Centennial
Part 3
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Come on!” Adam yelled as he loped toward the streetcar at the corner of Eighth and Chestnut.
Joe, jogging behind, barely managed to swing aboard the car before it pulled away. Grabbing onto a pole, he scanned the length of the car for a seat and scowled at his brother, who had taken the last one available. Adam merely laughed. “I told you to hurry,” he reminded Joe with a disgustingly superior leer.
Joe lurched across the aisle to snare a strap next to his older brother. “Doggone it, Adam. How come we didn’t wait for the next car?” he grumbled. “Gates don’t open ‘til nine, and we’re gonna be there half an hour before that.”
“Which should insure our getting inside at straight up nine,” Adam stated calmly. “You’ve seen the Main Building, Joe, so you know we don’t have a minute to spare if we’re going to finish it up today.”
Joe gave an eloquent sigh for Adam’s benefit, but it elicited no sympathy from his older brother. A woman sitting across the aisle, however, smiled kindly at the boy, and he responded with a shrug and a shake of his head, followed by a gleaming grin. The lady was attractive, her stylishly looped black hair setting off an almost milk-white complexion, but she was much too old for him, at least as ancient as his brother Adam and possibly a year or two older. Despite that disadvantage, Little Joe had a hard time taking his eyes off the lady, and not just because she was pretty and fashionably dressed. What he was really drawn to was the gold watch pinned to her blouse or, more precisely, the unique strap to which it was attached. A Centennial ribbon of red, white and blue had been creatively fashioned into a watch fob, and Joe couldn’t help admiring it, although it was, of course, a little too broad and ostentatious for a man to wear.
The woman tilted her head to one side and looked steadily back at him, a quizzical cast to her dark brown eyes.
Joe flushed under her scrutiny. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he apologized quickly. “I didn’t mean to stare. I was just admiring your watch fob and wondering—”
“Joe,” Adam hissed, for in the East one simply didn’t speak to an unknown woman without introduction.
“It’s all right,” the woman said, her face relaxing as she smiled again at Joe.
The glint in Adam’s eye, however, clearly communicated that it was not all right, and not wanting to be on the receiving end of another of his older brother’s lectures on proper behavior, Joe deemed it prudent to keep his questions to himself and to direct his gaze elsewhere. Even when the seat beside the woman became open at the next stop, he remained standing. Another gentlemen soon took the seat, but only briefly. As the streetcar pulled up to the next corner, he stood and after apologizing for practically tumbling into the woman’s lap, lurched down the aisle toward the exit while the car was still moving.
His attention drawn by the lady’s soft grunt when she was jostled by the exiting passenger, Joe looked back toward her again, and his eyebrows came together in a troubled line. Something didn’t look right. For a moment Joe wasn’t sure what was wrong. Then he saw the Centennial ribbon, now sans watch, hanging from the woman’s blouse and immediately discerned what had happened. “Hey! You there, stop!” he yelled, charging down the aisle after the clumsy oaf who had just left the lady’s side.
The man took one look and tried to swing off the car. Lunging forward, Joe grabbed him and pulled him back in.
“Joe! What are you doing?” Adam yelled, coming to his feet and charging toward the men grappling on the floor of the streetcar.
“Help me!” Joe shouted from beneath his opponent, for while the other man didn’t have his fighting skill, he did have the advantage of size. “He’s got the lady’s watch!”
The woman gasped and clutched at the ribbon. “Oh, no,” she cried. “Not Grandmother’s watch! Oh, please, stop him.”
Adam had already flown into action, plucking the culprit off his younger brother and decking him with a powerful right upper-cut, just as the streetcar jerked to a stop and a man in uniform strode swiftly back to investigate the commotion. “What’s going on here?” the conductor demanded. “Get off my car, the lot of you!”
The woman stood. “Oh, please, sir. I believe that man has taken my gold watch.”
The conductor stared at the man dangling by his collar from Adam’s strong hand. “Oh, a pickpocket, is it? We’ve had a rash of the like lately, preying on unsuspecting guests to our law-abiding city.”
The man quickly protested his innocence, demanding protection from “these ruffians who have accosted me for no reason.” He sneered at the youth dusting off his trousers after scrambling to his feet. “More likely, that boy himself is the thief, casting aspersions on an innocent man to cover his own crime.”
Joe flew at the man. “You filthy liar!” he yelled.
More to keep his brother out of trouble than to protect the pickpocket, Adam pulled the man out of Joe’s reach, as the conductor planted himself between the belligerents. “This is easily settled. Both of you turn out your pockets and let’s see what we find.”
Joe was indignant at having his word questioned, but when Adam growled tersely, “Do it,” he turned his pockets inside out, revealing only a small amount of cash, a pocket comb and his own watch, clearly a man’s.
Satisfied, the conductor turned to the man trying in vain to squirm out of Adam’s grip. “And now you, sir.”
“I have never been so insulted in my life,” the man declared. “I most certainly will not submit to a search of my person.”
“Then we’ll just have to subject you to one against your will,” Adam proclaimed, pinning the man’s arms behind his back and nodding to the conductor.
The conductor reached into the man’s pant pockets and found nothing, but from the inner pocket of the vest he pulled a small gold pocket watch. “Would this be yours, ma’am?”
The woman gave a cry of joy and reached eager hands toward the watch. “Oh, yes! Oh, thank you, thank you.”
“Not at all, ma’am,” the conductor said, touching his hat after returning the watch. He turned toward Adam, who was still holding the culprit’s arms in a vise. “If you would assist me, sir, we’ll locate a constable and have this thief taken into custody.”
“My pleasure,” Adam said, propelling the pickpocket toward the exit.
As his brother and the conductor wrestled their prisoner off the car, Joe scooped up his straw hat and pressed out the dent in the crown.
“I hope it isn’t damaged,” a gentle voice said.
Joe smiled at the woman. “No, ma’am, no harm done, but it would have been in a good cause if it had been.”
The woman laughed softly. “What a gallant young gentleman you are!” She patted the seat next to her.
Joe immediately took it. Glancing at the ribbon hanging on her chest, his face flushed with anger. “That brute! He cut it.”
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” the woman said, “but it doesn’t matter. I can easily make another. The important thing is that, thanks to you, I still have Grandmother’s watch. It’s very precious to me, young man.”
“I can see as how it would be,” Joe said, knowing how he treasured the few keepsakes he had from his mother. “You made that watch fob, then? You must be mighty good with a needle, ma’am, ‘cause it was a fine one. I figured you probably got it at the Centennial.”
The woman laughed. “Well, in a manner of speaking, I did. I work at the Singer Sewing Machine Pavilion, doing demonstrations, and I made this from some scrap materials one day when the crowd was light.”
Adam returned shortly to find his young brother chatting away with complete familiarity with the woman he had met only minutes before and to whom he had yet to be properly introduced. As the conductor signaled for the driver to start again, Adam looked across at Joe and shook his head. “You just can’t stay out of trouble more than a day at a time, can you?”
The lady next to Joe shook an admonishing finger toward Adam. “Now, you mustn’t scold this brave young man. He’s done me a valuable service.”
Adam chuckled. “Ah, yes, he’s a regular little Sir Lancelot, always ready to aid a lady in distress.”
The woman smiled. “Indeed, he is! And Queen Guinevere would like to bestow a reward on her brave knight,” she said, opening her reticule.
“No, that’s not necessary,” Adam said at once. “I’m sure my brother wouldn’t consider taking anything.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” Joe retorted, angry that his brother had felt it necessary to answer for him. Just another example of Adam’s lack of trust in him.
Sensing the strain between the two brothers, the woman at once closed her reticule and struck up a new subject with Little Joe. They continued talking and laughing, Joe pointedly ignoring his brother, as the streetcar made its way toward Fairmount Park.
When two more ladies boarded the car at the next stop, Adam immediately gave up his seat with a polite tip of his black bowler. As the other lady looked sadly at the crowded car, he said, “Joe.”
When his brother didn’t respond, Adam cleared his throat. “Joseph.” Joe continued to appear deaf, so Adam took a deep breath and lifted his voice. “Joseph Francis Cartwright!”
That got Joe’s attention. No one but Pa ever called him by his full name, and it always meant trouble when Ben Cartwright reached that level of frustration. Joe raised his head and looked up at his brother. “What, Adam?” As soon as he looked up, however, he saw the lady standing in the aisle and immediately bounced to his feet before his brother could say a word. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you,” he apologized quickly. “Please take my seat.”
“Thank you,” the woman said briskly, but her smile of gratitude rested on Adam’s face and not that of his young brother.
Joe gave Adam a sheepish shrug and grabbed onto a strap for the remainder of the ride to the Centennial grounds. When the horse car arrived at the main entrance, he jumped off and reached back to assist his “Queen Guinevere” in alighting from the conveyance.
“Thank you, gentle knight,” she said with a bit of a royal curtsey. Then she looked up at Adam, who had come to stand beside them. “Would you escort me to the employees’ entrance, sir?” she requested.
“I’d be happy to, your majesty,” Joe offered with a bow.
Seeing the woman give a slight shake of her head, Adam clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Sorry, lad. Your king has another commission for you.” Taking a dollar from his pocket, he ordered Joe to purchase their tickets. As a scowling Joe trotted off to do the “king’s” bidding, Adam offered his arm to the lady.
As they started toward the entrance whose gilt sign indicated that it was for exhibitors, the press and employees, she smiled up at him. “I don’t really require an escort. I merely wanted a private word with you.” She stopped and said, “I work in the Singer Sewing Pavilion. Do you know where that is?”
“I believe so,” Adam said. “I have a map with me, at any rate, should I need to find it.”
“Please do,” she urged, “and please bring the boy. I truly wish to reward his chivalry. One sees it so rarely these days.”
“True enough,” Adam conceded, “but as I said before no reward is required, nor will one be accepted.”
She lifted a remonstrative hand. “A mere token,” she insisted, “of no monetary value. Think of it simply as a remembrance of our brief acquaintance.”
Adam couldn’t find a reason to refuse an offer presented on that basis. “Very well. We’ll drop by after lunch, if that won’t interfere with your work.”
The woman laughed. “But attending to visitors is my work! After lunch is an ideal time. Should you not see me on entering the pavilion, just ask for Mrs. Atkinson.”
“Oh, you’re married,” Adam said, adding with a teasing smile, “Sir Lancelot will be so disappointed.”
“Queen Guinevere was, as well, if you’ll recall,” a twinkle-eyed Mrs. Atkinson reminded him, pleasing Adam with her knowledge of the literary reference. “I’m a widow, but too old to tempt that valiant young knight, I think.”
“Speaking of the young knight, I’d better get back before he goes off on another quest,” Adam chuckled and with a tip of his hat, he bid the lady farewell and joined Joe in the line of visitors awaiting the opening of the gate. As usual, it opened promptly at 9 a.m. that Friday morning, and the Cartwright brothers at once made their way to the south door of the Main Exhibition Hall, to avoid the crowds heading for the western entrance. Although the German exhibits, where he planned to begin, were unenclosed, Adam insisted on passing the cases nearest the door to walk up the central transept to the main aisle.
Joe didn’t complain, despite the extra steps. He’d learned that each country liked to put its best foot forward, in essence, by placing its finest products on the front line. What lay behind that was all too often, Joe recalled with distaste, educational. Germany’s front line was no exception to that rule, with its crescent-shaped case filled with porcelain from the Royal Prussian Factory of Berlin. At each end stood a tall column of ebony and gold with a gilt Prussian eagle perched on top.
“Bert said this was the most beautiful single exhibit in the entire building,” Adam reminded Joe.
Joe nodded, recalling the conversation over dinner at the Continental, and turned his attention back to the beautiful pieces. Set off against black velvet, the delicately painted porcelain filled two long shelves, with flatter pieces hung on the wall behind them, including framed paintings on rectangular plates. In front of all these cups and saucers, plates, statuettes and busts, were three large vases, each on a separate stand. Joe was again astounded by the prices affixed to the works of art. One cost five thousand dollars, the second forty-five hundred and the least expensive, an olive green piece with a painting of Otho in the tomb of Charlemagne, was still a staggering nine hundred dollars. Joe was more taken with a small table of carved oak with a porcelain top, on which was painted a reproduction of Raphael’s Poetry. At twenty-two hundred dollars, however, it was unlikely to grace any room at the Ponderosa.
West of the porcelain was an exhibit of plate glass and near it one of jewelry. For some reason Adam examined the cameos with special interest. A gift for a female friend, Joe assumed, but he wasn’t sure which girl his older brother cared for enough to spend that kind of money. Becky, maybe, since she shared Adam’s love for books and he seemed to squire her around more often than the other fillies that caught his eye. Well, at least older brother’s taste was improving, both in gifts—no blue bugs this time—and women, for brown-eyed Becky was pretty enough to capture Joe’s personal interest, if she weren’t so much closer to Adam’s age than his own.
Further west, a collection of bronzes was exhibited, including a copy of a monument to Frederick the Great, whose original stood in Unter den Linden in Berlin. Near it, Joe spied a group of shields and swords that reawakened his boyish love for tales of knights and medieval chivalry and his memory of the events on the streetcar that morning. As far as he was concerned, they could have skipped the next cases of hosiery, yarn and gloves from Saxony, but since Adam, of course, still insisted on seeing everything in order, Joe simply suffered through those exhibits, as well as the fancy fabrics from there and Nuremberg.
Turning into the next aisle south, Little Joe found a tall ebony case enclosing a huge tusk of ivory in its native state. Smaller glassed-in areas below showcased items made from the expensive material, such as spoons, frames and cameos. Again Adam eyed the latter appraisingly. Becky—or whomever else Adam had in mind—was going to be one lucky girl when Adam returned to Virginia City, Joe surmised.
Even Adam, to his younger brother’s evident relief, seemed willing to pass the case of chemical canisters with barely a glance, though the lamps and lanterns of Leipzig, just west of them, merited more attention, in Adam’s view, at least. As they turned south into the next aisle back, Joe readily understood his brother’s interest in the cases of musical instruments, especially the guitars. Joe himself found the cases of brass, wind and string instruments worthy of note, for he had never before seen so many different varieties, and he listened attentively as Adam named each one: cornets, bugles, trombones, tubas, clarinets, violins and, perched on top of the display case, two violoncellos. Adjoining the other musical instruments on the east, a number of both upright and grand pianos, some in artistically carved ebony, were displayed, with a group of cabinet organs and one large pipe organ exhibited beside them.
Life got boring again after that, as Adam examined and Joe endured cases of scientific and philosophical instruments. Then, when they reached the south wall of the hall, life went from boring to downright depressing, at least according to Little Joe. The litters and camp beds of the German hospital system were bad enough, but Joe absolutely drew the line at viewing photographs of surgical operations. “So help me, Adam, I’m gonna be sick if I have to look at pictures of men with their guts gushing out.”
Adam laid a sympathetic hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Okay, buddy, we’ll move on,” he said, unwilling to admit to his kid brother how eager he was to do just that. Though he had stared in morbid fascination at the photos, the buried memories were once again rushing toward him, bringing a queasiness to his stomach unrivaled since the day such scenes had been real.
The next exhibit, by the clockmakers of the Black Forest, seemed a safe alternative. Here again, though, Adam was brought face to face with his young brother’s desire to purchase a timepiece for their father. “Why don’t you consider buying a small musical clock for Pa’s bedroom,” Adam suggested, as they were attractive pieces, but less costly than the Swiss watch he himself hoped to buy.
Joe frowned in thought. It would take a major portion of his budget to get one of the more nicely carved ones, and nothing less would do for Pa. “I think I’ll wait,” he said, and Adam nodded his approval.
Passing a display of religious figures, similar to the French ones they’d seen before, the Cartwright brothers came to two models of the Hamburg steamship Frisia, one complete in every detail and the other a longitudinal section of the interior, from keel to deck. Opposite them, A. W. Faber of Nuremberg presented a collection of lead pencils, crayons and colors. Recognizing the maker of the colored pencils he had used in school, Little Joe laughed. “Hey, Adam, you remember that time I made a valentine picture of Pa with pencils like these?”
Adam chuckled. “Yes, and I remember the first one you drew, too—for Cochise!”
Joe, quite willing to laugh at his younger self, emitted a high-pitched cackle. “Yeah, she was the only girl I saw any use in back then.”
“And how we’ve all wished it had never changed!” Adam offered dryly.
Joe gave his brother the obligatory nose crinkle, but as they made their way toward the final German exhibits, he found himself remembering how graciously Adam had helped him that day when he’d been in such trouble with Miss Jones over misinterpreting her valentine assignment. Didn’t have a doubt back then that he loved me, Joe mused. Well, not many, anyway, not after those first rough days when he came back from college. Wonder why it’s so hard to be sure now, why we seem to be at each other’s throats half the time. Who changed—him or me? Mulling it over, Joe resolved to make a determined effort to keep the peace that day and to look for things that bound them together, rather than those that pulled them apart.
In that vein, he made a droll comment as they entered the pavilion of the German booksellers. “I suppose you read German, too, big brother?”
Adam smiled at the pride twinkling in his brother’s expressive eyes. “A little, but I probably won’t be buying a book here, just admiring the view.”
“Gotta admit it’s a good one,” Joe responded, with a determinedly cheery grin.
Adam threw an arm around the boy’s slim shoulders as they passed through one of the four portals into the pavilion and pointed at the cornice surrounding the interior with gilt sentences in Greek, Latin, German and English. “Like the mottoes?” he inquired.
“Well, I can only read one of them,” Joe admitted with a self-deprecating laugh that sounded just a bit forced to his older brother.
“The others are similar,” Adam said, hoping that Joe didn’t think he was ridiculing his lack of learning. “They all laud the friendship of books and the solaces of study.”
“I might buy the friendship bit,” Joe said with a pert smile, “but study a solace? That’s too big a stretch, Adam!”
“Only proves you need more exposure,” Adam teased. He brushed a stray curl behind his brother’s ear and was surprised to see Joe lean into the affectionate touch he ordinarily spurned as an insult to his manhood.
“Now, that’s what I’d really like exposure to,” Joe declared, pointing at a sign for the Café Leland, which could be seen outside the pavilion by peeking above the sentences about the friendship of books.
“You can’t be hungry already,” Adam moaned. “We’ve barely started.”
“Like Hoss says, ‘I can always eat,’” Joe replied with a saucy smirk.
“It’s too early for dinner,” Adam scolded. “I’ll buy you a popcorn ball at the next stand we pass.”
“I was just kidding, Adam,” Joe chuckled. “I’m more thirsty than hungry, so how about making that popcorn ball a glass of soda?”
“I’ll even join you for that,” Adam agreed quickly. “It’s another hot one.”
“They’re all hot ones in Philadelphia, brother,” Joe moaned.
A quick tour through the furs of Leipzig, ebony and oak furniture from Stuttgart, and the exhibit of the Royal Saxon Cabinetmakers of Dresden finished the German exhibits. Walking back to the main aisle again, Adam purchased the promised soda waters for himself and his brother, and, thus refreshed, they set out to visit another country.
The next exhibits belonged to Austria-Hungary, although all but a few came from Austria alone. Adam and Joe first came to a four-tiered display of porcelain and china, everything from the hand-sized candleholder on a shelf six inches off the floor to the lidded ewer forming the pinnacle of the pyramid, a container so heavy Hoss would have found it hard to heft. Between these two extremes were arrayed plates and platters, tureens and teapots, everything a family might need to entertain lavishly. Little Joe pointed to one of the tri-level serving dishes. “Something like that would be nice for parties, to show off Hop Sing’s fanciest cookies.”
To Joe’s gratification, his older brother appeared to be giving the suggestion serious consideration, although all Adam said in response was, “Maybe.”
The next exhibit, one of meerschaum pipes, really caught Joe’s excited attention. The ornamental pipes were intricately crafted with the heads of famous people or more simply in shapes of animals, birds and fish. Others portrayed hunting or historic scenes or the comic episodes of everyday life. “Pa would love one of these, Adam!”
“They’re fine works and would make a unique gift,” Adam agreed, “but a little high for you, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, but so is everything,” Joe sighed, adding hesitantly, “Maybe you’d like to go in together, so we could do better by Pa?” He remembered, too late, his brother’s reluctance to join forces to buy Pa a watch, and Adam’s response now made him wish he hadn’t brought it up again.
Adam snorted. “I can do just fine by Pa without your help, little brother, and if you’d followed your older brother’s sage advice to save your pennies, you wouldn’t find yourself crimped now.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Joe muttered, turning away. Evidently, education wasn’t the only bitter pill Adam wanted him to swallow, but Joe had to admit he deserved this particular trip to the medicine cabinet. If he hadn’t spent so much of his money on Saturday nights at the Silver Dollar or squandered so much in high-stakes poker games, he could have had the pleasure of buying anything he wanted, too, just like his deep-pocketed big brother. Naw, I could never be that rich, but maybe Pa and Adam have a point about my money habits, he conceded with a sigh. Guess the only way out is to spend what I’ve got on Pa and Hoss and my friends and go home with nothing for me. He smiled, then, face brightening. What did he need with some trinket to remember this trip by, anyway? He’d had the trip itself and that thanks to the generosity of Mr. Deep Pockets. Suddenly, the pill didn’t seem so bitter to swallow.
“Ready to move on?” Adam inquired and Joe nodded.
The exhibit of stained glass and other glassware drew the avid attention of the older Cartwright brother. Most of it came from Bohemia and was displayed on broad counters with mirrored tops. The colors were marvelous, particularly the cerulean shade that looked like a sky effused with the blushing glow of the setting sun, but Adam seemed particularly enchanted by a set of ruby glasses overlaid with gold vines. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
“They’d match,” Joe offered, referring to the red and white dinnerware often used at home for regular meals.
“We’ll see,” Adam commented, shaking himself. “Time to move on.”
Joe almost groaned aloud when he saw what they moved on to, another exhibit of engineering and architectural photos, models, designs and reports. He was beginning to realize that Adam couldn’t pass up a single piece of paper on this subject, but he decided to bear with his brother’s weakness patiently. It was too early in the day to have a row with Adam over something the poor guy just couldn’t help.
The Cartwright brothers traversed the remaining Austrian and Hungarian exhibits quickly, for few of them inspired lengthy attention. The carpets were of good quality, but not as fine as the ones from France, America and, according to Bert Morganstern, Great Britain. The musical instruments were much the same as those crafted elsewhere, and neither Adam nor Joe was particularly drawn to the sets of iron furniture. The jewelers’ exhibit, with mother-of-pearl from Vienna and garnet from Prague, was beautiful, but so small it didn’t take long to view, while there was nothing in the cases of cloth from Moravia or silk and buttons from Vienna to keep men staring into them for long. They spent a little more time examining the leather goods and then were ready to see what Russia had sent to represent her best products.
The unenclosed exhibits of Russia were indicated by a shield with the imperial arms, placed in a trophy of Russian and American colors and affixed to a pillar on the main aisle. In the front line octagonal and square cases of dark oak and plate glass displayed a variety of pieces crafted in silver and bronze. At the east end, where the Cartwright brothers began their tour, Felix Chopin of St. Petersburg exhibited bronzes with scenes from the life of Russian peasants, as well as more elaborate pieces in costlier metals, such as the candelabra of gilt and porcelain. Standing fifteen feet high with flower vases around its base, the lamp stand held one hundred candles. Opposite it was a four-foot clock with the hours encircling a large globe of silver and an angel in flight pointing to the appropriate hour with one hand, while the other gestured toward heaven.
Next, P. Ouchinnikoff of Moscow and St. Petersburg displayed finely crafted articles in gold and silver, including an altarpiece with a portrait of the Savior holding the Gospel, painted on enamel and mounted on gold. A tankard, made from a single piece of silver, decorated in gilt, featured a replica of a statue of Peter the Great at its top, while around the sides, in high relief, was depicted the entry of Peter into Moscow after the battle of Pultawa. “Hard to see drinking beer from a mug that costs three thousand dollars,” Joe quipped.
“Mug,” Adam repeated with pretended scorn. “You have such an affinity for art, little brother.”
“Well, I do have some affinity for it.” Joe thrust forward a playfully puckered lip.
Adam chucked him under the chin. “I know, kid; I’m just trying to enhance it beyond Faber pencil sketches of Cochise.”
“Oh, you’re funny,” Joe said with a light scowl as he turned to view another example of the Moscow silversmith’s work, a massive salver whose centerpiece was carved with a depiction of the Kremlin. “Well, at least platters come cheaper than drinking mugs,” he chuckled, glancing at the price tag of a mere two thousand dollars. At the west end of the front line, Sazikoff of Moscow displayed two showcases of gold and silver articles for table service, personal use and household ornament, equally exquisite in their workmanship and equally high in price. Somehow, Joe had a feeling nothing from Moscow was going to find its way onto the Ponderosa table.
The next row of exhibits, while beautiful, merited short appraisal by the Cartwright men, who anticipated little need for cloth of gold decorated with silver. Behind this, however, cases of furs and stuffed specimens of fur-bearing animals held their attention longer, Joe being especially taken with the stuffed bear holding an example of dressed fur between his paws. Behind the huge animal, above cases of garments made from Arctic fox and wolf fur, were stretched hides of bear, tiger, leopard and other animals, with their heads still attached and still higher, practically touching the ceiling, was another stuffed, fur-carrying bear, flanked by smaller specimens of other types of fur-producing animals.
Passing a case of uniforms of various branches of the Russian army, Joe winced as another exhibit of mathematical and philosophical instruments came into view. For once, though, Adam didn’t spend much time perusing the scientific materials, and they moved on to a case of statuettes, busts and vases in ornamental cast iron. These were of lighter weight and lesser expense than the bronze pieces, but Joe thought the copy of the statue of Peter the Great at St. Petersburg was well done. Adam merely shrugged, conveying, to his brother’s eye, at least, that there were many more artistic pieces on view in other areas.
Reaching the southwest corner of the Russian court, Adam stopped to admire a billiard table of carved oak. As Joe knew, his brother was fond of the game, but found few opportunities to test his abilities in Virginia City, although a number of the saloons had tables—none so fine as this one, of course. Sorry, brother, Joe mused. Can’t afford a watch or pipe for Pa, so drooling over this in front of me ain’t gonna do you a lick of good.
Only a few Russian exhibits remained, and the Cartwrights finished them quickly, Adam insisting that they would see better examples of furniture, perfume, soap, porcelain, majolica and pottery elsewhere. With a staggering number of countries yet to visit, Joe was happy to give these a quick once-over.
Walking back to the main aisle, Adam motioned for Joe to sit with him on one of the benches facing the faux-granite façade of the Spanish pavilion. “I wanted to explain the architecture to you,” he said, “if you’re interested.”
“Sure, why not?” Joe responded, plopping down with a sassy smile. “Anything that gets me off my feet for a spell.”
Adam moaned softly, hoping the kid was only feigning the superficial motivation. Knowing Joe, though, if the disinterest had been real, there’d have been no disguising it, so Adam took heart and launched into a description of the style represented before them. “It’s called Plateresque,” he began, “and was widely popular in Spain during the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.”
“Going back kind of far for a modern building, ain’t it?” Joe inserted.
“Isn’t it,” Adam corrected, “and the purpose, I’m sure, is to celebrate their heritage. Now, listen and learn, please.”
“All ears, big brother,” Joe said, with a grin so wide it almost touched both auricular orifices.
With a roll of his eyes, Adam continued. “The term means “silversmith-like” and was suggested by Cristóbal de Villalón to describe the richly ornamented façade of the Cathedral of León, which, to him, appeared as intricate as the work of a silversmith.”
“That’s pretty intricate, all right, judging by the Russians,” Joe commented.
Pleased to see his brother taking apparent interest in his favorite topic, Adam went on warmly, “It’s really a Spanish version of Renaissance style, but more ornamental than the Italian. You see how the bare walls make a backdrop for the clusters of decorations over doorways and on other building details.”
“What about the pictures?” Joe asked, gesturing toward the circular portraits of a Spanish lady and gentleman, enclosed in panels on either side of the central entrance of the three leading into the court.
“Well, heraldic escutcheons would be more traditional,” Adam chuckled. “Those two are Isabella and Columbus, in honor of Spain’s connection with our part of the world, and according to the catalog, there are portraits of Ponce de Leon, Cortez, De Soto and Pizarro on the other sides. We’ll be sure to look at those before we finish.” Though he could have gone on at length, describing each aspect of the architecture in detail, neither time nor his young brother’s attention span was likely to permit him that luxury, so Adam suggested that they enter the pavilion and see what Spain had sent to the Centennial.
Before going inside, though, the brothers looked at the items exhibited in cases built into the façade itself. On either side of the velvet-draped central arch, works of gold, silver, ornamental iron and steel were showcased, while the glassed-in cases around the sides of the pavilion represented the mineral wealth of the country in silver, lead, copper, iron, coal and Spanish marble. Still others revealed a collection of photographs of government museums of ancient armor. “You think they have any real ones inside?” Joe asked, obviously hoping for a positive response.
“I don’t recall any listed in the catalog,” Adam responded with an indulgent smile, “but let’s go inside and see if we can’t find you a sword or shield, my little knight errant.”
“Oh, will you quit teasing me about that?” Joe grumbled, knowing that his brother was referring to his defense of the woman on the streetcar.
“I’ll think about it,” Adam responded, amusement twinkling in his dark eyes though he kept a straight face as he gestured toward the entrance.
None of Spain’s exhibits were commercial in nature, but were presented solely to educate visitors to the Exposition about the natural resources and manufacturing products of the country. The Cartwright brothers dutifully walked past cases of fabrics and tapestries, glassware, painted porcelain tiles and pottery, the latter being quite different from that exhibited by other European countries. The cream-colored earthenware with a rough-textured shell pattern suggested a Moorish origin. “Reminiscent of the Etruscan,” Adam murmured.
“It’s more reminiscent of big pots I’ve seen in California,” Joe snickered back.
“Well, there probably are similar cultural roots,” Adam pointed out. “If you’d like, I could amplify.”
Joe waved his hands before his face. “Some other time, professor, some other time. Just now I—uh—have to look at these real interesting”—he spun around, searching for something to name—“uh—blocks of coal,” he finished lamely, voice fading.
Adam laughed. “All right, kid. I’ll spare you the lecture on the Etruscan civilization—at least for now.” He and Joe walked past displays of building stones and chemicals and cases of hats, shoes, clothes, wool blankets and carpets before finally something so caught Joe’s attention that Adam thought he might have trouble pulling his brother away.
One sight of that long, narrow Toledo blade, and it was love at first sight for the youngest Cartwright. Good thing they’ve got it behind glass, Adam observed, or he’d take off, swashbuckling down the aisles, terrifying everyone in sight. “Hers was much lighter, you know,” he said softly.
The pronoun needed no antecedent for Joe to identify to whom “hers” referred. “Of course, I know,” he said. “I’ve handled Mama’s epee, but this is a beautiful blade, Adam. I’m just admiring it.”
“Are you sure the word isn’t ‘coveting’?” Adam inquired wryly.
Joe grinned. “Why, no, big brother, that would be a sin, and you know what a saint I am.”
Adam put his hand to his throat and pretended to choke. “Saint Joseph,” he gasped. “No, those words simply don’t belong in the same sentence, much less side by side.”
“Much you know,” Joe snorted. “At least there is a Saint Joseph in the Bible—even got a town named after himself. Maybe you remember it—somewhere in Missouri?”
“I seem to recall passing through there,” Adam muttered dryly.
“Yeah, but what you don’t recall is any mention of a Saint Adam, in the Good Book or anywhere on any map,” Joe jibed, “now, do you?”
Adam rolled his tongue inside pursed lips, and then replied, “That’s because they don’t make men saints ‘til after their death—and I’m still among the living.” He ended with a wide, triumphant grin.
Apparently overcome, Joe collapsed against his brother’s chest. “I can’t take that on an empty stomach,” he sputtered.
“Your stomach is not empty,” Adam chuckled, “or at least it had better not be, because I’m not feeding you for . . . oh . . . about seven or eight more countries.”
Pushing away from his brother, Joe groaned. “Let’s get started then. I would like my dinner before suppertime.”
Adam loosely circled the boy’s waist. “It’s not as bad as it sounds, buddy; some of them have very few exhibits and won’t take long at all. The next one, for instance.”
“Hawaii?” Joe said, reading the sign over the next pavilion. “Where’s that, Adam?”
“Don’t you know?” Adam teased and when Joe only looked back, perturbed at the twitting, he explained, “You probably know the country better as the Sandwich Islands.”
“Oh, sure,” Joe said. “In the Pacific. I know them.”
The brothers walked through one of the two arched entrances into the small pavilion and discovered that despite its limited size, it held some of the most fascinating materials they had yet seen. The barrels of coffee and sugar didn’t look any different here than in the general store back home, but the specimens of lava from Kilauea, the largest active volcano in the world, were unlike anything exhibited elsewhere, except in the Mexican pavilion. The furniture styles were similar to those of the European countries and America, but the native woods from which the tables and other pieces were constructed gave each an exotic flavor.
The displays of native culture interested the Cartwright boys, as well, from the calabashes used to hold food to the Hawaiian version of millinery. The flora and fauna of the small nation were shown in cases of stuffed birds, along with another of ferns and mosses, and one case attractively displayed pink and white coral, shells and seaweed. Photographs of island scenes helped place the exhibited items in context.
As lovely as the Hawaiian exhibits were, however, viewing them took only a short while, as Adam had promised, and he and Joe soon moved on to another even more limited, the exhibits from Tunis. These were so similar to what they had seen displayed in the Turkish bazaar that the brothers sped through that country as if carried by transcontinental train. Everything displayed was the property of the Bey of Tunis and included gilt furniture, wool blankets and shawls, woven silks and jewelry, along with antique relics from the ruins of Carthage. Not even the daggers and swords caught Joe’s eye, for he’d already purchased one almost identical to those displayed.
Exhibits from Portugal stood just north of those from Tunis and were enclosed in a line of wooden showcases, stained in imitation of black walnut. Adam and Joe walked in through the east entrance, one of three into the area and found, first of all, more fabrics. A quick perusal and they were ready to move on to something of greater interest, for Adam, at least. He viewed with close concentration the topographical and geological maps and charts and paid particular attention to the drawings of Portugal’s principal harbors, while Joe, as usual, took greater pleasure in the photographs of the countryside and the large specimens of natural minerals arrayed below the charts and maps.
Glassware, pottery and porcelain were displayed on tables and pedestals in the center of the other exhibits. While well formed, the shapes seemed simpler and the lines less detailed than the pieces from France. Little Joe passed by them with a brief glance, but Adam was amazed and amused by what stopped the boy in his tracks, a table of papier-mâché figures in native Portuguese costume.
“Dolls?” Adam asked in wonder when Joe reached over to check the price tag. “Oh, for one of your little girlfriends, I suppose.”
Joe flushed. “No, but you’d laugh if I told you what I was really thinking.” He gave his lips a nervous lick and fell silent.
Noticing and correctly interpreting that Joe wanted to tell him, but feared ridicule, Adam touched his arm with a supportive hand. “No, I won’t laugh. What’s your idea, little buddy?”
Still looking hesitant, Joe took a breath and plunged in. “I was thinking, maybe, for Pa. Kind of a reminder of places and people he once saw—back when he was sailing, I mean. I know it’s not much, but I can afford this, and I think a watch is just gonna be more than I can handle. Stupid, huh?”
Adam actually thought the idea was the worst Joe had come up with yet, but sensing his brother’s need for reassurance, he quickly said, “No, not stupid, but I’d think it over awhile before deciding, if I were you, in case you see other reminders he might enjoy more.”
“Oh, yeah, I intended to,” Joe hastened to say, obviously eager to earn his older brother’s respect.
Adam nodded and turned him toward the final exhibit in the Portuguese area, a case of flowers, baskets, ships and other articles made of fig tree fiber from the island of St. Michael in the Azores. After that, he and Joe were ready to see one of the larger exhibits again.
Egypt had enclosed her displays inside a replica of an ancient temple. Made of wood, the structure had been painted in imitation of stone, and two massive pillars with lotus flower capitals flanked the sides of the entrance. A simulated engraving on the two sides declared, “Egypt—Soodan—the oldest people of the world sends its morning greeting to the youngest nation.”
Entering, Joe noticed first the model of the pyramid of Giza on his right, but Adam called his attention to the plaster bust opposite it. “This is the man thought to be the Pharaoh in the time of your namesake.”
Joe gave him a blank look. “Hmm?”
Adam smiled. “Joseph, the one in the Old Testament; surely you remember him.”
“Oh, yeah, him. The one whose older brothers treated him so bad,” Joe said, puckish twinkle in his eye. “Yeah, I always found it real easy to identify with him.”
Adam gave the impudent rascal’s ear a playful tug.
“See what I mean!” Joe tittered, bouncing off toward the side wall to look at the photographs and drawings of Egyptian scenery. Mere pictures couldn’t hold his attention, however, in the face of what, to Joe, seemed the most marvelous display of any he’d seen that morning. “Adam, look!” he cried, all but running to see the case of magnificent saddles used by the pashas of Egypt on ceremonial occasions.
“Joe, for goodness’ sake,” Adam began to scold, but stopped when he saw his brother’s worshipful gaze upon the hangings of crimson velvet, embroidered with gold, the harness and trappings of pure bullion and the silk saddle blankets. Truly, riding gear worthy of royalty—worthy, even, of young Prince Cartwright and his noble steed, Cochise. Adam finished the thought with a grin. Sorry, little buddy, can’t help you out; even for me, this would be too costly a gift. “They’re wonderful, Joe,” he said, “but we can’t stand here staring at saddles half the morning. Now, stay with me, please. No more running off.”
“Yes, Pa,” Joe muttered, casting a final fond look at the wonderful saddles as he was led toward a far less fascinating display of furniture. Nothing within the exotic Egyptian pavilion could fail to excite interest, however, for everything was so different from the world the Cartwright brothers knew that each turn revealed yet more wonders. Even the furniture featured pieces of rare beauty and value, such as the ebony cabinet inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, priced at $5,500. There were two large cases of silk, woven with gold and silver thread, but Little Joe ignored them to stare, gape-mouthed, at the huge, stuffed crocodile resting on a low platform between them. “Whoa! I’d sure hate to meet up with one of those up in the hills.”
“They don’t live ‘up in the hills,’” Adam grunted with a perturbed shake of his head.
“I know that,” Joe shot back. “I was just sayin’ they look dangerous.”
“They are dangerous,” Adam agreed. “Better stand back, little buddy, before those jaws snap shut on your scrawny little arm.”
“You better stand back, if you’re scared of a dead lizard.” Joe tossed the advice aside with a saucy grin and took off again, destination unknown.
Adam took a deep breath and gave chase, fortunately finding his flighty little brother not far away, entranced by another collection of saddles, these intended for use on dromedaries. After almost forcibly dragging the boy away, Adam directed his attention to an exhibit of red pottery and then to one of books and manuscripts written in Arabic.
“If you tell me you read Arabic, too, I’m gonna throttle you, Adam,” Joe said, his tone serious, but his eyes merry.
Appreciating the joke, Adam chuckled. “I’m safe, then; it’s as meaningless to me as it is to you. Beautiful script, though.”
Joe smiled, noticing that Adam was responding with greater warmth toward him. Reckon it’s ‘cause I’m trying harder to get along? Feeling fairly certain that it was, he felt rewarded for his efforts and inspired to continue trying to keep things light and friendly between himself and his older brother.
The Egyptian pavilion was a good place to put those good intentions into practice, since almost everything inside its walls, from household implements of ivory, horn and metal to tableware of solid gold, interested both of the Cartwright brothers. Even the silk exhibit held their attention, for instead of just displaying bolts of fabric, cocoons were arranged in orderly patterns, according to tint, and attached to an upright branch to resemble clusters of glass grapes.
Passing a display of rugs and carpets, Adam and Joe came to the exhibit from the Khedive, America’s newest rival in the cotton trade. Though the Khedive had only begun growing cotton in 1860, it was able to send two thousand samples of native cotton to the Centennial. Also on display were sugar, leather, gum, bark, nuts, wheat and other grains and grasses from the region. Though none of these excited lengthy examination, it wasn’t until they reached the educational exhibit that Little Joe had to exercise much patience. Adam, of course, was immediately consumed with the mechanical instruments made by students from the Polytechnic Institute in Cairo, but Joe willed himself to wait quietly until his brother was finished. Somehow, it seemed easier today, although, he reminded himself, the day was still young. Plenty of time left for one of their traditionally explosive battles.
“Sorry,” Adam muttered ruefully when he glanced up to see his younger brother standing with his hands clasped behind his back, the image of strained patience. “I guess we shouldn’t spend half the morning looking at engineering tools, any more than saddles.”
“It’s okay, Adam,” Joe said, although his face revealed how eager he was to move on.
Adam smiled, instantly discerning that his little brother was making a sincere effort to be good-natured. Could he afford to do less? “What do you say we check out the Danish exhibits now?”
The bright smile beaming from Joe’s face made words unnecessary.
Denmark’s exhibits were enclosed in a triple court, the entrance to the first being a triumphal arch, with the country’s name inscribed on either side in circular medallions capped with crowns of gold. Over the arch a shield with the national arms was placed against a sextet of banners bearing the Danish colors, but the adornments that caught Little Joe’s immediate attention were two nude statuettes flanking the arch. Seeing his little brother gawking in adolescent fascination at the pieces, Adam cleared his throat loudly and made a wide, sweeping gesture toward the portal.
Passing into the north court, the Cartwrights discovered it to be largely devoted to works in terra cotta. There were Etruscan imitations from Copenhagen, vases of a yellow background with figures and borders boldly painted in black and others, whose surface was blackened and covered with landscapes, figures or flowers in oil colors. One large vase, however, was made of solid silver, priced at $4,290. In its center was a statue of Fame with the Arts grouped around her feet, while the wide base supported figures depicting the triumph of Neptune. A small table directly in front of it held two curiously wrought silver knives. Joe almost instinctively reached out to touch them, but a tap on his wrist reminded him that they were for observation only. Joe nodded and pulled his hand back.
The exhibits of the central court, reached through a red-draped doorway, were entirely different. Adam and Joe first encountered a sample of the native woods of Denmark and then a display of spindle-legged furniture made from wood of the pear tree. Clothing worn by the native Eskimos of Greenland was also exhibited within the middle court, as well as the furs and skins from which it was made.
The south court was devoted to exhibits from Greenland. With his love of architecture, Adam was intrigued by the model of an Eskimo winter house, its board walls enclosed in a layer of brown sea moss. It was Little Joe, however, who lifted its lid and giggled at the large family, dressed in skins and lying in bed, inside the model. “Control yourself,” Adam scolded gently. Still, he couldn’t resist a couple of chuckles himself, although the real object of his amusement was not the Eskimo house, nor its tiny inhabitants, but the laughing boy now busily exploring the kayak exhibited nearby.
Though interesting, Denmark’s contribution to the Centennial was small by comparison with some of the other countries, so Adam and Joe soon left its court for the Japanese one, which was enclosed in a light bamboo framework, ornamented with Japanese flags. As this country’s space was three times as large as that of Egypt and equally exotic, the Cartwrights would spend considerable time there. Even as they entered, they were drawn, as if by magnet, to a simulated garden. A twelve-foot circular area had been enclosed by rough boulders, which retained the earth necessary to grow ferns, coleus and other green plants. These were arrayed in relief against a mass of rock-like bronze, which rose two feet high to spread and blend into a bronze vase four feet in diameter. Decorated with flying cranes, from its center rose the figure of an old tree crag, supporting a green-bronzed, winged dragon. Little Joe shivered, feeling as though he were seeing a monster from one of the old tales Hop Sing used to tell him as a child, during the long hours when everyone else was off working the ranch. Those had been Chinese dragons, of course, and Joe looked forward to seeing that country’s exhibits and comparing its dragons with these.
The surrounding area was filled with bronze vases, as exquisitely crafted as the European ones and seeming to draw even greater attention from the Exposition’s American visitors. “Oh, we must take home something from Japan,” a woman dressed in the latest fashion was overheard to comment.
“Oh, everyone is, my dear,” her female companion responded. “It’s quite the latest thing. I intend to redo my entire parlor in Oriental furniture.”
“Why, that’s what I was thinking,” the first lady announced.
As the two waltzed off to examine the Japanese furniture, Joe turned to his brother, taking off his hat and crimping his curls with one hand while saying in a high-pitched voice, “Oh, Adam, we simply must take home something from Japan”—he broke into his typically infectious giggle—“but not this vase, okay, brother? It’ll break even your bank account!” He pointed to one of the largest bronzes, tagged at two thousand dollars.
“Will you behave?” Adam chided with a chuckle. “Our foreign guests will think you’re laughing at them. As a matter of fact, I happen to consider that price rather low when you realize that it involved an equivalent of twenty-two hundred and fifty hours of steady labor.”
Joe whistled. “You get that from the catalog?”
“Yes, of course,” Adam said. “It wouldn’t hurt, you know, if you read about the areas we plan to see the night before, as I do.”
“How could I when you don’t ever tell me what we’re gonna do the next day?” Joe snorted.
Adam laughed, despite his recent admonition to his young brother. “Yes, I suppose that could pose a difficulty, but you did know we’d be coming back here today, little brother.”
Joe conceded the point with a shrug and turned to look at two more high-priced vases, a pair with a background of delicate blue and white, decorated with golden dragons and graceful landscapes. “If you are going to take home something Japanese, Adam, I’d like these.”
Adam laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Surely you jest. Hop Sing would have my head if I brought home Japanese art. He would consider it an open insult.”
Joe tittered. “Oh, yeah! You got a point there, and we’re going to China next, aren’t we?”
Adam nodded. “The Centennial version of it, yes.” His lips began to twitch. “Just because you’re thinking of Hop Sing doesn’t mean you have to use his favorite threat!”
The brothers shared a restrained laugh over the memories of Hop Sing’s oft-voiced threat to return to China, a threat which could be expected whenever anyone did anything that didn’t suit him. “When I was a kid, it really scared me,” Joe shared softly. “I’d lost Mama, and you and Pa and Hoss were away from the house most of the time, and I didn’t think I could stand it if I lost Hop Sing, too.”
Adam looked back in surprise, for Joe had never shared that childhood fear, at least not with him, nor, he suspected, with Pa or Hoss. “Sorry, kid. We should have told you it was all idle talk.”
“Yeah, you should have!” Joe said reproachfully. “You always acted like you took it serious, giving in to just what he wanted and all. Why wouldn’t I think he meant it?”
Adam pushed a chestnut curl from Joe’s forehead. “Poor baby,” he cooed with a chuckle, mildly irritated by the suggestion that he’d done wrong by failing to read the mind of a child of four or five.
Joe stepped back with a scowl. “Cut that out,” he growled as he put his hat back on to keep his curls safe from his brother’s prying fingers. Should’ve known better than to tell him my feelings! When has he ever cared what I feel? He was silent as he and Adam continued their tour of Japanese ceramics, including the green or scarlet and gold pieces from Kaga, the Banko ware with its characteristic brown or purple color worked through to the inside and droll figures from Tokyo, really caricatures of different classes of Japanese society.
The brothers came next to a huge exhibit of lacquered ware, everything from tiny trays to large, costly cabinets, the jewel of the group a 250-year-old cabinet, available for purchase to anyone having five thousand dollars. The vases of ivory tusks with lacquered decoration were expensive, as well, but Little Joe gathered up a dozen of the trays, which were priced at a mere fifty cents apiece.
“Not for Hop Sing, I hope,” Adam said, hoping to break the silence by bringing up the joke they’d shared earlier.
“‘Course not,” Joe scoffed. “I want something better for him. These are just for some friends.”
“Oh. Girls,” Adam guessed with a smile.
“Yeah, girls,” Joe muttered grumpily. “I have a lot, you know.”
“Oh, I know,” Adam chuckled. “Believe me, I know how broadly you spread your affections around, little brother.” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Joe, if I’ve done something to offend you . . .”
Joe responded with his most Adam-like nonchalant shrug. “Aw, forget it, Adam; it’s nothing.”
“Brighten up a bit and I might believe you,” Adam said softly.
Joe returned a weak smile. “That better?”
“Some. Are you getting tired . . . or hungry?”
Joe nodded, willing to let his older brother think that the only thing bothering him was an empty belly. “You weren’t planning to eat this soon, though, were you?”
“I planned to finish here and see the Chinese exhibits before taking a break,” Adam admitted, “but if you’re really . . .”
“No, no,” Joe insisted quickly. “I’d rather see China first, maybe find something real nice for Hop Sing.”
“Sure,” Adam agreed, “he’d appreciate something from his native country, but you don’t have to decide today, Joe. When we’re completely finished with all the buildings, we’ll spend a day just shopping before we go home. I should have explained that; it’s the reason I keep urging you to wait before buying.”
“Okay, that helps,” Joe said, “but I want these trays anyway. The girls will like them. Everybody wants something from Japan, you know; you hear it all over.”
“Everybody except Hop Sing.” Adam grinned, draping an arm across the boy’s slender shoulders and turning him toward the silk screens mounted on light frames and decorated with scenes of the daily life of common people. The outlines of the figures and the landscapes were painted, while the costumes, faces, animals and houses were embroidered on the silk. Beautiful works, but the boys gave them only a cursory examination, preferring, due to Hop Sing’s influence, to spend more time seeing the Chinese version of similar articles.
As was becoming habitual, their tour of the country ended with a perusal of the educational exhibits. Joe groaned as yet another nation dangled the distasteful topic before his eyes, but he did find the unique characters and backwards way of writing of greater interest than specimens he’d seen in the pavilions of other countries. Taking pity—or maybe because he couldn’t read the papers, either—Adam spent far less time than usual in the Japanese educational department, and the brothers took off for next-door China, each excited to see what he might find that would please the cook to whom both were devoted.
Immediately to the west, the enclosed Chinese pavilion was less than half the size of the Japanese one. The entrance was a copy of the portal to a celestial pagoda and was painted in bright hues of vermilion, indigo and green. Carvings of curled-up dragons, fierce and ugly enough to haunt any small boy’s nightmares, ornamented the entrance, and every projection of its curved roof ended in an animal shape. Above it were Chinese characters, which Adam said meant “The Chinese Empire.”
“You read Chinese, too?” Joe gasped.
Adam chuckled. “No, I read the catalog.”
Joe grinned, obviously relieved that there was some end to his older brother’s vast knowledge.
Near the entrance stood a row of silk screens in elaborately carved frames, which drew Joe’s immediate interest, until he saw the price tags. Some were painted in brilliant colors and all took their subject matter from animal life. A couple displayed undersea scenes, in which the translucence of the water had been caught in a manner true to life. “Could you afford something like this for him?” Joe asked shyly. “I can’t, but they would fit perfect in Hop Sing’s room.”
“How would you know?” Adam inquired with a jesting smile. “Hop Sing doesn’t let anyone in there—at least not that I’ve heard—and you had better not have been sneaking in behind his back or Pa will have your hide.”
“It’s been a long time,” Joe admitted, “but Hop Sing used to let me take naps in there when I was real little ‘cause he knew how much I hated being upstairs by myself.”
“I didn’t know,” Adam murmured.
Joe shrugged. “Why should you? I was past the nap-taking stage by the time you came home from college.”
That wasn’t what Adam had meant, but he didn’t correct the misimpression. What had surprised him, more than Joe’s having taken naps in Hop Sing’s bed, was the revelation that he had done so because of a dread of being alone. Makes sense when you think about it, Adam decided. He’s such a sociable kid that he would want people around, even while he slept. Letting his mind travel back, Adam recalled times when his youngest brother had been ill or hurt and had begged to be allowed downstairs. Adam had always assumed that the kid was rebelling against the enforced inactivity of Doc Martin’s orders. Maybe all he wanted was company, he mused. Wonder if Pa knows; wonder if that’s why he caves in so easily to Joe’s wheedling to get out of bed before he should.
“So, how about it?” Joe pressed. “You are gonna get him something, aren’t you?”
“Huh?” With a shake of his head, Adam pulled his thoughts back to the present. “Why, yes, of course, I’ll be taking something back to Hop Sing, just like the rest of the family. The screens cost a little more than I’d planned to spend, but if you think he’d really like one, I’ll keep it in mind.”
“One of the underwater ones,” Joe suggested. “He’ll like them best.”
“Because you do?” Adam chuckled.
“Because I know him better than you,” Joe insisted, smiling when Adam nodded in acceptance.
Walking further in, the brothers came to a huge, intricately carved wooden bed. “Don’t even think about it,” Adam said, in awe.
“No,” Joe scoffed. “It’s too big for Hop Sing’s room.”
“Thank goodness,” Adam chuckled. “It’s too big for my wallet, too!”
“I didn’t think anything was,” Joe muttered.
To Adam, he sounded serious. The kid really must think my pockets are deep! Maybe that’s why he pays so little attention to the price of his meals.
After viewing the porcelain and pottery, he and his brother took a quick look at the lacquered work. “Not as good as the Japanese,” Adam observed.
“You want to be the one to tell Hop Sing that?” Joe inquired with a smirk.
“Credit me with a little sense, will you?” Adam retorted dryly.
Joe held his fingers about an inch apart. “Sure, big brother, just about that much.”
Adam cuffed him by the neck and pulled him toward the case of carved ivory, where Joe stared in morbid fascination at the carving of a human skull, not two inches high, with a snake coiled on its head.
“Good workmanship,” Adam commented.
“If you can get past what it is,” Joe said, swallowing as if choking down a mouthful of bile.
“Too close to dinner, eh?” Adam suggested with a sympathetic smile.
“Sunup would be too close to dinner for that!” Joe declared. “Let’s look at something else, Adam.”
“Maybe-so you like this mo’ bettah?” suggested a Chinese attendant, extending a ball of carved ivory, five inches in diameter.
Joe’s eyes lighted, like those of a child with a new toy on Christmas morning. “Can I?” he asked, holding out his hand before Adam could stop him.
The little man in blue silk pants and tunic bowed and handed the small ball to Joe, smiling as the enchanted boy turned it over and over to see the intricate carvings of cities, men, flowers and trees that covered every inch of the exterior. “Now look inside,” the Chinaman urged.
Joe peered into the hole the man indicated and gasped. “Oh, wow! Adam, you gotta see this.”
Curious, Adam took the ivory ball and looked into one of several other holes scattered over the surface. Only his greater emotional control kept him from also gasping at the beauty within, for inside the ball was another, similarly carved, and inside that another, still smaller, and another and another, more than he could count. “How many in all?” he asked, returning the ball to the attendant.
“Twenty-three,” the Chinaman replied, “all from one piece ivory. Velly fine work. You like buy, maybe-so?”
“Maybe so,” Adam agreed, “but not today. I must think first.”
“Ah, you wise like Confucius,” the man said, “but wise man also know delay may lead to disappointment.”
Adam bowed. “That is true; I will remember. Thank you for showing us this beautiful object.”
Though disappointed not to make the sale, the Chinaman bowed politely.
“You thinkin’ about that for Hop Sing?” Joe asked once they were out of earshot. “The screen’s are nicer, I think, but this would be cheaper.”
“I’m not sure. Clyde Thomas might appreciate a beautiful carving like that, too,” Adam said.
“Yeah, he would.” Joe fell silent after that, his thoughts growing gloomy. He’d thought the little Swiss chalet was such a perfect gift for that old friend of the family, but Adam, with his greater resources, seemed determined to outshine him with every gift he bought. Joe swallowed down the hurt. There just wasn’t any help for it, given the difference in their bankrolls, and he didn’t want to see Pa or Hoss or any of their friends deprived of a fine present from Adam, even if it did make his own look like a piece of junk.
Adam stopped before a display of porcelain tiles, painted with Chinese figures. “This might be something you could afford for Hop Sing.”
Joe’s eyes brightened. “Yeah, that might do. I could even manage a set of three, I’ll bet, and they’d look nice on his wall. Gonna give it some thought, though, since you said we could come back.”
“Smart boy,” Adam praised with a pat on the cheek.
“Adam,” Joe chided, pulling away from the gesture more appropriate to a child than a man, in his opinion.
Sniggering with his mouth closed, Adam walked over to a tall pagoda holding a wide variety of Chinese products: cloth, shoes, stockings, hats, leather trunks, samples of native paper, musical instruments and dozens of examples of China’s natural resources and manufactures. There were, to Joe’s unending gratitude, no educational exhibits, so Adam contented himself with a final look at the offices of the Chinese Commission, a colorful structure of carved and gilded woodwork, whose chief attraction was its panels of scarlet silk painted with scenes from Chinese life.
Though they hadn’t reached the western end of the building, Adam knew that neither he nor Joe could wait that long before eating. After all, five more countries were exhibiting on that side of the aisle alone, with another quarter of the building still to be viewed on the opposite side. So, though it meant extra steps, Adam decreed that it was time to eat and he got no argument from his younger brother.