"Ally caffy!" directed the Tuttle person, and we were driven off, to
the raised hats of the remaining cabmen, through many long, quiet
streets.
"I wouldn't have had this happen for anything," said Cousin Egbert,
indicating me.
"Lucky I got that knife away from him," said the other.
To this I thought it best to remain silent, it being plain that the
men were both well along, so to say.
The cab now approached an open square from which issued discordant
blasts of music. One glance showed it to be a street fair. I prayed
that we might pass it, but my companions hailed it with delight and at
once halted the cabby.
"Ally caffy on the corner," directed the Tuttle person, and once more
we were seated at an iron table with whiskey and soda ordered. Before
us was the street fair in all its silly activity. There were many
tinselled booths at which games of chance or marksmanship were played,
or at which articles of ornament or household decoration were
displayed for sale, and about these were throngs of low-class French
idling away their afternoon in that mad pursuit of pleasure which is
so characteristic of this race. In the centre of the place was a
carrousel from which came the blare of a steam orchestrion playing the
"Marseillaise," one of their popular songs.
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