“I’d like it,” Harry agreed. “But I’ll tell you what, while Philip was using his camera yesterday I wanted one ‘like sixty.’ Why can’t I hire one?”
“You can,” the tutor answered. “Where do we go to get it, Philip?”
“To the free dark-rooms back of the Horticultural. We can walk there: it isn’t far from where we usually go in; or, if you want to go in a new way, we can keep outside until we get to the proper entrance.”
THE CENTURY CO’S ROOM IN THE MANUFACTURES AND LIBERAL ARTS BUILDING.
All three were willing; and, keeping outside of the high board fence topped with several lines of barbed wire, they walked on for two or three blocks above the main entrance. The street was lined by booths for the sale of the omnipresent souvenirs—glass paper-weights, watch-charms, canes, lockets, and every sort of cheap knickknack; and these booths were elbowed by temporary shops and stands made to serve for restaurants, fruit-stands, shooting-galleries, tintype-galleries, cake-kitchens,—all the cheap-John establishments that could find room to claim a nickel from the passers-by.
Coming to the entrance they sought, they met a young man in a blue uniform and cap showing that he was an agent of the Photographic Department. Harry paid him two dollars, and received a “hand-camera permit, good for that day only,” the date being stamped on it in green ink. They found themselves, after passing the gates, not far from the photographic rooms. Here Harry secured a small, easily handled kodak, upon which Mr. Douglass made a deposit of ten dollars.
“Now,” said Harry, “I’ll show you how cameras are handled by experts.”
“But remember,” the tutor reminded him, “that you are here to-day with the intention of going through some State buildings at least. Don’t think mainly of taking snap-shots.”
“Oh, I won’t,” Harry replied, more seriously; “I only mean to take pictures of the groups of people here and there—especially the children. Children are always so interesting when they are at a place like this.”