But at this point fickle Kismet, who for a day had played with him
bitterly and sardonically, decided to reward him in full for the
amusement he had afforded her. Kismet turned the tawny eyes of the
snake charmer to the camel. Kismet led her to lean toward the man
beside her and say, "Who's that? That camel?"
They all gazed.
"Darned if I know."
But a little man named Warburton, who knew it all, found it
necessary to hazard an opinion:
"It came in with Mr. Tate. I think it's probably Warren Butterfield,
the architect, who's visiting the Tates."
Something stirred in Betty Medill--that age-old interest of the
provincial girl in the visiting man.
"Oh," she said casually after a slight pause.
At the end of the next dance Betty and her partner finished up
within a few feet of the camel. With the informal audacity that was
the keynote of the evening she reached out and gently rubbed the
camel's nose.
"Hello, old camel."
The camel stirred uneasily.
"You 'fraid of me?" said Betty, lifting her eyebrows in mock reproof.
"Don't be. You see I'm a snake charmer, but I'm pretty good at
camels too."
The camel bowed very low and the groups round laughed and made the
obvious remark about the beauty and the beast.
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