as many nationalities.

"Dieu! quel chaleur!" gasped a fat little Frenchman, mopping his
clipped head and breathing hard.

"Clifford," he inquired in English, "ees eet zat you haf a so great
-- a -- heat chez vous?"

Clifford glanced up from his easel. "Heat in New York? My dear
Deschamps, this is nothing."

The other eyed him suspiciously.

"You know New York is the capital of Galveston?" said Clifford,
slapping on a brush full of color and leaning back to look at it.

The Frenchman didn't know, but he nodded.

"Well, that's very far south. We suffer -- yes, we suffer, but our
poor poultry suffer more."

"Ze -- ze pooltree? Wat eez zat?"

Clifford explained.

"In summer the fire engines are detailed to throw water on the hens
to keep their feathers from singeing. Singeing spoils the flavor."

The Frenchman growled.