Then, as I thought the time had come for me to
enjoy myself, I took a walk about the great building, ending up
with the reading-room. Here I asked for a book on a certain
abstruse subject. Of course, it was not in my line, but I looked
wise and spoke the name glibly. When I sat down to consult it, the
man who brought it threw me a short glance which I chose to think
peculiar. "You don't have many readers for this volume?" I
ventured. He smiled and answered, "Just sent it back to the
shelves. It's had a steady reader for ten days. Before that,
nobody." "Is this your steady reader?" I asked, showing him the
photograph I drew from my pocket. He stared, but said nothing. He
did not have to. In a state of strange satisfaction I opened the
book. It was Greek, if not worse, to me, but I meant to read a few
paragraphs for the sake of appearances, and was turning over the
pages in search of a promising chapter, when--Talk of remarkable
happenings!--there in the middle of the book was a card,--his
card!--left as a marker, no doubt, and on this card, an address
hastily scribbled in lead pencil. It only remained for me to find
that the hotel designated in this address was a Washington one,
for me to recognise in this simple but strangely opportune
occurrence, a coincidence--or, as YOU would say,--an act of
Providence as startling as those we read of in books.
The first man I accosted in regard to the location of this hotel
said there was none of that name in Washington.
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