her looked round the circle of picknickers--as if
annoyed by the crunching; but when the Doctor held out the brown salt,
he took it, examined it critically, turning it over and over, then
lifted it--and bit.

"Pretty slim lunch this," he observed.

He ate heartily, until the last salt crumb was gone. Then, "I'm
thirsty," he declared "Where's--?"

Instantly the Doctor proffered the glass. And the other drank--in one
great gasping mouthful.

"Ah!" breathed Gwendolyn. And felt a grateful coolness on her lips, as
if she had slaked her own thirst.

The next moment her father turned. And she saw that the change had
already come. First of all, he looked down at his hands, caught sight of
the crumpled bills, and attempted to stuff them hurriedly into his
pocket. But his pockets were already wedged tight with silk-shaded
candles. He reached round and fed the bills into the mahogany case of
the talking-machine. Next, he emptied his pockets of the double-ended
candles, frowned at them, and threw them to one side to wilt. Last of
all, he spied a bit of leather strap, and pulled at it impatiently.
Whereupon, with a clear ring of its silver mountings, his harness fell
about his feet.

He smiled, and stepped out of it, as out of a cast-off garment. This
quick movement shook up the talking-machine, and at once voices issued
from the great horn shrilly protesting into his ear--"_Quack!_ Quack!
_Kommt, Fraulein!_" "_Une fille stupider!_" "Gid-_dap!_" "_Honk! Honk!
Honk!_"--and then, rippling upward, to the accompaniment of dancing
feet, a scale on a piano.

He peered into the horn. "When did I come by _this?_" he demanded.
"Well, I shan't carry it another step!" And moving his shoulders as if
they ached, let the talking-machine slip sidewise to the glass.

There was a crank attached to one side of the machine. This he grasped.
And while he continued to stuff bills into the mahogany box with one
hand, he turned the crank with the other. Gwendolyn had often marveled
at the way bands of music, voices of men and women, chimes of clocks,
and bugle-calls could come out of the self-same place. Now this was made
clear to her. For as her father whirled the crank, out of the horn, in a
little procession, waddled the creatures who had quacked so
persistently.

There were six of them in all. One wore patent leather pumps; one had a
riding-whip; the third was in motor-livery--buff and blue; another
waddled with an air unmistakably French