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Washington, D.C., United States, December 9, 1882

Saturday, cloudy

Today's time for journaling is noon. Pen & Fun & Pavilion www.biquge.info Because it was a Saturday, Henry was resting, and he was downstairs reading the newspaper.

I sat down at the table, rubbing my hands together to keep warm. December actually passed in the blink of an eye, and Christmas was later. During this time, no matter how dark the sky is, the whole city is shining, and every family has placed colorful lights and various decorations in front of the house and at the door.

A month ago, I couldn't have imagined how much my life had changed at this moment, and I couldn't even imagine that I was living in a series of days.

I looked at the time on my watch. Henry proposes to go for a walk in the park across the street in the afternoon. I have a little more than an hour to spare.

I remembered this time on the first Saturday a month ago, when I was on my way to Parker's Cottage.

The Parker-House-Hotel on College Street is a luxury hotel run by Harvey Parker, but we all like to call it "Parker's Cottage."

The hotel is known as the "Saturday Club" in Boston. The Saturday Club rules are to meet on the fourth Saturday of every month, excluding July, August and September. In fact, when I was in school, I heard a rumor that on the first Saturday of every month, there would be a secret test meeting. They invite Boston-based scholars and literati to take part in a mystery quiz and solve puzzles in order to qualify for the Saturday Club.

The first members were mainly poets and essayists, the most famous of whom was the transcendental master Ralph Waldo Emerson. At his center were the transcendental poets, James Russell Lowwell, editor of The Atlantic, Louis Agassius, and Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr., whom everyone in Boston respected.

Later, the members of the "Saturday Club" chaired by Mr. Luis Agassius were more inclined to the sciences and were mostly scholars of the natural sciences.

For Bostonians, the "Parker Cabin" is a symbol of supreme wisdom and pride, but for all Americans, it is a place of great hatred.

A notorious guy made the majority of Americans remember the "Parkhouse Hotel". On April 5th and 6th, 1885, John Wilkes Booth stayed in the hotel, and eight days later he assassinated President Lincoln. John's brother, actor Edwin, was performing at this hotel when John ran to meet him. It was later recalled that John had rehearsed an assassination attempt in the hotel.

At one point, the angry crowd surrounded the hotel, the "Parker Cabin" was shrouded in shadows, and some people threatened to storm the hotel, seize Edwin, and make him hand over his brother. This is known as the most outstanding theater actor in the United States, and the greatest "Hamlet" is because of his younger brother, and all his achievements have been dusted since then.

No matter what others think, in my eyes, Parker's cottage has never changed.

To borrow a phrase from Mr. Holmes, "Boston is the center of the universe."

The taxi turned around the corner of Tremont Street and stopped.

I'm still a little apprehensive. Before getting out of the car, I straightened my hair and straightened my coat before I got out of the car.

It was November in Boston, and it was still a little cold outside, so I wrapped my scarf around my neck.

Looking at the hotel door, I felt like I was stepping into battle, but I was never afraid of the battle that came my way.

I'm no stranger to Parker's Cottage, and I lived at 91 Malborough before I moved to Washington, D.C., not far from here. On weekends, we also come to Parker's Restaurant, where everyone loves the "Boston Cream Pie."

The doorman, a middle-aged man in a hotel uniform, saw me, immediately opened the door for me, and greeted me cordially: "Happy Saturday! ”

Henry and I also used to hold salons in Boston, and I was a little famous in the city, so it was no surprise that he recognized me. But I cared about his greetings. I raised my eyebrows and responded, "Happy Saturday!"

Liz only asked me to come to the hotel on Saturday, but I didn't say who I was going to meet with or what to do next.

Walking into the lobby of the hotel, I looked around. There is no cheap wallpaper here, the walls and ceiling are all wrapped in brown solid wood, thick and quaint, but with a touch of oppression.

There was only one guest at the counter checking in, and it should be an ordinary tourist from out of town.

I don't live in the hotel, for fear that after he finishes the formalities, the front desk staff will look at me with strange eyes.

Two more steps forward, I walked to the black triangular table in the center of the hall. The table was always filled with four or five large vases, and the bouquets in the vases were enough to cover my figure.

I poked my head out and looked left and right. To the left are four elevators, each with a dazzling golden door inlaid with delicate openwork decorations. On my right hand was Parker's Cafeteria, and there was an usher standing in the doorway, but he didn't notice me.

I thought about what to do next. Do you really run to the counter and ask, "How do I get to the testing venue of the Saturday Club?" If I do that, I don't think I'll be the biggest joke in Boston City by tomorrow.

Liz told me to keep it a secret, not even my father, my siblings, and Henry. It is impossible to do such a secret thing as the hawkers in the Quincy-Market, who are shouting and shouting.

Just when I was at a loss, I suddenly saw a little girl walking towards me, where did she come from?

She walked up to me, stood on tiptoe, and her little hands groped desperately around the table.

No, this girl is none other than me, who looks like she was only three or four years old when I was a child. The black three-legged table was too high, and when I was a kid, I obviously wanted to reach the glass bowl on the table, which was full of hard fruit candy. Then a beautiful woman came up, took a piece of candy, squatted down, peeled off the paper coat of the candy, and handed it to the girl's mouth. When I was a child, I obediently leaned over and ate the candy.

I swallowed hard and exclaimed, "Mother!"

In a flash, the figures of both men disappeared before my eyes. It felt so strange and illusory that I was stunned for a long time.

It dawned on me that it seemed to be a memory of mine. Yes, I can't remember the details, but this is what happened when I was a child, and my mother brought me to Parker's Cottage.

I remembered, more things.

Turning my head, I looked at the black tabletop, where the glass bowl was still there. Next to it is a card holder with the words "Candy, please!" written on it. My memory told me what to do, and I picked up that card holder and pulled the card out of it.

The back of the card reads: "Saturday Club"

There are several rows of small print below the title in bold type.

There，at_the_table\'s_further_end_I_see

In_his_old_place_our_Poet\'s_vis-à-vis，

The_great_PROFESSOR，strong，broad-shouldered，square，

In_life\'s_rich_noontide，joyous，debonair

......

As soon as I read the first paragraph, I understood - this is the "puzzle" of the Saturday club - absolutely not wrong!!

I read it all and it was a poem written by Sir Oliver 'Wendell' Holmes Sr. Many people can recite it backwards, and it turns out to be today's puzzle?

I remember that their legend back then that the test must have been done in Parker's hut, and it wouldn't have been out of this range. In other words, the puzzle is to find a mysterious location, and if you find it, you can qualify for membership, is it a time limit? It must be midnight on Saturday.

Thinking of this, I quickly concentrated all my attention and read it repeatedly: the first sentence was "I saw that at the end of the round table, there was there." ”

"Round table"?

A pun, of course. I laughed, relieved in the moment. Glancing at the elevator opposite, on each ornate and intricate wood carved door frame, there is a golden disc, and below the disc is a metal pointer, when the elevator runs and reaches different floors, the disc will turn, and the pointer will point to the floor number engraved on the disc.

The "round table" should refer to the disc of the elevator. I looked at the four elevators and guessed in my heart that "further-end" should mean "slightly inward", that is, from the miles, the penultimate elevator.

At this time, the person at the counter had already checked in, and he only had a small hand luggage, so he didn't call a porter. He pressed the call button for the penultimate elevator.

I crept over and stood behind him.

The disc began to turn, and I stared at the turning pointer as the elevator came down the hall. There was a crisp "ding" sound, and when the man picked up the suitcase, he noticed that there was an extra person standing next to him, and he turned his head to see me. He had a big beard, and his beard was long enough to cover his chest. He still pays attention to etiquette and makes a gesture of please.

I thanked him and stepped into the elevator before he picked up his suitcase and followed.

"How many layers are there?" he said with a New York accent.

"Thanks, top!" I said, thinking to the Yankees.

When I went in, I pressed the floor button, and to be honest, I admired the gentlemanly demeanor of a man, but I still wanted to do what I could. When he came in, he didn't choose a floor, and when he saw the elevator going up one floor at a time, I wondered if he was also on the top floor, or was he one of the candidates for the test meeting?

He suddenly turned around and asked me, "Excuse me, why aren't there four floors?"

"Huh?" I was stunned for a moment, and said, "There are two elevators in the east and two in the west, and the two elevators inside go to the odd-numbered floors, and the outside two go to the odd-numbered floors." ”

"Damn!" he explained, scratching his beard, "ma'am, I don't mean you, I ...... I'm sorry, I want to ...... I got on the wrong elevator. ”

"Ding" sound.

"I've arrived. I smiled at him and stepped out of the elevator, "It's not a big deal, just sit back in." ”

I made it to the top floor of the West End.

"In this ancient place, our poets face to face. (In_his_old_place_our_Poet\'svis-à-vis,)" I silently recited the second line of the poem in my mind as I pushed open the heavy door.

I walked in, with a hint of nervousness and excitement, and this was the place for the Saturday Club. Although it is on the top floor, the interior is also divided into two floors. The first floor is the "face-to-face vis-à-vis", while the second floor is the legendary home of the wanderer.

The whole tone of the room is still brown. From the floor to the walls to the ceiling, it is paved with heavy brown solid wood. The furniture inside is also brown. The rooms are flanked by translucent glass windows, but the room is lit with soft yellow sconces. There are four rows of tables in a large room. By the window is a large table with four chairs on each side of the table, which can seat eight people facing each other, where members discuss issues and exchange ideas.

The two rows of small tables in the middle are "face-to-face" in the sense of the word. A chair was placed at the top of the table, and when the two of them sat down, they were so close that they could touch the tip of their nose by leaning forward slightly. In the middle of a very small and narrow table is a small yellow lamp.

Whether it is a poet or a scholar, they can sit at the same table and challenge each other face to face, and either side can make a question to difficult the other.

There is no gathering today, and the sides of the table are naturally empty.

But I can well imagine the scene when they gathered, it was a clash of ideas and a clash of wits.

I really hope to participate in such a competition!

I walked over to a table. After hesitating, he finally pulled out his chair and sat down. Anyway, there is no one, so what's so scary about sitting down now.

Thinking so, I still turned my head to look at it with a little weakness, for fear that someone would jump out and accuse me of being a bold person.

I wanted to write about that day, and once I started writing, I felt like my mind was spinning, full and empty. Sometimes, I feel like I can't grasp anything, as if nothing that has happened in the past month is real.

Henry had finished reading the newspaper. He was probably standing at the top of the stairs and called out upstairs to ask me if I was ready to go out. I turned around and told him yes. The door was open, and the voice was heard.

The "Marquis" obediently lay in the doorway, and I couldn't close the door during the day, otherwise it would be too strange.

I'm going to hide the diary in a convenient place for the time being, and hold it down with other books.

I didn't finish writing today, but I'll write down what happened later. (To be continued.) )