Crash! went the tutor through the glass, just scraping his way between two of the iron bars, but landing safely in a car.
“There!” he cried, “I shall have another ride in the wheel!”
Up it went, over, down, and he came slowly toward where the Arabs stood in earnest talk. As he approached, one stepped forward:
“Give more bakshish!” he cried, “or—”
Mr. Douglass shook his head. The Arabs shook their fists. He laughed at them. Then, raging with fury, one turned and said in Arabic to the other:
“Seeme letim sleyd!”
No sooner said than done. Each Bedouin seized one of the gigantic supports that upheld the wheel, and pulled with all his might. They were both well-developed and had a strong pull. With a long pull and a strong pull and a pull all together, they sprung out the supports, the great wheel fell from its place, and the Bedouins, seeing the mischief they had done—and perhaps repenting of it, for they were only hasty, not wicked—leaped upon their priceless donkeys, and were soon lost in the suburbs of Chicago. Unlike the cat, they did not return, and have nothing more to do with the story. But no doubt they often regretted, as they grew older, the hasty outburst of temper that was now to do so much mischief.
For the wheel, with Mr. Douglass an unwilling passenger, dropped to the ground, and rolled slowly up the Plaisance.
Its first victim was the Turkish village, and when the wheel had passed, the village looked like a flat, hand-colored map.
