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

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 high.

“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 are!”

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.

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!’”

“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 themselves.

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.

“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 roof.

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 immensity.