Mr. Birdseye was going to ask where that tribe lived, but skylarking broke out in a fresh quarter and he forgot it. They talked averages then, or started to. Mr. Birdseye was made proud to find his companion agreed with him that Tris Speaker undoubtedly had a shade on Joe Jackson, and then was just about to take up the question of Honus Wagner's ability to come back after his last season's slump--a vital issue and one upon which he entertained decided views in the affirmative--when something occurred. Without being able to comprehend exactly how it came about, he discovered himself all of a sudden forming one link in a human chain of which six or eight more were likewise component parts. With arms intertwined and heads bent toward a common centre, they all mingled their lusty voices in snatches of song and glee and roundelay, and he--he perforce joined with them. One moment Merrily They Rolled Along, Rolled Along, Rolled Along--indeed they did; the next, From Aunt Dinah's Quilting Party they were Seeing Nell-l-l-i-e Home. Then a single minstrel advanced the duly credited assertion of parties unnamed that A Nigger Won't Steal, whereupon several others instantly and melodiously responded to the effect that be this as it may, I Caught Three in My Cornfield; One Had a Shovel and One Had a Hoe and if That Ain't Stealing I Don't Know! And so on without cessation for many fleeting, glorious, golden minutes. Once Mr. Birdseye, feeling certain he recognised the blithesome tenor whose wide shoulders his right arm encompassed, broke off his carolling long enough to say: "Some doings, eh, Flying Jenny?" Whereat the singer, thus jovially addressed, conferred a wink and a grin upon him and shouted back: "Don't be so blamed formal--just call me Jane!" and then skillfully picked up the tune again and kept right on tenoring. They were all still enmeshed and in all unison enriching the pent-up confines of their car with close harmonies when the train began to check up bumpingly, and advised by familiar objects beginning to pass the windows Mr. Birdseye realised that they approached their destination. It didn't seem humanly possible that so much time had elapsed with such miraculous rapidity, but there was the indisputable evidence in Langford's Real Estate Division and the trackside warehouses of Brazzell Brothers' Pride of Dixie fertilizer works. From a chosen and accepted comrade he now became also a guide. "Fellows!" he announced, breaking out of the ring, "we'll be in in just a minute--this is Anneburg!" Coincidentally with this announcement the conductor appeared at the forward end of the car and in a word gave confirmatory evidence. Of the car porter there was no sign. Duty called him to be present, but prudence bade him nay. He had discretion, that porter.