Passing under the elevated railway, they joined the ranks of visitors to the Midway. As they intended to come back another time, they glanced only at the exteriors of most of the buildings, pausing first when they came to the Javanese village. While they rode through the crowd the boys were amused to see the odd glances of those who met them. The luxury of being pushed in a chair was, by many of the newer visitors, considered fitting only for sick people, and their eyes plainly said that two strong, healthy boys should walk. The boys knew this, for they had had the same feeling toward riders during their own first day; the second day’s walking, however, entirely changed their views, and they understood that it was a wise economy to save bodily tire when eyes and brain were so busy. [Illustration: THE JAVANESE MUSICIANS.] “You can ride right into the Javanese village,” one of the guides told them; so they bought their tickets and were pushed into the grounds. Surrounded by a bamboo fence with a lofty gateway was a collection of steep-roofed, grass-thatched, one-story huts. Each had a little veranda in front, and as it was sunny, many of the short, dark-skinned little people sat outdoors at work. Here Philip expected to get a few more pictures. He had already taken one outside. Leaving the chair in the main roadway, he had gone to the side, where the ground was higher, and had secured a negative (or hoped he had!) showing the crowd thronging the long street between the houses. But on entering the Javanese village he was told that he could not take pictures without another permit. After a little search and inquiry he found a hut within an inclosure marked “private” and “office.” Here he met the superintendent, and was given permission to take views inside the village. [Illustration: THE JAVANESE BABY.] All the time they were among the Javanese, they had heard a queer musical, liquid pounding. Near the center of the grounds they found the cause. An odd water-wheel of bamboo revolved beneath a stream that flowed from an upright iron pipe, and as this wheel went around it struck short hanging bits of wood that gave forth the musical notes. The wheel had apparently no other purpose than to make a noise—it was a primitive music-box. This was Philip’s first camera subject. His second was also musical. There was a band of musicians playing upon some sweet-sounding metal gongs, and another species of Javanese tom-toms. The musicians smiled encouragingly as Philip waved his camera and gazed through his glasses with eager inquiry, and as soon as they were hard at their music Philip took them. Another picture he lost. While he was just on the point of pushing the button, a guard clapped one hand over the lens. It was too late to stop, and Philip lost his temper as well as his exposure. “You can’t take pictures here,” said the guard. “The superintendent said I could,” said Philip, sharply. “I beg your pardon,” the guard answered politely.