It seemed to me that the chap was quite off his head, for the watch was worth not more than ten shillings at the most, though what a double Gazottz might be I could not guess. However, I saw it would be wise to appear to accept the loan, and tendered the note in payment of the score. When I had secured the change I sought to intimate that we should be leaving. I thought even the street fair would be better for us than this rapid consumption of stimulants. “I bet he’d go without buying,” said Cousin Egbert. “No, he wouldn’t,” said the other. “He knows what’s customary in a case like this. He’s just a little embarrassed. Wait and see if I ain’t right.” At which they both sat and stared at me in silence for some moments until at last I ordered more drink, as I saw was expected of me. “He wants the cabman to have one with him,” said Cousin Egbert, whereat the other not only beckoned our cabby to join us, but called to two labourers who were passing, and also induced the waiter who served us to join in the “round.” “He seems to have a lot of tough friends,” said Cousin Egbert as we all drank, though he well knew I had extended none of these invitations. “Acts like a drunken sailor soon as he gets a little money,” said the other. “Three rousing cheers!” replied Cousin Egbert, and to my great chagrin he leaped to his feet, seized one of the navvies about the waist, and there on the public pavement did a crude dance with him to the strain of the “Marseillaise” from the steam orchestrion. Not only this, but when the music had ceased he traded hats with the navvy, securing a most shocking affair in place of the new one, and as they parted he presented the fellow with the gloves and stick I had purchased for him that very morning. As I stared aghast at this _faux pas_ the navvy, with his new hat at an angle and twirling the stick, proceeded down the street with mincing steps and exaggerated airs of gentility, to the applause of the entire crowd, including Cousin Egbert. “This ain’t quite the hat I want,” he said as he returned to us, “but the day is young. I’ll have other chances,” and with the help of the public-house window as a mirror he adjusted the unmentionable thing with affectations of great nicety. “He always was a dressy old scoundrel,” remarked the Tuttle person. And then, as the music came to us once more, he continued: “Say, Sour-dough, let’s go over to the rodeo--they got some likely looking broncs over there.” Arm in arm, accordingly, they crossed the street and proceeded to the carrousel, first warning the cabby and myself to stay by them lest harm should come to us. What now ensued was perhaps their most remarkable behaviour at the day. At the time I could account for it only by the liquor they had consumed, but later experience in the States convinced me that they were at times consciously spoofing. I mean to say, it was quite too absurd--their seriously believing what they seemed to believe.