ho venture to interfere, and it will take at least a
Saturn century to so much as start them in the right direction. Our
settlement is their only hope, she says, and even we can help them only
indirectly.

Not long ago, it appears, they had to choose a King or Mayor, or
whatever the creature is called who executes their silly laws, and our
people so manipulated the election that the choice fell on one of us.

I thought this a really good idea, and supposed, of course, we must at
once have set about demonstrating how a planet should be managed. But
no! that was not our system, if you please. Instead of making proper
laws our agent misbehaved himself in every way the committee could
suggest, until at last the humans rose against him and put one of
themselves in his place, and after that things went just a little better
than before. This is the only way in which they can be taught. But, dear
me, isn't it tedious?

Of course, I soon grew anxious for an exchange of thought with almost
any one, but it was a long while before I discovered a single person who
was not in a violent hurry. At last, however, we came upon a human
drawn apart a little from the throng, who stood with folded arms,
engaged apparently in lofty meditation. His countenance was amiable,
although a little red.

Saying nothing to Ooma of my purpose, I slipped away from her, and
looking up into the creature's eyes inquired mentally the subject of his
thoughts; also, how he came to be so inordinately stout, and why he wore
bright metal buttons on his garment. But my only answer was a stupid
blink, for his mentality seemed absolutely incapable of receiving
suggestions not expressed in sounds. I observed farther that his aura
inclined too much toward violet for perfect equipoise.

"G'wan out of this, and quit yer foolin'," he remarked, missing my
meaning altogether.

Of course I spoke then, using the human speech quite glibly for a first
attempt, and hastened to assure him that though I had no idea of
fooling, I should not go on until my curiosity had been satisfied. But
just then Ooma found me.

"My friend is a stranger," she explained to the brass-buttoned man.

"Then why don't you put a string to her?" he asked.

I learned later that I had been addressing one of the public jesters
employed by the community to keep Broadway from becoming intolerably
dull.

"But you must not speak to people in the street," said Ooma, "not even
to policemen."

"The