AGAIN UNDER THE WITCHERY OF CAIRO STREET.
Another summer day is drawing to a close, and lights are springing
up along the merry Midway as if by magic. If a strange, eerie place
during the day, with its curious inhabitants and remarkable specimens
of world-wide architecture from humble South Sea Island huts to Turkish
mosques, Persian palaces, and Chinese pagodas, the effect is greatly
lightened when these wonders are viewed by the aid of thousands upon
thousands of lamps, colored lanterns, and electric lights.
After the numerous villages and streets, bazaars and countless shops
had once got into full working order, each day and night was pretty
much like another along the Midway. Only a downfall of rain made a
perceptible difference in the crowds that haunted its classic shades.
The same weird noises came from every hand, and a succession of sights
that made one doubt very much whether he was in the ancient city on the
Nile or the modern Babylon, Chicago.
When Aleck Craig and his friend Wycherley turn under the Intra-Mural
railway and enter upon the Plaisance, it is just evening, and their
thoughts naturally go toward supper. They might have had a much finer
meal at any of the restaurants in the open grounds of the Fair, but
as in the case of many others, they experience a certain amount of
pleasure in dining where they can look upon the shifting panorama of
sight-seers and fez-covered Orientals forever drifting past.
All is merriment in the Midway. It is to the great Fair what the
variety stage may be in connection with theatricals in general. People
go to tragedy to be instructed--to learn of human passions. They look
at comedy to see life as it occurs--to weep with misery, to rejoice
over the triumph of virtue; but when, wearied with business cares, and
anxious to forget trouble for the time being, they desire to laugh, it
is farce to which they turn. That is why the variety theater has gained
such a hold upon the masses.
Intense devotion to business demands a relaxation that shall be
complete.
So with the famous Midway.
Tens of thousands viewed the glories of the Fair with interest and awe.
Its magnitude appalled them. They could not remember one thousandth
part of what they saw. A sense of heaviness came upon mind and body.
This was too much like work, and they had come here for a holiday.
Hence, about two or three in the afternoon, they could be seen entering
the wonderful Street of Nations in squads, most of them to remain until
nine or ten in the evening.
Here they found relief; here light and gayety and good cheer abounded.
Very, very many who haunted these grounds, over which an indescribable
charm forever rested, were people of good taste and education. They
found here the balm in Gilead, the peace of mind that was denied them
in the whirl of Machinery Hall or the endless displays in the Liberal
Arts. And so from one cause or another the Midway always carried its
great crowd every afternoon and evening; the fakirs rattled the dry
bones and shouted themselves hoarse in endeavoring to draw the shekels
out of pockets that were only too willing; the bazaars glittered with
their tinsel and chaff; and over the whole scene was spread a glamour
the like of which was never before known on American soil; all the
ancient countries of the world bringing their gew gaws and costumes and
ways of living, to spread them out to the gaze of the youngest nation
on earth, the giant of the West.
The Canadian and his friend seat themselves at a table where they can
see this shifting panorama, and order supper. Near by rises the great
Ferris wheel, now ablaze with electric fires, and revolving on its axis
with steady “clank, clank, clank, clank.”
Looking up at its tremendous dimensions, Aleck finds it hard to believe
what strange things have occurred to him since he took his memorable
ride two nights previous. It all passes in review before his mental
vision like a dream, and yet he has much cause for feeling cheerful. At
that time he was searching for somebody, with a hope that daily grew
less--now he has found the object of his pursuit, and uncertainty has
given way to definite hope.
Wycherley is as merry as ever. His fortunes have taken a sudden turn
since the time he and Aleck met with their adventures in this same
Midway, and one would hardly recognize the man in his neat business
suit. It is doubtful whether Claude is lighter of heart than before.
Now cares have come to bring lines upon his face, responsibility will
be apt to sober him down a little. With some men, light of pocket means
light of heart; fill their purse and you bring corroding care, anxiety,
fear of robbery, and the kindred evils which in their needy state they
never knew.
“You’ve arranged business with Mr. Cereal, I believe you said,
Wycherley,” remarks Aleck, as, having finished their light repast,
they buy the waiter body and soul with a fee, and then proceed to enjoy
a cigar while watching the endless procession stroll by.
“Yes, he has taken me under his wing, and I’m quite content to let him
mold me into whatever he likes. Presume he sees something in a fellow
of my build that can be made available. Of course nothing is settled
yet, and probably won’t be until we wind up Mr. Turk from the Bosphorus
and his rascally game, but I expect to be the Co. of the Samson Cereal
concern some day in the near future.”
He does not say this boastingly, but with a quiet assurance that goes
to the point. Already the ex-actor is changing.
“Speaking of that same Turk, there he goes.”
“By my life, you speak truly, milord. He has not seen us, I trow. It
might be well to hang our heads so that, if he looks this way, he will
fail to believe we are anything more than the ordinary footpads who
haunt this classic ground, demanding the coin of the realm to fill
their bulging Turkish pockets.”
His meaning is clear enough, though to one who did not know his ways,
the words might seem ambiguous. They continue to watch Aroun Scutari,
though careful not to show their faces.
The Turk is heading for the large bazaar near by, but comes to a halt
just at the corner of the Persian Palace. As he stands there another
man joins him, and the two converse with much animation, judging from
their gestures.
“Why not follow them; it will bring us to the trap quicker than in any
other way?”
Wycherley it is who suggests the idea, and his companion falls in with
it at once. They are anxious to be on the move at any rate. Some around
them, looking weary and haggard, are only too glad of a chance to rest.
In a crowd like that which haunts the spectacular Midway, it is not as
difficult to follow a person undetected as might be believed. All that
is necessary is to keep him in view, never losing him for a second,
and making sure to have a squad just in front, behind which one is
safe from observation in case the pursued is suspicious and casts many
glances over his shoulder.
In this way they follow the Turk to Cairo Street. He enters, and Aleck
turns to his companion.
“We had better follow,” he says, knowing that the final act in the
drama is to be worked out in the shadow of these buildings that so
nearly represent a street from the banks of the Nile.
“Good, I’m with you,” returns Wycherley, as he actually buys two
tickets and hands them to the Arab boy at the door, who stares at him,
and even runs after him, making signs, which the reformed actor calmly
ignores.
Aleck is laughing in a quiet way--the scene is really ridiculous--the
supreme indifference of the lordly Wycherley--the belief of the Arab
youth that he has discovered an old enemy, with whom he has had many
encounters, only to be worsted time and again, and his wonder at the
passive submission of the man who heretofore made it a point never to
pay.
“What amuses you, comrade?” demands the ex-actor soberly.
“The leopard has changed his spots. Only two nights ago you bulldozed
that same youth into letting us in free. He is amazed--bewildered at
your allowing yourself to be mulcted now.”
“Ah! that was Wycherley the vagabond, sailing on the strength of
past affiliation with tramps and nomads of all kinds. Presto! behold
Wycherley the broker, the partner of a millionaire. Is it possible that
you don’t see that I must _reform_? When I clothed myself in that dress
suit last night, I put off the old life, as if it had never been. That
is my privilege. Don’t believe, my dear fellow, that I can ever be
anything but a merry dog; but there’s a way of drawing the line, and
I’ve chalked it out. The dead line at Andersonville was of small moment
compared with it. Over that line I never step again, so long as fortune
smiles.”
“On the whole a very sensible way of arranging it. Does you credit,
my boy. Now our man the enemy is pushing down the street. Shall we
follow? is the question, or hold aloof with the crowd here that jeers
at the camel riders and mocks those who bestride the long-eared
donkeys. Everybody laughs; it’s in the air. Let’s stop and see the fun,
meanwhile keeping an eye beyond the mosque for signs of the spider’s
web across Cairo Street,” replies Aleck.
“When does Samson Cereal expect to bring up in this den of lions?”
“Between eight and half-past.”
“Then we’ve got a little time. I suggest a rise in the world. Look at
that balcony above. We can gain it by a little silver. No one is there.
It will give us a view of the whole scene. We may pull our hats down
and keep an eye on everything that occurs.”
“A good scheme. This crowd is too jovial by half. Look at the donkey
boys plunging their little jacks directly through it, and you hear only
feminine shrieks or the hoarse laughter of men; not an angry word.
I’ve never before seen an American crowd put up with so much abuse and
humbug. It’s miraculous.” And Aleck is right; many marvel at the sight,
and can only believe there must be some witchery in the air.
From the odd balcony of the house in Cairo Street the view is
entrancing, and once seen can never be forgotten. Our friends do
not forget the business that brings them to the place, and while
smiling at the ludicrous sights presented below, with amateur camel
riders hugging each other upon the swaying ships of the desert, and
letting out volleys of shrieks that are music to Arab ears, they keep
continually on the watch for those who are to start the serious part of
the drama into action.
Suddenly Wycherley utters an exclamation.
“What do you see?” asks his companion, in doubt as to whether the other
has made a pleasing discovery or the opposite, for he remembers the
Spanish cigar girl and Wycherley has not yet renounced his claims in
that quarter, though only the night before paying gallant attention to
a banker’s daughter.
“Observe yonder camel and his riders,” replies Claude.