"I don't know the man, or boy, for that's all he is, but if that isn't Mary's hat——"
"Mary! Phew! What's become of Axworthy?"
As we approached the comfortable-looking pair, Mary bowed to us smilingly, and called the attention of her companion to her "father and mother"—darn her impudence!
The boat ride was spoiled for Belle and me, our white elephant having arisen to haunt us once more. We landed and walked over to the lake front, where the whole slope was packed with people waiting for the fireworks to begin.
Someone started to sing "Way Down upon the Swanee Ribber," and everybody joined in. "Nearer, my God, to Thee" was also most impressive from the vast impromptu chorus. In the foreground Lake Michigan lay darkly expectant, with a large black cloud upon its horizon, though the stars shone overhead. A half-circle of boats extended from the long Exhibition Wharf on the right, round to the warship Illinois on the left, and from the latter a search light, an omnipresent eye, swept the crowd with rapidly veering glance, till it concentrated its gaze on the dark balloon which rose so mysteriously from the water. Suddenly from this balloon was suspended the Stars and Stripes in colored lights. The crowd cheered like mad, the boats whistled, and sent up rockets galore.
On went the programme. Bombs tested the strength of our wearied ear-drums, fiery snakes sizzled through the air, big wheels spurted brilliant marvels, and along the very edge of the lake, to the great discomfort of the front rows of the stalls, a line of combustibles behaved like gigantic footlights on a spree.
"David, who do you suppose that was with Mary?"
I had been up in the air with George Washington, surrounded by "First in War, First in Peace, etc.," in letters of fire, and I was unwillingly recalled to earth.
"Haven't the remotest idea. Hope she hasn't given Axworthy the slip."
"I'm only hoping that he has not given her the slip. I'd never have brought her to the Fair if he hadn't agreed to look after her."