MY BROTHER'S COUNSEL CAME TO MY AID:
"If you ever get lost in a city, don't try to find your way back, but hail the first hack you see, and tell the driver to take you to your hotel." This I did, and as the carriage rumbled over the streets across several blocks, I was wishing and praying that I might get to my room without being seen by my brother. He was not in the lobby of the hotel, and I was congratulating myself, as I wearily toiled up the stairs, that I had missed him, and he would never know of my misfortune; but I was doomed to disappointment. Opening the door, there he was in the room! As I stood before him, bedraggled with mud and water, his eyes opened wide and he took me in. "Where have you been?" he exclaimed. I gasped out: "To the fire!" He was not a prayer-meeting man, and I will not repeat his language. As he rolled on the bed, yelling like a Comanche Indian, I was utterly disgusted with him. I saw nothing to laugh about. I have never helped at a fire since then, and when I hear the fire alarm and see the engine in its mad rush, I am inclined to want to go in the other direction.