To add to my worries, a railroad strike was announced for May 1, the day on which the orchestra were to arrive at Le Havre, and not content with that, the dock workers of Le Havre intended also to lay down their “tools,” whatever they may be, and stop working on that date. When I thought of the musical instruments and trunks of my orchestra in the hold of the steamer _Rochambeau_, which was to arrive on or about May 1, my heart stopped beating. However, I had been in too many close shaves on my great Western orchestral tours to be altogether dismayed, for even if the railroad stopped running there would always be motor-trucks and airplanes. We had made arrangements with Thomas Cook and Sons to take care of all transportation matters from the day the orchestra arrived in France until their sailing for home from England, and they assured me that, if necessary, they would have camions, such as were used during the war, to carry my whole orchestra, together with their baggage and musical instruments, from Le Havre to Paris. Luckily the ship docked several hours before the dock workers’ strike began, and double-basses, kettledrums, and innumerable music boxes were safely landed from the hold of the ship. I had intended to go to Le Havre to meet the orchestra, but the strike conditions were too uncertain and I thought it better to remain in Paris and direct operations from there. The government was moving several trains, and the telegram that the orchestra had started for Paris cheered me up considerably. I was at the station at 3.30 that afternoon, to be met with the news that the train was delayed and would be in at six. At six there was no sign of it, and, as is usual at French stations, there was absolutely no one who had any idea when it might arrive. I stayed there till eight o’clock—no train. Finally there was a whistle. Every one dashed out. It was a freight-train, but, like the dove from Noah’s Ark, I saw the “man from Cook’s,” a little man, attired then and during the entire tour in a very small derby hat and an exceedingly long double-breasted frock coat, sitting on top of one of the cars. He was tired, dirty, but triumphant, for all our musical instruments and music boxes were in these cars. He had passed the orchestra half-way at Rouen, where they were held up by a hot box. This sounded like home to me, as I had heard those magic words only too often when our train, coming through Idaho or Arizona on our way to or from California, would be held up for hours and we would wonder whether we could “make” the concert that evening.