There was also a large model showing just what style of boat the fishermen used upon the Sea of Galilee in the days of the Saviour; it was a double-ended deep boat, looking as if it was very seaworthy, but gaudily painted.
The Chamber of Commerce of the Port of Dunkerque, France, had sent to the Exposition an enormous reproduction of the town and harbors, so large that each house had its tiny model in the mimic town. The boys admired this exhibit, and concluded that the money and labor expended upon it would not be wasted; for if they had been merchants they knew that it would have been impossible for them to forget what an excellent place Dunkerque must be for trading.
Another exhibit which they equally praised was that of a French steamship company which had made a “diorama,” or series of life-size views, setting forth exactly what traveling by their line would be. And instead of being satisfied with inferior work, they had selected a skilled artist to paint their pictures.
One will serve as a specimen. It was a painting that represented the last moments before sailing from Havre to New York. The spectator saw before him the long dock crowded with the passengers. Here an old mother was tearfully bidding her son good-by; here a party of jolly tourists were waving handkerchiefs to friends upon the steamer. In another spot was a lonely traveler who seemed to have no friend other than a carpet-bag. And, in short, the whole scene was vividly rendered with artistic power and with feeling. There were eight of these pictures, and the boys left none unvisited.
From a little beyond this point the boys could see the full-sized section of an ocean-steamer that reached from the floor to the roof, that is, counting the smokestack; and the boys agreed to sample that section before leaving. As yet, they found it hard to get through the galleries. Just as they had made up their minds to go down the stairs, they would come upon something that must be looked at. Such was a Netherland fishing-boat, so quaint that Philip succeeded in photographing it, even though the light was anything but favorable.
THE “GOLDEN DOORWAY,” TRANSPORTATION BUILDING.
Still more fascinating were the German exhibits of men-of-war—little, fierce battle-ships with rifled cannon hardly larger than darning-needles, but every detail so finely finished that it was like watchmakers’ work. In this series were shown all sorts of boats, from the swift cruiser down to the tiny torpedo-boat.
“What toys men can make when they try!” said Harry, enviously. “To think of the clumsy things that are made for children when such little beauties as these are possible! Why, there are models of boats here in this Fair that are so neat the King of the Fairies would feel timid about entering them—and I wish I owned one of them, that’s all!”
But there was no time to spare for enthusiasm. Folding-boats must be seen, and a gondola,—the last so exquisite in its fittings that the ones out on the Lagoon were like it as an ash-cart is like a state carriage,—and models of boats from India, whole cases of them, in all varieties and endless numbers.