“But it’s one of the advertised attractions of the Midway, and I insist,” said Mr. Douglass. He had already been in the Ferris Wheel once before, and had not meant to return to it, but circumstances were too strong for him, and here he was, ready to pay, but unable to get a ticket.
“Insist or not,” said the man at the gate; “you can’t get in if you want to; we can’t let you in if we want to. The wheel is sulky, and has been turning slow and ugly like that since noon to-day.”
“But I leave the city to-night,” said the tutor, “and I will not leave without another ride in the great wheel.”
“Very good,” said the man, turning on his heel; “get in if you can. The machinery is out of order, and we can’t stop the wheel—maybe you can”; and he walked off whistling “Comrades.”
The man’s indifference roused Mr. Douglass. “We’ll see,” said he, “whether I won’t have one more ride on the Ferris Wheel!”
After a brief glance around him, his eye caught the sign of the Bedouin encampment. Rushing toward it, he threw a twenty-dollar gold piece upon the counter, told the attendant to keep the change, and was soon in earnest conference with the Arab sheiks.
He gave each a golden double eagle, and they bowed low. “Allah be praised, the white chief’s will shall be done!” they exclaimed.
Then, without losing a moment, the three hurried to the great Ferris Wheel, which still went painfully, jerkily about, with a low growl that boded mischief. But if the wheel was out of temper, so was Mr. Douglass; and, saying “Ready!” to the Arabs, he placed himself between them, one grasping each of his arms. “Let go!” the tutor called; and at the word, the sinewy Arabs raised him from the ground, and, after one or two preliminary swings, hurled him through the air as if he had been a stone from a sling.
A GLIMPSE OF THE HORTICULTURAL DOME.