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 — Text and Context

ell 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 Eagle.”

“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.”