He was sharp enough to realize the difference in appearance, between
himself in his home made outfit and the generally smart youth of the
city. Yet he could hardly define wherein the contrast consisted.

"I know I ain't no fool," was his reflection, "yet I know I must look
like one to these sassy town fellows."

The sight of an Italian fruit and cake stand reminded him that he was
hungry, so he invested a nickel in a frugal supply of gingerbread,
which he munched as he stood on the curb.

"Take banana. T'ree fo' five centa," urged the black eyed girl, with
large ear rings, who had supplied his wants.

Ralph eyed the pendulous fruit dubiously. He had never seen anything
like it before.

"Looks some like skinned sweet taters," he said to himself. "Are they
good?" he queried aloud.

"Verra goot; go nice wiz shinger braad."

"All right. Give me three," and he parted with another five cents,
then bit into the fruit without more ado.

The girl tried in vain to smother her laughter.

"Zat nota ze way. You peel um--so." She accompanied her words by
stripping the skin from one. "Now; be ready fo' eat."