very broad, the brim was pinned up on one side by a little brass
ornament, and he wore it on the back of his head.

Westerfelt caught the eye of his partner, and asked: "Who is the fellow
with the hat on?"

"Don't you know him?" she asked, in surprise. "Why, that's Toot
Wambush, Sarah's brother."

"Why don't he take off his hat?"

"For want of better sense, I reckon." Then she laughed, impulsively.
"I'll tell you why he always keeps it on in the house. He was at a
party over at Sand Bank last spring, an'--"

"Han's to yo' pahtners!" cried out Uncle Mack, as he drew his bow
across three or four strings at once, producing a harmony of bass,
alto, and treble sounds. "Salute de lady on yo' right!"

Whack!

The bridge of the fiddle had fallen. Everybody laughed over Uncle
Mack's discomfiture, as he rubbed the rosin out of his eyes and
grunted, half amused, half vexed at the accident. He held the violin
between his knees and proceeded to adjust the bridge.

"You were telling me why that fellow keeps on his hat," Westerfelt
reminded his partner.

"Oh yes!" laughed the girl, "that's so. Toot's never satisfied if he