“Ah, merci, m’sieu! Je vous remercie, et—au revoir!”
THE SOUDANESE BABY.
“Au revoir!” said Harry; and the three moved away with very kindly feelings toward the clever card-writer.
As they turned toward the further end of the street, an elderly Arab passed them with a stony glare, repeating aloud over and over, “Hello! How-de-do! Good-morning! Hello! How-de-do! Good-morning!” but paying no attention whatever to any one in particular.
“Now Philip says he’d like to go into the Soudanese Exhibit,” said Mr. Douglass, looking at a little plan of the Plaisance. He was a systematic traveler, and always secured a map or plan of each place he visited. They turned into a small inclosure, after buying tickets and seeing them dropped into a battered black tin box (the regular preliminary to all the shows), and found themselves the only visitors in a canvas tent that sheltered a board platform raised a little above the ground. On the platform sat two men and a woman; and about the tent was playing a lively little Soudanese baby—advertised outside as the “Dancing-baby only eighteen months old!”
THE FLOWER-GIRL.
It was to photograph the baby that Philip had come in. But no sooner did the awful black box appear than there was a hubbub.
“No, no!” shrieked the mother, fiercely.