ght-seeing autos that ever ran on three wheels and one cylinder! Only
twenty-five cents, two bits a ride! See the birthplace of Ashton's
mayor, the history of Ashton's past, its chief industries," and so on.

When her tourists assembled in front of her machine, which was a real
car, at least the front half of one, an old relic which the garage had
just about decided to scrap, its latter half hidden behind a dark
curtain, Dottie led them back of the curtain where the sights of Ashton
were hidden. In another black curtain were a series of holes not any
larger than a quarter, and behind each was one of the sights, a cradle,
a picture of the town dump, a scrubbing brush and a large pen-knife for
the sights already mentioned. For the Home Team she had a snapshot of
the Warren twins, for the competitor of the Herald, a telephone, and so
on with eight other "hits" on town topics and characters. So many
guffaws and squeals of laughter came from behind the curtain that they
had to call in a "traffic cop" to keep the crowd outside quiet.

The "traffic cops," by the way, were boy scouts. They had dark blue
costumes of cheap drill, trimmed with white braid, and wore white
cotton gloves and shiny badges. They really did have power invested in
them by the committee to preserve order and keep the crowds moving. At
one point they were allowed to stand with a semaphore and hold up the
crowd, not allowing anyone to pass who could not show a certain number
of tags from the various booths. This tag system was to insure that all
would play fair, for there was so much fun just watching other folks
spend money that the tightwads might never have taken their hands out
of their pockets or opened their purses.

A Racket Around the Candy Booth

Mrs. Peterson, who sells the best bread in town, had charge of the cake
archery. You bought arrows for this, three for ten cents, but you could
not shoot until a dollar's worth of arrows had been sold. Then you took
your turn at the bow and arrow. The arrow which hit nearest the
bull's-eye got the cake, of course, and it was some cake, if it
happened to be one of Abbie Southerland's angel foods.

The Girls' Club had drawn the candy table for their share of the fair,
and a pretty booth they made of it, using all the tennis nets they
could beg, borrow or steal to drape it with and putting up all the
candy in ten-cent packages wrapped in white waxed paper to look like
tennis balls. Someone got funny and