er that I was
dreaming; a long, long dream of sands, and huge hotels, and queer
little booths.

For dinner we ate nothing but fish, of so many different kinds and some
of them so strange, that I almost feared the dream might turn into a
nightmare afterwards. I found the clams rather like olives; you hate
the first, but when you have had three you feel you would like three
dozen; and they are not at all easy to forget.

We went down Under the Sea, and were introduced to horrific monsters,
sailed up and down on switchbacks, which made Mrs. Ess Kay ill, but she
nobly refused to desert me in such surroundings--a state of mind which
made her chin look incredibly square. Eventually, after many adventures
by the way, we arrived at the Moon, and not only got into the middle of
it, but made acquaintance with the inhabitants, none of whom appeared
to be over two feet high, or to have anything to speak of between their
chins and their toes. After that experience, minstrel shows and
concerts, and persons who told your fortunes with snakes, or ate glass,
were rather an anticlimax; still, I enjoyed them all so much that I was
incapable of extreme annoyance when we discovered that _The Evening
Bat_ had an "impressionist sketch" of me which made me look like an
elderly murderess.

We got back to New York almost indecently late, but in the meaner parts
through which we had to pass on the way to our gorgeousness the streets
swarmed with poor creatures, pallid with heat, evidently preparing to
camp out of doors till morning. It was a strange and interesting sight,
but made me feel guilty when I recalled it afterwards in my great cool
bedroom, with my five different kinds of baths.

Next morning I was waked early to find more presents of flowers in huge
stacks, and to get ready for West Point. I was a little tired from
yesterday, and the dry heat gave me rather the sensation of being a
scientist's field mouse in a vacuum, so that I should have dreaded even
a short journey if we hadn't been making it by water.

It was even better than if we had been ordinary tourists on one of the
big Hudson River boats I had heard about, for we were to travel
luxuriously in a little steam yacht of Potter's, which he calls "The
Poached Egg" because it can't be beaten. It is not a vulgar yacht, as
one might have thought from the name, but a dainty thing that ought to
have been "The Butterfly," "Ye White Ladye," or something of that sort.
When I said so