But the Midway.  Ah! the Midway, that is quite a different matter; but still the preacher goes,—­leaving the children at home.

Learning is ever curious.  The Professor, after walking patiently through several of the buildings and admiring impartially sections of trees from Cuba and plates of apples from Wyoming, modestly expressed a desire for some relaxation.

“The Midway is something more than a feature, it is an element.  It is the laugh that follows the tears; the joke that relieves the tension; the Greeks invariably produced a comedy with their tragedies; human nature demands relaxation; to appreciate the serious, the humorous is absolutely essential.  If the Midway were not on the grounds the people would find it outside.  Capacity for serious contemplation differs with different peoples and in different ages,—­under Cromwell it was at a maximum, under Charles II. it was at a minimum; the Puritans suppressed the laughter of a nation; it broke out in ridicule that discriminated not between sacred and profane.  The tension of our age is such that diversions must recur quickly.  The next great Exposition may require two Midways, or three or four for the convenience of the people.  You can’t get a Midway any too near the anthropological and ethnological sections; a cinematograph might be operated as an adjunct to the Fine Arts building; a hula-hula dancer would relieve the monotony of a succession of big pumpkins and prize squashes.”

At that moment the Professor became interested in the strange procession entering the streets of Cairo, and we followed.  Before he got out it cost him fifty cents to learn his name, a quarter for his fortune, ten cents for his horoscope, and sundry amounts for gems, jewels, and souvenirs of the Orient.

Through his best hexameter spectacles he surveyed the dark-eyed daughter of the Nile who was telling his fortune with a strong Irish accent; all went smoothly until the prophetess happened to see the Professor’s sunburnt nose, fiery red from the four days’ run in wind and rain, and said warningly,—­

“You are too fond of good eating and drinking; you drink too much, and unless you are more temperate you will die in twenty years.”  That was too much for the Professor, whose occasional glass of beer—­a habit left over from his student days—­would not discolor the nose of a humming-bird.

There were no end of illusions, mysteries, and deceptions.  The greatest mystery of all was the eager desire of the people to be deceived, and their bitter and outspoken disappointment when they were not.  As the Professor remarked,—­

“There never has been but one real American, and that was Phineas T. Barnum.  He was the genuine product of his country and his times,—­native ore without foreign dross.  He knew the American people as no man before or since has known them; he knew what the American people wanted, and gave it to them in large unadulterated doses,—­humbug.”