Then we rounds up the kids' traps, sees to their baggage, and calls another cab. Pinckney and the girl takes Jill, I loads Jack in with me, and off we starts. It was a great ride. Ever try to answer all the questions a kid of that age can think up? Say, I was three behind and short of breath before we'd gone ten blocks. "Is all this America?" says Mr. Jack, pointin' up Broadway. "No, sonny," says I; "this is little old New York." "Where's America, then?" says he. "Around the edges," says I. "I'm goin' to be president some day," says he. "Are you?" "Not till Teddy lets go, anyway," says I. "Who's Teddy?" says he. "The man behind the stick," says I. "I wish I had a stick," says Jack; "then I could whip the hossie. I wish I had suffin' to eat, too." "I'd give a dollar if you had," says I. It seems that Jill has been struck with the same idea, for pretty soon we comes together, and Pinckney shouts that we're all goin' to have lunch. Now, there's a lot of eatin' shops in this town; but I'll bet Pinckney couldn't name more'n four, to save his neck, and the Fifth-ave. joint he picks out was the one he's most used to. It ain't what you'd call a fam'ly place. Mostly the people who hang out there belong to the Spender clan. It's where the thousand-dollar tenors, and the ex-steel presidents, and the pick of the pony ballet come for broiled birds and bottled bubbles. But that don't bother Pinckney a bit; so we blazes right in, kids and all. The head waiter most has a fit when he spots Pinckney towin' a twin with each hand; but he plants us at a round table in the middle of the room, turns on the electric light under the seashell shades, and passes out the food programs. I looks over the card; but as there wa'n't anything entered that I'd ever met before, I passes. Gerty, she takes a look around, and smiles. But the twins wa'n't a bit fazed. "What will it be, youngsters?" says Pinckney. "Jam," says they. "Jam it is," says Pinckney, and orders a couple of jars. "Don't you think they ought to have something besides sweets?" says Miss Gerty. "Blessed if I know," says Pinckney, and he puts it up to the kids if there wa'n't anything else they'd like. "Yep!" says they eagerly. "Pickles." That's what they had too, jam and pickles, with a little bread on the side. Then, while we was finishin' off the grilled bones, or whatever it was Pinckney had guessed at, they slides out of their chairs and organises a game of tag. I've heard of a lot of queer doin's bein' pulled off in that partic'lar caffy, but I'll bet this was the first game of cross tag ever let loose there. It was a lively one, for the tables was most all filled, and the tray jugglers was skatin' around thick. That only made it all the more interestin' for the kids. Divin' between the legs of garcons loaded down with silver and china dishes was the best sport they'd struck in a month, and they just whooped it up. [Illustration: THE TWINS ORGANIZE A GAME OF TAG]