"MISS KATHLEEN and I snickered. Uncle Fred just sat and looked at the conductor and kept on moistening his lips. By and by he spoke. 'Don't you think your street car system is a trifle complicated?' he asked sarcastically.
"'Not at all,' said the conductor, swelling out his chest. 'You ought to of got onto a Jackson Park train instead of this, that's all.'
"Uncle Fred bit his under lip. He had forgotten about looking at the grip to see whether it was a Jackson Park train.
"''Tain't too late, though,' said the conductor, after enjoying Uncle Fred's face for a minute. 'We ain't to Fifty-fifth Street yet. I'll give you transfers and you can change there.'
"Uncle Fred didn't look at either of us, but sat and fingered the transfers. After a while he turned to Miss Kathleen. 'Do you remember Mark Twain's "Pink trip slip for a six-cent fare, punch in the presence of the passengaire"? Well, I'm getting these transfers on the brain. First Bess had three pink ones, and then she had seventeen blue ones, and now I have thirty-two orange ones—I think there's thirty-two—thirty-two, please count 'em,' and he put his hand to his head. But just then we came to where there was a tall switch-tower, and on the other side, a great building full of machinery, and we got off there. I wanted, perfectly dreadfully, to go into the power-house, as Uncle Fred called it, for I could see, through the windows, the great wheels turning and the bands flying; but it was getting so late in the evening that I didn't dare to even suggest it.
"Pretty quick a car came along; but Uncle Fred wouldn't let us get aboard until he had called to the conductor and asked if it went to Ellis Avenue.
"'Sure,' said the conductor, 'Come on,' and we climbed in.
"'Now,' said Uncle Fred, as we ranged ourselves along the seat, 'we're hot on the trail. It can't get away from us this time, that's sure,' and he began to look quite brash again. 'She said to get off at Ellis Avenue,' he went on, 'and go straight south and we'd come to Foster Hall—couldn't miss it!'
"'She doesn't know you very well, does she?' asked Miss Kathleen, laughing a little. Then she stared down at her muddy shoes and the draggled edge of her gown; but she couldn't look sober for two seconds, and the dimples kept chasing around the corners of her mouth every time she caught a glimpse of my eyes. We hadn't either of us dared to laugh as much as we wanted to, for fear of hurting Uncle Fred's feelings, but I'd been getting fuller and fuller ever since we started, and it positively seemed as if I could not keep it in two seconds longer. When I caught her eye I did give one little squeal, and then I tried to turn it into a cough, and Uncle Fred looked at me suspiciously and opened his mouth, and just then the conductor called 'Ellis Avenue.'
"We climbed off and started down the street. It didn't take long to get there, and Uncle Fred went up the wide steps of the long building, looking sort of triumphant, and with his shoulders well back, and Miss Kathleen and I followed, shaking out our skirts and patting our hair into place.
"Just inside of the door was what appeared to be an office, and two men were sitting there. Uncle Fred walked up to one of them. 'We would like to see Miss Mills,' he said, taking out some cards.
"'What is the name?' asked the man.
"'The names are on the cards,' said Uncle Fred, rather stiffly.
"'I mean the name you asked for,' said the man.
"'Oh! Miss Mills.'
"The man shook his head. 'We have no one of that name here,' he said.
"'Oh, yes you have,' said Uncle Fred, very decidedly; 'Miss Eleanor Mills, of Tennessee.'
"The man shook his head again. 'No,' he said, 'there's no such name on our books.'
"Uncle Fred began to look annoyed. 'I don't wish to dispute you,' he said, with a whole lot of dignity; 'but she told me that she was here. I had her on the telephone this afternoon. Of course it is possible that she didn't know where she was staying, but she seemed to. She was here all last year, as well.'
"The man pursed his lips. 'I don't know any such name,' he said again.
"Uncle Fred squared his shoulders and threw back his head. 'Probably not,' he said, cuttingly; 'but perhaps you can direct me to some one possessed of some knowledge of this institution.'
"The man glowered at him. 'I'm in charge here,' he said, gruffly.
"Uncle Fred glanced around at us with an expression which said 'Stick to the ship, I'll take her through,' and then he turned back to the man, who was standing with both hands on the desk and looking like Gibraltar. They stared at each other for about a minute; and then Uncle Fred began, very slowly; 'My friend, Miss Eleanor Mills, of Tennessee, informed me to-day that she was here at Foster Hall—this is Foster Hall, I believe?'
"A slow grin overspread the man's face. 'Well—no—not exactly,' he drawled, 'This is the Home for Incurables.'
"I wish you could have seen Uncle Fred's face. He opened and shut his mouth several times before any words came. At last he said, in a little, small voice,—
"'You haven't any room here for me, have you?'
"The man looked him over. 'Well,' he said, 'we're pretty full at present, but in urgent cases like yours—'
"But Miss Kathleen and I didn't wait to hear any more. We bolted, and then we dropped down on the steps and hugged each other and laughed until we were so weak that we could scarcely sit up.
"After a while Uncle Fred came out, mopping his face with his handkerchief. 'It's on me, girls,' he said, dismally. 'I don't like to confess it, for I'm not a real old man yet, but I'm certainly in my second childhood. Do either of you feel equal to leading this expedition? Of course things are looking up a little,—that is, there is a shade more of cheerfulness in the Home for Incurables, as contrasted with the cemetery, but the next stop is so blamed uncertain—'
"Miss Kathleen rose up. 'I'll be pilot,' she said, determinedly, 'and if it's on Ellis Avenue, I'll find it,' and she picked up her skirts and marched down the steps, Uncle Fred and I following meekly.
"She got us there all right, though it wasn't on Ellis Avenue after all, and we had an awfully good time with Miss Mills; but we didn't tell her anything about our troubles on the way, for Uncle Fred looked so afraid we would, that we hadn't the heart to. Of course I didn't see much of the University, but what I did see I'll tell you about when I get home.
"When it was time to go, Miss Mills said we'd better take the suburban train because it was so much quicker. She said that she had suggested our coming the way we did, so that we could see a little more of the city, and Uncle Fred said it was kind of her. Then she got out her timetable and said that there was a train every halfhour at that time of night, and that we had just about time to get one; and so we started in a hurry.
"'Don't you think we'd better go back the way we came?' asked Uncle Fred, as soon as we were out of doors. 'We know that route now.'
"'Do we?' said Miss Kathleen, scornfully. 'I doubt it. No, sir, I'm pilot, and I'm going to take you safe home in the shortest possible time.'
"So off we started, Miss Kathleen chatting and laughing over her visit with Miss Mills, and Uncle Fred staring around gloomily and shaking his head. By and by he looked at his watch. 'We've got to hurry,' he said.
"'We're almost there,' said Miss Kathleen, 'See, there's the viaduct she told us about.'
"We hurried along and went in under the shadow of the great girders and there, sure enough was a turn-stile and a little ticket-office; but there was no light in the ticket-office, and the turn-stile only turned one way, and that was the way that kept us out.
"Uncle Fred looked at Miss Kathleen and smiled cheerfully,—I could see by the sputtering electric light across the street. 'We've got just three minutes,' he remarked.
"'Well, why don't you do something?' exclaimed Miss Kathleen, desperately.
"'I could climb over,' said Uncle Fred, 'Could you?'
"'No,' said Miss Kathleen, 'I couldn't, and you couldn't, either. The space at the top wouldn't even let Bess through. No, do something else. The ticket-agent must be asleep,—pound on the window.'
"Uncle Fred tried to look through the glass, but it was all dark, so he began to pound on the window-frame with his cane; and then a big policeman loomed out of the darkness beyond the viaduct, and came up to us scowling.
"'What you trying to do?' he asked.
"Uncle Fred looked at him and took on his funny, meek little way that reminds me of Uncle Rob. 'Well,' he said, 'I was trying to break through and steal an engine, but now you've come, I suppose it's all up. You see, we were wanting to go down town, and we can't seem to get the hang of your transportation system here. I thought that if I could manage to swipe an engine or a hand-car—but since you're here, of course it's no use.'
"The policeman grinned. 'I guess some tickets will do you all right. This entrance isn't open in the evening. You have to go to the regular station, around in the next street.'
"Miss Kathleen grabbed my hand and started to run the minute the policemen's club pointed the direction; but just then there came a rumble and a roar, and we stopped short and held our ears until the train had passed over our heads. Then Miss Kathleen turned to Uncle Fred. 'What now?' she asked helplessly.
"'Half an hour until the next train,' said Uncle Fred, pleasantly.
"'Maybe there might be an extra,' said Miss Kathleen, and she led the way around to the regular ticket-office. A sleepy-looking agent was sitting at the window.
"'When will there be another train?' asked Miss Kathleen.
"'North or south, lady?' asked the man, yawning.
"'Why—why—' began Miss Kathleen, looking around at us uncertainly.
"Uncle Fred was studying the girders over his head.
"'To the city,' I whispered.
"'Why, yes, certainly, to the city, of course,' said Miss Kathleen.
"'Twenty-five minutes,' said the man.
"Miss Kathleen looked discouraged. 'Is there any other way to get down town?' she asked.
"'Cottage Grove cable, if you walk four or five blocks north,' pointing with his thumb.
"'But there are so many changes on that line,' complained Miss Kathleen.
"The ticket-agent looked surprised. 'There ain't no changes on that line, lady,' he said.
"Miss Kathleen looked at him and then at Uncle Fred. 'We changed nineteen times coming out,' she said.
"'Well,' said the agent, shrugging his shoulders, 'of course you could change at every corner if you wanted to; but there ain't no reason why you should, unless for exercise.'
"Miss Kathleen stared at him in a dazed sort of a way, and then turned from the window. 'Well,' she said, 'I guess we'd better take the cable. I'd be rather afraid to get on a regular railroad train after all this. I feel sort of foggy, and we might land in Milwaukee or Kalamazoo—'
"'Or Kankakee,' suggested Uncle Fred."
"'—and the cable certainly can't get us out of Chicago without our knowing it, and that's something to consider. Bess, dear, won't you be pilot? I want to resign before things get any worse.'
"'All right,' I said, and marched off ahead in the dark, going the way the agent had pointed. I asked questions of every policeman I saw, and in just a few minutes we came in sight of a little brick office with a blue cable train standing in front of it.
"I went up to the conductor. 'Does this train go to Wabash Avenue and Madison Street?' I asked.
"'It surely does,' said he.
"'Do we have to change cars?'
"'Not a change.'
"My, but I was proud! We got on and I sat down in one corner and went to thinking over our experiences, just as if I were telling you about it all, and when I came to the 'Home for Incurables' part, I had some work to do. I wish they'd change the name of it, Chet. Just think of going to live in a place with a name like that! It's like having over the entrance: 'All ye who enter here, leave hope behind.' I'm sure that they will see it right some day, and change the name to something cozy and hopeful that will make the people there feel a thrill of confidence in good, every time that they say it or write it. I went to trying to think up just exaetly the best name; and then by and by I felt my head bumping against the window-frame and Miss Kathleen drew it over onto her shoulder,—and then we were going up stairs to the elevated. Uncle Fred really does know all about the elevated, so I didn't feel responsible any more,—and by and by we were out in the cool night air again, and the lake was looking black before us,—and then I was in my room and Aunt Fannie was helping me undress,—and then it was morning.
"You said in your letter that some people claimed to be healed by reading the Christian Science text-book, and you said that it was absurd, when there was a visible physical manifestation to show that something was wrong. (I'm glad you admitted that you hunted up those words in the dictionary, for I knew they didn't come natural.) I suppose you think that a case like that couldn't be healed by anything but medicine,—at least, you think that you think so. That is because both the 'manifestation' and the medicine are what you call 'real.' Now just suppose that you were to come in and find me crying—the tears running down my face, wet, watery tears that you could see and feel; wouldn't that be what you call a 'visible physical manifestation showing something is wrong'? Would you rush off and get some medicine to put into my stomach to stop the water coming out of my eyes,—or would you get a surgeon to sew the lids together so they couldn't leak? If you did, you'd be trying to stop the effect without paying any attention to the real cause. (Maybe you would stop it for a minute, by attracting my attention, but as soon as I stopped thinking about the new ideas, I'd begin to cry again.) But suppose that instead of that, you went to work to find out what the trouble might be, and then helped me out of it, whatever it was; wouldn't you stop the tears a whole lot sooner, even if they were real, wet, watery tears? You see, in some cases you'd do exactly as we do; and the only difference is that we know that all seeming 'physical manifestations of trouble' have a mental source, and we do our work upon that, the cause, instead of trying to wrestle with the effect.
"Now, if a person is in trouble, the way to stop the tears is to tell him something which shows that he hasn't, really, any cause for them; that is, make him understand that there isn't any such cause, and then he can't cry if he wants to; and the way we stop other 'manifestations of trouble,' called sickness, is by making him understand that there isn't any cause for that; and then the appearance stops of itself. Don't you see?
"Now it doesn't make any difference whether the person gets that understanding by some one telling him, or whether he gets it out of a book, does it? And if he gets it out of a book, hasn't the book healed him?
"Think it over for a while, Chet, and see if it is such an absurd idea, after all."