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"Are you not a New Orleans boy?" she asked as I lifted my képi and drew rein.

"Did you"--he began, and stopped; "did you notice a"--he stopped again.

My silence implied that I knew it, though I did not feel any brighter, happier or cleaner.

"We smuggled it through!" chanted the trio, ready to weep for virtuous joy. And then they clasped arms like the graces, about their aunt, and let her speak.

"Yess, sir, you are!" I retorted. "Move to that wagon! And if you take one step out of common time you'll never take another."

"No," he replied, "I came the wrong way."

The trio laughed, the young woman most musically.

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