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BACK TO ARIZONA.
The last nails were driven in the precious boxes, and I started overland in November with my little son, now nearly two years old.
"Overland" in those days meant nine days from New York to San Francisco.
Arriving in Chicago, I found it impossible to secure a section on the Pullman car so was obliged to content myself with a lower berth.

I did not allow myself to be disappointed.
On entering the section, I saw an enormous pair of queer cow hide shoes, the very queerest shoes I had ever seen, lying on the floor, with a much used travelling bag.

I speculated a good deal on the shoes, but did not see the owner of them until several hours later, when a short thick-set German with sandy close-cut beard entered and saluted me politely.

"You are noticing my shoes perhaps Madame ?" "Yes" I said, involuntarily answering him in German.
His face shone with pleasure and he explained to me that they were made in Russia and he always wore them when travelling.