"Fancy! What do they do?" "Why, sing and dance; buck-and-wing, and all that. It's rather knock-down-and-drag-out fun, some of it; and some's pretty good." "I don't believe I'd understand the jokes," said Muriel forlornly. "It's so different at home--it's quite simple. Everyone always knows when to laugh. But you know that song you sing in 'Tell,' 'The Maiden on the Icy Plank,' that first verse--would you mind explaining? You know where it says: "The maiden on the icy plank Showed conduct quite surprising, She went and got a cake of yeast-- Then fell instead of rising!" I--I don't quite see it--the--the point, you know." "Oh, that's just nonsense, you know--it's just silly. The fact is--_yeast_, you know, _yeast_, well, it makes things _rise_, and she _fell_----' "Oh, she _ate_ the yeast?" said Muriel with a charming smile. "Oh, that's very droll!" She almost laughed. "It didn't say that, you see. That's why I didn't understand. But she _ate_ the yeast!" "Yes, she _ate_ the yeast," said J. B. resignedly. "One can't quite explain a thing like that somehow. It's only meant to be silly." "Most of your American jokes are like that, aren't they? I mean they have to be explained. At first I thought it was because I was slow--but you say such _queer_ things--and one can't ever be certain whether you're in fun or earnest." "I suppose it _is_ hard for a stranger. Is there anything else--any other joke, I mean, that you'd like to get at the true inwardness of?" Muriel recognised the opportunity she had sought. "I--I wish you'd tell me, if you don't mind, you know that costume you wear in the play, that kilt--why do you wear that, Mr. Taylor?" J. B. surveyed her perplexed. "Why do I wear the kilt and all the rest of it? Why--why to make a little fun, you know." "I _thought_ that was it," said Muriel earnestly. "But, you see, it's really not funny." "Oh, isn't it?" "Not a bit," Muriel assured him; and then her heart dropped dismally at the expression on his face. He did not looked pleased somehow. "I--I didn't mean that _you_ aren't funny, you know, I mean _it_ isn't funny." "I'm afraid I don't catch the distinction," said the young man a little drily. Bitter is the cup of the unappreciated joker. "I mean--I--I----" quavered Muriel miserably. "Maybe it's because I'm not used to your fun--I don't see things--it's always really funny at home--so different from here--so much easier. But--I--I think you're too--too nice to wear a kilt!" The tears came into her eyes; tears of embarrassment and perhaps some deeper unanalysed feeling. Amazement encompassed J. B. What on earth was the matter with her? It was not possible she thought the kilt indecent! "And--and that little red apple on the corner of your head!" faltered Muriel. "It all makes you look so foolish--not at all funny. And you're not foolish--really and truly not the least bit foolish--and I think it's a shame for you to make yourself look so!"