"The unit of measure of value which the railroad man believes in is
entirely different from that in which the scientist rests his faith.
"A war between two railroads seemed very small compared with two minutes
forty seconds of observation of a total eclipse. One was terrestrial,
the other cosmic.
"It was Wednesday when we reached Denver. The eclipse was to occur the
following Monday.
"We haunted the telegraph-rooms, and sent imploring messages. We placed
ourselves at the station, and watched the trains as they tossed out
their freight; we listened to every express-wagon which passed our door
without stopping, and just as we were trying to find if a telescope
could be hired or bought in Denver, the glasses arrived.
"It was now Friday; we must put up tents and telescopes, and test the
glasses.
"It rained hard on Friday--nothing could be done. It rained harder on
Saturday. It rained hardest of all on Sunday, and hail mingled with the
rain. But Monday morning was clear and bright. It was strange enough to
find that we might camp anywhere around Denver. Our hostess suggested to
us to place ourselves on 'McCullough's Addition.' In New York or Boston,
if I were about to camp on private grounds I should certainly ask
permission. In the far West you choose your spot of ground, you dig
post-holes and you pitch tents, and you set up telescopes and inhabit
the land; and then the owner of the land comes to you, and asks if he
may not put up a fence for you, to keep off intruders, and the nearest
residents come to you and offer aid of any kind.
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