“How beautiful are the ever-changing colors of the water,” exclaimed Mrs. Vernon, as she watched the great lake before her.
“It’s said to be one of the most remarkable bodies of water in America, because of its kaleidoscope manner of merging one color to another in so short a time. Look out there by the lighthouse, for instance: the water over there looks quite green. Up to the north it is a deep blue, and down in front of us it is a tawny yellow. Towards Jackson Park it is brown—all at the same time,” remarked Mr. Gilroy.
“But you ought to see it in the winter, folks, when the northeasters tear loose and lash it into a wild beast,” said Mrs. Vernon. “The year Mr. Vernon and I were here we lived at the Grand Beach Hotel, where my windows had a fine view of the water.”
The tea and tempting French pastry now appeared and Lake Michigan became a dry issue to the girls.
Mr. Gilroy and his party boarded the train shortly before the time of its departure, but they had not dined in the city, therefore they sought the dining-car soon after the train pulled out of Chicago. Here they sat and enjoyed the scenery until it was too dark to see anything from the wide windows.
That night on the Pullman sleeping car Julie decided not to miss one bit of that wonderful ride. She literally followed Mr. Gilroy’s suggestion to use the suit-case for her head, but she placed the pillows of the berth on top of the luggage to enable her to prop up her head and gaze from the car window. The moon was almost full, and the silvery translucence which bathed everything seen from the flying train soothed and rested Julie’s nervous activities as she reposed and enjoyed the night scenes.
The speed of the train created a breeze which cooled the hot June night; and, there being little dust along the road bed, not to mention the fact that the smoke from the engine was blown back on the other side of the train, added greatly to the exhilarating delight of the trip.
Julie had a secret mission to perform during this summer’s outing, but she had taken no one into her confidence, not even the Captain, nor her twin-sister Betty. As she rested in a sitting position in the berth, she smiled as she thought of how she had to maneuver since leaving Elmertown on Sunday morning.
“But I did it and no one is the wiser,” murmured Julie to herself. “This ought to be a fine opportunity to write my impressions of Chicago and the railroad journey going west.”
Consequently the girl turned on the small electric light in the berth, and got out a pad of paper and a fountain pen. In a few moments she was scribbling away as if for dear life. She wrote and wrote exactly as though the flowing of the ink from her fountain pen caused an automatic flow of ideas from her brain down to and through her fingers which guided the pen.