“But what did we come to the Fair for,” demanded the Judge, “if not to run about and see everything?”
“My dear Judge,” returned Miss Rittingway, “I don’t forbid you to run about or around and see everything.”
“I wish you would,” said the Judge. “I need minding. I am dying to be bossed by somebody. I heard some one say that you were the chaperon in this miscellaneous party, and there isn’t a member of the outfit who needs your gentle guidance, your subtly restraining influence more than I do. It is positively wicked to turn me loose at a county fair.”
“I’m awfully sorry, Judge,” returned Miss Rittingway, “but really I never agreed to chaperon you.”
The Judge cast an appealing glance at me. “Oh, I don’t blame you!” he said, with a mischievous twitch in his eyes, “and I’m coming back, unless my unrestrained career ends in disaster.”
We watched the Judge until he had disappeared in the crowd.
“Do you think the Judge will marry again?” asked Miss Rittingway.
“Of all questions,” I replied, “that is the one I am least fitted to answer. I have positive reverence for one who is capable of successfully making that variety of guess. I represent an extremely crude form of the prophet. When the sky is filled with extremely dark clouds I think that it may rain. That is as far as I have ever been able to go.”
“Well, I was wondering whether you had noticed any rather dark clouds in the Judge’s sky.”