way.

The fair was strung along both sides of a wide, cobbled street. It was
really a very jolly fair, with the usual lot of barkers and the usual
gaping crowd, plus many negroes, who stood fascinated before the highly
colored canvas signs outside the tents, with their bizarre pictures of
wild animals, snake charmers, "Nemo, the Malay Prince," and "The
Cigarette Fiend," pictured as a ghastly emaciated object with a blue
complexion, and billed as "Endorsed by the Anti-Cigarette League of
America." I wished to inquire why an anti-cigarette league should
indorse a cigarette fiend, but lack of time compelled us to press on,
leaving the apparent paradox unsolved.

As we progressed between the tents and the booths with their catchpenny
"wheels of fortune," and ring-tossing enticements, the secretary
maintained a protesting silence.

Near the end of the block we stopped to listen to a particularly
vociferous barker. I saw my companion take his pad from his pocket and
place it under his arm, while he sharpened a pencil.

"Come!" cried the secretary. "Come across the square and let me show you
our beautiful bronze fountain. Draw that!"

But my companion was already beginning to sketch. He was drawing the
barker and the crowd.

Meanwhile an expression of horror came into the secretary's face.
Looking at him, I became conscience-stricken.

"Come away," I said gently, taking him by the arm. "Don't watch him
draw. He draws wonderfully, but Art for Art's sake doesn't appeal to
you just now. The better he draws the worse it will make you feel. Let
me get your mind off all this. Let me take you over to the autodrome,
where we can see Mr. O.K. Hager and his beautiful sister, Miss Olive
Hager, the 'Two Daredevil Motorcyclists, in the Thrilling Race against
Death.' That will make you forget."

"No," said the secretary, shaking his head with a despondency the very
sight of which made me sad; "I have letters to sign at the office."

"And we have taken up your whole day!"

"It has been a pleasure," he said kindly. "There is only one thing that
worries me. Those drawings are not going to represent what is typical of
Montgomery life. Not in the least!"

There arose in me a sudden desire to comfort him.

"How would it be," I suggested, "if I were to print that statement in my
book?"

He looked at me in surprise.

"But you couldn't very well do that, could you?"

"Certainly," I replied.

His face brightened. It was delightf