those foolish cabs. We made a bargain for a dollar and a half
the first hour and a dollar each succeeding hour, and then we
fell in and told the pilot to take us all over New York. He said
he would, and from the way I feel, he did. K. C. started an awful
argument in one place by declaring that a straight should beat a
flush because there were only eight chances to fill a straight,
while with a flush there were nine. I never figured it out before,
but K. C. is right.

In another place we met a Philadelphia-looking sort of a fellow
with a soft hat, a Prince Albert coat with narrow braid on it,
and a couple of those little bow-legged dogs with the long ears
and their stomachs away down on the ground. They call them Dasch
hounds, or something, and I can't for the life of me see what
anybody would want with such fool-looking dogs. They look as
though they had been born under a bureau or in a New York hotel
room, where you have to close the folding bed to find your clothes,
or in the Boston baseball grounds. The dog man said he used to know
a George Black years ago in Johnstown, Pa., who was a puddler in
the mills there. Johnny answered, "That's my father. He is manager
of those mills now, and what's more, he can lick any man in Cambria
County, just the same as I can lick any man in New York City." The
last was announced in a tone sufficiently loud to be heard all over
the place. Jim, I got it four times just from the overflow. Now,
you know merely because Johnny's father can lick any man in Cambria
County, is that any reason why I should land out in the middle of
the car track? Not at all.

Along about ten in the evening Bud wanted to keep the seven-o'clock-
dinner date with the heiresses, but the rest of the gang were too