After he had seen, in the next room, Douglas Volk’s “Puritan Girl” and Hovenden’s “Breaking Home Ties,” he became a little depressed; but was cheered up by Toby Rosenthal’s comedy, “A Dancing-Lesson of our Grandmother’s.”
When he went outside to sit upon the steps for a moment’s rest, he began to understand Sir Isaac Newton’s simile about picking up a few shells on the shore; for he saw that he had been several hours in the Art Building, and had seen hastily only a part of one wing of the great storehouse. He hurried back, rushed blindly through several rooms, and tried to take a small piece out of Great Britain’s display. Again he was caught here and drawn there by the magic brush of one artist after another, and had to confess that he must raise the siege and hope for another day. He walked down the steps with a sense of injury and loss, which remained with him until the outdoor air and the breeze from the lake had restored his good humor.
THE GRANDMOTHER OF THE SWEDISH ARTIST ZORN.[2]
From the original carving in birch-wood (six inches high) by Zorn.
He concluded to walk home, and made his way to the path that ran along the lake-shore. Philip found his muscles a little sore, and seeing a vacant bench, sat down upon it. In a few moments he saw a group of young men pointing out upon the lake. He looked in the direction they indicated, and to his amazement made out the “Santa Maria” under full sail and as independent as any steamer of them all. Philip felt as if he might be an Indian viewing the first coming of the caravel, and wished sincerely that he were aboard, so that he might shut his eyes and imagine he heard that first cry, “Land! Land!”
He was delighted with the chance that had brought him the sight of the caravel at sea, and wondered what nabob of the Fair was cruising about as if he were Christopher Columbus himself.
Resuming his walk, he went through one or two of the buildings in order to get out of the sun (which beat down quite fiercely, considering how late in the year it was). In the Liberal Arts Building it seemed that only frail pieces of plate-glass protected the rich treasures of gold and silver arranged in the jewelers’ show-windows, and Harry wondered whether a modern Dick Turpin, or Blackbeard the Pirate, could not, by dash and nerve, succeed in carrying away enough plunder to support him forever after in some reputable line of business. The pirate, he thought, would have the better chance; for he might rush to the shore, where his trusty crew were awaiting him in the long-boat, be rowed to his stealthy black vessel, hoist sail, and away with all that Tiffany and the Gorham Company had left out of their safes!
Then what a scurrying to and fro! Sailors and soldiers, losing their presence of mind, would dash up to the conning-tower of the battle-ship “Illinois” and press the dummy electric buttons, wondering why the engineer didn’t get up all steam and put on full speed at once. Others would leap into the “Viking” and start to row with the long sweeps, forgetting that there were only shields aboard.
Philip was amused at this odd fancy, and resolved to ask Harry to make a sketch of the pursuit. Meanwhile he made his way home, keeping in the porticos where it was shady, and avoiding the clayey mud left by the previous day’s rain.
“I’d rather,” he told Harry that night, “miss some of the regular exhibits, if I’ve got to take the Fair in samples; when it comes to missing pictures, you never know what you’ve lost.”