“It wouldn’t be right,” replied Cousin Egbert, “not in his condition. Let’s see if we can’t find something gentle for him. Not the roan--I found she ain’t bridle-wise. How about that pheasant?” “It’s an ostrich, sir,” I corrected him, as indeed it most distinctly was, though at my words they both indulged in loud laughter, affecting to consider that I had misnamed the creature. “Ostrich!” they shouted. “Poor old Bill--he thinks it’s an ostrich!” “Quite so, sir,” I said, pleasantly but firmly, determining not to be hoaxed again. “Don’t drivel that way,” said the Tuttle person. “Leave it to the driver, Jeff--maybe he’ll believe _him_,” said Cousin Egbert almost sadly, whereupon the other addressed the cabby: “Hey, Frank,” he began, and continued with some French words, among which I caught “vooley-vous, ally caffy, foomer”; and something that sounded much like “kafoozleum,” at which the cabby spoke at some length in his native language concerning the ostrich. When he had done, the Tuttle person turned to me with a superior frown. “Now I guess you’re satisfied,” he remarked. “You heard what Frank said--it’s an Arabian muffin bird.” Of course I was perfectly certain that the chap had said nothing of the sort, but I resolved to enter into the spirit of the thing, so I merely said: “Yes, sir; my error; it was only at first glance that it seemed to be an ostrich.” “Come along,” said Cousin Egbert. “I won’t let him ride anything he can’t guess the name of. It wouldn’t be right to his folks.” “Well, what’s that, then?” demanded the other, pointing full at the giraffe. “It’s a bally ant-eater, sir,” I replied, divining that I should be wise not to seem too obvious in naming the beast. “Well, well, so it is!” exclaimed the Tuttle person delightedly. “He’s got the eye with him this time,” said Cousin Egbert admiringly. “He’s sure a wonder,” said the other. “That thing had me fooled; I thought at first it was a Russian mouse hound.” “Well, let him ride it, then,” said Cousin Egbert, and I was practically lifted into the saddle by the pair of them. “One moment,” said Cousin Egbert. “Can’t you see the poor thing has a sore throat? Wait till I fix him.” And forthwith he removed his spats and in another moment had buckled them securely high about the throat of the giraffe. It will be seen that I was not myself when I say that this performance did not shock me as it should have done, though I was, of course, less entertained by it than were the remainder of our party and a circle of the French lower classes that had formed about us. “Give him his head! Let’s see what time you can make!” shouted Cousin Egbert as the affair began once more to revolve. I saw that both my companions held opened watches in their hands.