“I see; this is what we may call applied cynicism. Though I should think that Dick might have more than one reason for not asking you where you have been. You never could finish the story. And by the way, do you mind telling me where we are going? You are keeping me in dread lest this pleasure should be interrupted.” “We shall be at Mrs. Linford’s in two minutes.” “What shall you do there?” “I shall assist Mrs. Linford in managing a British lion.” “A what?” “They say he is dreadfully brutal. It will be so nice to have you to help stroke him.” “But—” “Oh, Mrs. Linford will be delighted. Though perhaps you had better not mention books to him. They say he simply _hates_ other literary people. And Mrs. Linford warned me not to speak of railroads. It seems that he grows absolutely cataleptic at the mention of American railroads.” “That is one of my favorite themes. You had better leave me outside or let me go back to the Vulcan.” “Nonsense! Here we are.” The lion had not come, and was not coming. They said it was just like him. Yet they seemed quite unhappy. “So that now,” said Mrs. Fentley an hour later, “you are going home to dinner with me.” “Yes,” I returned, “Dick said I was to bid you fetch me. It is very nice to have you guess his wishes this way. But mind you, I shall be quite unmanageable if you mention the subject of Lake winds!” [Illustration] [Illustration] VII WITH A CHAPERON [Illustration] They all had climbed down from the coach but Miss Rittingway, the Judge, and myself. Some of them had gone over to the ball game in which young Medrick was to play. Others were at the stables. The Grifton girl and Mentley were strolling among the booths. The Judge had asked Miss Rittingway to go with him and see the fruit exhibit, and Miss Rittingway had begged off. “I am going to sit here for a while,” she said in her quietly conclusive way. “But what did we come to the Fair for,” demanded the Judge, “if not to run about and see everything?” “My dear Judge,” returned Miss Rittingway, “I don’t forbid you to run about or around and see everything.” “I wish you would,” said the Judge. “I need minding. I am dying to be bossed by somebody. I heard some one say that you were the chaperon in this miscellaneous party, and there isn’t a member of the outfit who needs your gentle guidance, your subtly restraining influence more than I do. It is positively wicked to turn me loose at a county fair.” “I’m awfully sorry, Judge,” returned Miss Rittingway, “but really I never agreed to chaperon you.” The Judge cast an appealing glance at me. “Oh, I don’t blame _you_!” he said, with a mischievous twitch in his eyes, “and I’m coming back, unless my unrestrained career ends in disaster.” We watched the Judge until he had disappeared in the crowd. “Do you think the Judge will marry again?” asked Miss Rittingway.