One
should not expect too much of an already overworked Providence.
The rest of us were still warm and happy in our souls when, without
any whistle-tooting or bell-clanging or station-calling, we slid
silently, almost surreptitiously, into the Gare du Nord, at Paris.
Neither in England nor on the mainland does anyone feel called
on to notify you that you have reached your destination.
It is like the old formula for determining the sex of a pigeon--you
give the suspected bird some corn, and if he eats it he is a he;
but if she eats it she is a she. In Europe if it is your destination
you get off, and if it is not your destination you stay on. On
this occasion we stayed on, feeling rather forlorn and helpless,
until we saw that everyone else had piled off. We gathered up our
belongings and piled off too.
By that time all the available porters had been engaged; so we
took up our luggage and walked. We walked the length of the
trainshed--and then we stepped right into the recreation hall of
the State Hospital for the Criminal Insane, at Matteawan, New York.
I knew the place instantly, though the decorations had been changed
since I was there last. It was a joy to come on a home institution
so far from home--joysome, but a trifle disconcerting too, because
all the keepers had died or gone on strike or something; and the
lunatics, some of them being in uniform and some in civilian dress,
were leaping from crag to crag, uttering maniacal shrieks.
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