He recognized the Howard Tate house.
"Sure," he said emphatically; "'at's it! Tate's party to-night. Sure,
everybody's goin'."
"Say," said the individual anxiously after another look at the awning,
"you sure these people ain't gonna romp on me for comin' here?"
Perry drew himself up with dignity.
"'F anybody says anything to you, just tell 'em you're part of my
costume."
The visualization of himself as a thing rather than a person seemed
to reassure the individual,
"All right," he said reluctantly.
Perry stepped out under the shelter of the awning and began
unrolling the camel.
"Let's go," he commanded.
Several minutes later a melancholy, hungry-looking camel, emitting
clouds of smoke from his mouth and from the tip of his noble hump,
might have been seen crossing the threshold of the Howard Tate
residence, passing a startled footman without so much as a snort,
and leading directly for the main stairs that led up to the ballroom.
The beast walked with a peculiar gait which varied between an
uncertain lockstep and a stampede--but can best be described by the
word "halting." The camel had a halting gait--and as he walked he
alternately elongated and contracted like a gigantic concertina.
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