mal Saturday
night club, which met in a "Camp Supper," and in these jolly, intimate
evenings Miss Taft and her sister, Mrs. Browne, were guiding spirits.
Being included in this group I acknowledged these parties to be the most
delightful events of my life in Chicago. They appeared a bit of Bohemia,
"transmogrified" to suit our conditions, and they made the city seem
less like a drab expanse of desolate materialism.

Sometimes a great geologist would help to make the coffee, while an
architect carved the turkey; and sometimes banker Hutchinson was
permitted to aid in distributing plates and spoons, but always Zulime
Taft was one of the hostesses, and no one added more to the distinction
and the charm of the company. She was never out of character, never at a
loss in an effort to entertain her guests, and yet she did this so
effectively that her absence was instantly felt--I, at least, always
resented the action of those wealthy guests who occasionally hurried
away with her to the Thomas Concert at eight-fifteen. My mood was all
the more bitter for the reason that I could not afford to take her there
myself. To ask her to sit in the gallery was disgraceful, and seats in
the balcony were not only expensive, but almost impossible to get. They
were all sold, in advance, for the season. For all these reasons I
frequently watched her departure with a sense of defeat.

Israel Zangwill, who came to town at about this time to lecture, was
brought to one of our suppers and proved to be of the true artist
spirit. During his stay in the city Taft made a quick sketch of him,
catching most admirably the characteristics of his homely face! He was a
quaint yet powerful personality, witty and wise, and genial, and made
friends wherever he went.

Meanwhile, notwithstanding many pleasant meetings with Miss
Taft--perhaps because of them--I had my moments of gloomy introspection
wherein I cast up accounts in order to determine what I had gained by
my six months' vacation in the wilderness. First of all I had become a
master trailer--so much was assured, but this acquirement did not
promise to be of any practical benefit to me except possibly in the way
of a lecture tour. Broadening my hand to the cinch and the axe did not
make me any more attractive as a suitor and certainly did not add
anything to my capital.

My outing had cost me twice what I had calculated upon, and, thus far, I
had only syndicated a few letters and a handful of poem