“Vooley-voos make-um bring dinner!” said the Tuttle person to the cabman, who thereupon spoke at length in his native tongue to the waiter. By this means we secured a soup that was not half bad and presently a stew of mutton which Cousin Egbert declared was “some goo.” To my astonishment I ate heartily, even in such raffish surroundings. In fact, I found myself pigging it with the rest of them. With coffee, cigars were brought from the tobacconist’s next-door, each cabman present accepting one. Our own man was plainly feeling a vast pride in his party, and now circulated among his fellows with an account of our merits. “This is what I call life,” said the Tuttle person, leaning back in his chair. “I’m coming right back here every day,” declared Cousin Egbert happily. “What’s the matter with a little drive to see some well-known objects of interest?” inquired his friend. “Not art galleries,” insisted Cousin Egbert. “And not churches,” said his friend. “Every day’s been Sunday with me long enough.” “And not clothing stores,” said Cousin Egbert firmly. “The Colonel here is awful fussy about my clothes,” he added. “Is, heh?” inquired his friend. “How do you like this hat of mine?” he asked, turning to me. It was that sudden I nearly fluffed the catch, but recovered myself in time. “I should consider it a hat of sound wearing properties, sir,” I said. He took it off, examined it carefully, and replaced it. “So far, so good,” he said gravely. “But why be fussy about clothes when God has given you only one life to live?” “Don’t argue about religion,” warned Cousin Egbert. “I always like to see people well dressed, sir,” I said, “because it makes such a difference in their appearance.” He slapped his thigh fiercely. “My gosh! that’s true. He’s got you there, Sour-dough. I never thought of that.” “He makes me wear these chest-protectors on my ankles,” said Cousin Egbert bitterly, extending one foot. “What’s the matter of taking a little drive to see some well-known objects of interest?” said his friend. “Not art galleries,” said Cousin Egbert firmly. “We said that before--and not churches.” “And not gents’ furnishing goods.” “You said that before.” “Well, you said not churches before.” “Well, what’s the matter with taking a little drive?” “Not art galleries,” insisted Cousin Egbert. The thing seemed interminable. I mean to say, they went about the circle as before. It looked to me as if they were having a bit of a spree. “We’ll have one last drink,” said the Tuttle person. “No,” said Cousin Egbert firmly, “not another drop. Don’t you see the condition poor Bill here is in?” To my amazement he was referring to me. Candidly, he was attempting to convey the impression that I had taken a drop too much. The other regarded me intently. “Pickled,” he said. “Always affects him that way,” said Cousin Egbert. “He’s got no head for it.” “Beg pardon, sir,” I said, wishing to explain, but this I was not let to do.