“I was coming along from looking at two or three good churches,” broke in the Tuttle person, “when I seen Sour-dough here having a kind of a mix-up with this man because of him insisting he must ride a kangaroo or something on a merry-go-round, and wanting Sour-dough to ride an ostrich with him, and then when we got him quieted down a little, nothing would do him but he’s got to be a cowboy--you seen his clothes, didn’t you? And of course I wanted to get back to Addie and the girls, but I seen Sour-dough here was in trouble, so I stayed right by him, and between us we got the maniac here.” “He’s one of them should never touch liquor,” said Cousin Egbert; “it makes a demon of him.” “I got his knife away from him early in the game,” said the other. “I don’t suppose I got to wear this cabman’s hat just because he told me to, have I?” demanded Cousin Egbert. “And here I’d been looking forward to a quiet day seeing some well-known objects of interest,” came from the other, “after I got my tooth pulled, that is.” “And me with a tooth, too, that nearly drove me out of my mind,” said Cousin Egbert suddenly. I could not see Mrs. Effie, but she had evidently listened to this outrageous tale with more or less belief, though not wholly credulous. “You men have both been drinking yourselves,” she said shrewdly. “We had to take a little; he made us,” declared the Tuttle person brazenly. “He got so he insisted on our taking something every time he did,” added Cousin Egbert. “And, anyway, I didn’t care so much, with this tooth of mine aching like it does.” “You come right out with me and around to that dentist I went to this morning,” said the Tuttle person. “You’ll suffer all night if you don’t.” “Maybe I’d better,” said Cousin Egbert, “though I hate to leave this comfortable hotel and go out into the night air again.” “I’ll have the right of this in the morning,” said Mrs. Effie. “Don’t think it’s going to stop here!” At this my door was pulled to and the key turned in the lock. Frankly I am aware that what I have put down above is incredible, yet not a single detail have I distorted. With a quite devilish ingenuity they had fastened upon some true bits: I had suggested the change of hats with the cabby, I had wished to ride the giraffe, and the Tuttle person had secured my knife, but how monstrously untrue of me was the impression conveyed by these isolated facts. I could believe now quite all the tales I had ever heard of the queerness of Americans. Queerness, indeed! I went to bed resolving to let the morrow take care of itself. Again I was awakened by a light flashing in my eyes, and became aware that Cousin Egbert stood in the middle of the room. He was reading from his notebook of art criticisms, with something of an oratorical effect. Through the half-drawn curtains I could see that dawn was breaking. Cousin Egbert was no longer wearing the cabby’s hat. It was now the flat cap of the Paris constable or policeman. CHAPTER FOUR