My wife was the life of the whole lot of us boys, for boys we all were. She it was who cheered us and kept heart in us during bad times, and during one very bad time she tided me over by getting a position as cashier at a soda-fountain, till I was on my feet again. We had our amusements too, and occasionally went to the theatre, in the peanut gallery, and sometimes I got passes from an actor friend of mine. There was a piano in our boarding-house, where a mob of about a dozen of us would congregate in the evenings and have music, singing, and story-telling. It was quite a conglomeration. There were two old-maid sisters, teachers in the Chicago High School, who could recite; a young fellow who was singing tenor in the “chorus” of Kiralfy’s America Company at the Auditorium (he could parody anything, had a very fine voice, and was a natural comedian); then there was an engraver in Lyon and Healy’s piano factory, who played well; also an elderly man, who taught music on the guitar and banjo, and played divinely on the latter; a stockbroker’s clerk, my wife, her two brothers, and myself, who were all strong on choruses; and others whom I forget. When times were good, and we could buy a jug of beer and had plenty of tobacco, that house used to be a scene of much revelry. Chicago, however, is not like London, where you can find so many places to see and amuse yourself without cost. Excepting the parks one has to pay to go anywhere, either to the museum or picture gallery, and even the parks cost car-fare. For, as I have said before, Chicago is a huge city. When I worked at the fair-grounds I lived on the west side, and went eight miles to my work and back every day.