As I stared aghast at this _faux pas_ the navvy,
with his new hat at an angle and twirling the stick, proceeded down the
street with mincing steps and exaggerated airs of gentility, to the
applause of the entire crowd, including Cousin Egbert.
"This ain't quite the hat I want," he said as he returned to us, "but
the day is young. I'll have other chances," and with the help of the
public-house window as a mirror he adjusted the unmentionable thing
with affectations of great nicety.
"He always was a dressy old scoundrel," remarked the Tuttle person.
And then, as the music came to us once more, he continued: "Say,
Sour-dough, let's go over to the rodeo--they got some likely looking
broncs over there."
Arm in arm, accordingly, they crossed the street and proceeded to the
carrousel, first warning the cabby and myself to stay by them lest
harm should come to us. What now ensued was perhaps their most
remarkable behaviour at the day. At the time I could account for it
only by the liquor they had consumed, but later experience in the
States convinced me that they were at times consciously spoofing. I
mean to say, it was quite too absurd--their seriously believing what
they seemed to believe.
The carrousel being at rest when we approached, they gravely examined
each one of the painted wooden effigies, looking into such of the
mouths as were open, and cautiously feeling the forelegs of the
different mounts, keeping up an elaborate pretence the while that the
beasts were real and that they were in danger of being kicked.
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