringement liability can be quite severe.

About ISYS® Search Software
Established in 1988, ISYS Search Software is a global supplier of enterprise
search solutions for business and government.  The company's award-winning
software suite offers a broad range of search, navigation and discovery
solutions for desktop search, intranet search, SharePoint search and embedded
search applications.  ISYS has been deployed by thousands of organizations
operating in a variety of industries, including government, legal, law
enforcement, financial services, healthcare and recruitment.