“Ally caffy on the corner,” directed the Tuttle person, and once more we were seated at an iron table with whiskey and soda ordered. Before us was the street fair in all its silly activity. There were many tinselled booths at which games of chance or marksmanship were played, or at which articles of ornament or household decoration were displayed for sale, and about these were throngs of low-class French idling away their afternoon in that mad pursuit of pleasure which is so characteristic of this race. In the centre of the place was a carrousel from which came the blare of a steam orchestrion playing the “Marseillaise,” one of their popular songs. From where I sat I could perceive the circle of gaudily painted beasts that revolved about this musical atrocity. A fashion of horses seemed to predominate, but there was also an ostrich (a bearded Frenchman being astride this bird for the moment), a zebra, a lion, and a gaudily emblazoned giraffe. I shuddered as I thought of the evil possibilities that might be suggested to my two companions by this affair. For the moment I was pleased to note that they had forgotten my supposed indisposition, yet another equally absurd complication ensued when the drink arrived. “Say, don’t your friend ever loosen up?” asked the Tuttle person of Cousin Egbert. “Tighter than Dick’s hatband,” replied the latter. “And then some! He ain’t bought once. Say, Bo,” he continued to me as I was striving to divine the drift of these comments, “have I got my fingers crossed or not?” Seeing that he held one hand behind him I thought to humour him by saying, “I fancy so, sir.” “He means ‘yes,’” said Cousin Egbert. The other held his hand before me with the first two fingers spread wide apart. “You lost,” he said. “How’s that, Sour-dough? We stuck him the first rattle out of the box.” “Good work,” said Cousin Egbert. “You’re stuck for this round,” he added to me. “Three rousing cheers!” I readily perceived that they meant me to pay the score, which I accordingly did, though I at once suspected the fairness of the game. I mean to say, if my opponent had been a trickster he could easily have rearranged his fingers to defeat me before displaying them. I do not say it was done in this instance. I am merely pointing out that it left open a way to trickery. I mean to say, one would wish to be assured of his opponent’s social standing before playing this game extensively. No sooner had we finished the drink than the Tuttle person said to me: