native Naples, had crowded to the curb
and was standing in front of two Norwegian sailors; just behind them was
a party of Bohemian laborers, and a peddler from sunny Sicily touched
elbows with a mortar-covered mason from Erin's shores, while some
cadaverous clerks from the State Street shops, radiant in the ready-made
attire of assumed gentility, were there, helping to swell this crowd of
perhaps a hundred loungers. They were all citizen of the great Republic,
and though few could speak intelligently the language of their adopted
home, probably most of them, in their hearts, resented the appearance on
the Chicago streets of this English coach as something unAmerican, for
which "them doods" on the Avenue were responsible.

The hands of the hotel clock indicated that the hour was nearing two.
The thin-faced veteran in the slouch hat plunged his hands deeper into
his trousers' pockets, and, turning his head to a critical angle, said
patronizingly to the ice-man: "Them's the things they calls
'tally-ho's.'" The ice-man rolled his shirt-sleeves a little higher
above his elbows, folded his brawny arms and replied, in the accent of
the Teuton, "I dink dot vas it."

"Them swells likes to show off mighty well. Wonder what that machine
cost," answered the veteran. But before the ice-man could reply, a
messenger boy at his side shouted out, "Golly! there goes another of
them 'busses," and the attention of the crowd was attracted toward the
street, where Jack Elliot's coach, with its team of roans, was passing
along the Avenue, bearing a party to the races.

"I wish that chap in the white pants'd toot his horn," said the
messenger boy; but Jack Elliot was a coaching man who did not believe
in arousing the neighborhood with useless music, so the wish was not
gratified.

While the attention of the crowd was thus diverted, Sedger and his
friends emerged from the hotel. The party was composed of Marion and her
husband, Florence Moreland, Harold Wainwright, a Mrs. Smith from
Cincinnati, and Walter Sedger. They had been lunching in the restaurant
of the hotel, and on reaching the sidewalk they at first found some
difficulty in pushing their way toward the coach; but on seeing them the
smart park policeman on duty officiously pushed the crowd back and made
a way for them.

"I can't wait for Grahame any longer," Sedger was saying to Mrs.
Sanderson. "He couldn't lunch with us, and I told him to be here at
half-past one. It's a quarte