Captains and gay
Lieutenants who wore it, I felt the call and I must go.
CHAPTER XXIII
BACK TO ARIZONA
The last nails were driven in the precious boxes, and I started
overland in November with my little son, now nearly two years
old.
"Overland" in those days meant nine days from New York to San
Francisco. Arriving in Chicago, I found it impossible to secure a
section on the Pullman car so was obliged to content myself with
a lower berth. I did not allow myself to be disappointed.
On entering the section, I saw an enormous pair of queer cow hide
shoes, the very queerest shoes I had ever seen, lying on the
floor, with a much used travelling bag. I speculated a good deal
on the shoes, but did not see the owner of them until several
hours later, when a short thick-set German with sandy close-cut
beard entered and saluted me politely. "You are noticing my shoes
perhaps Madame?"
"Yes" I said, involuntarily answering him in German.
His face shone with pleasure and he explained to me that they
were made in Russia and he always wore them when travelling.
"What have we," I thought, "an anarchist?"
But with the inexperience and fearlessness of youth, I entered
into a most delightful conversation in German with him.
