“Don’t start anything like that here,” broke in the Tuttle person, “the police wouldn’t stand for it. Just keep quiet and remember you’re among friends.” “Yes, sir; quite so, sir,” said I, being somewhat puzzled by these strange words. “I was merely----” “Look out, Jeff,” warned Cousin Egbert, interrupting me; “he’s a devil when he starts.” “Have you got a knife?” demanded the other suddenly. “I fancy so, sir,” I answered, and produced from my waistcoat pocket the small metal-handled affair I have long carried. This he quickly seized from me. “You can keep your gun,” he remarked, “but you can’t be trusted with this in your condition. I ain’t afraid of a gun, but I am afraid of a knife. You could have backed me off the board any time with this knife.” “Didn’t I tell you?” asked Cousin Egbert. “Beg pardon, sir,” I began, for this was drawing it quite too thick, but again he interrupted me. “We’d better get him away from this place right off,” he said. “A drive in the fresh air might fix him,” suggested Cousin Egbert. “He’s as good a scout as you want to know when he’s himself.” Hereupon, calling our waiting cabman, they both, to my embarrassment, assisted me to the vehicle. “Ally caffy!” directed the Tuttle person, and we were driven off, to the raised hats of the remaining cabmen, through many long, quiet streets. “I wouldn’t have had this happen for anything,” said Cousin Egbert, indicating me. “Lucky I got that knife away from him,” said the other. To this I thought it best to remain silent, it being plain that the men were both well along, so to say. The cab now approached an open square from which issued discordant blasts of music. One glance showed it to be a street fair. I prayed that we might pass it, but my companions hailed it with delight and at once halted the cabby.