epeated a few bars of the air the tramp had been whistling. The
rendition was cold, but correct, and he emphasized the note he had
taken exception to.

"Dot p is p natural, und not p vlat. Py der vay, you petter pe glad
I meet you. Von hour later, und I vould half to put you in a gage
to vistle mit der chail pirds. Der orders are to bull all der pums
after sunrise."

"To which?"

"To bull der pums--eferybody mitout fisible means. Dirty days is der
price, or fifteen tollars."

"Is dat straight, or a game you givin' me?"

"It's der pest tip you efer had. I gif it to you pecause I pelief
you are not so bad as der rest. Und pecause you gan visl 'Der
Freischuetz' bezzer dan I myself gan. Don't run against any more
bolicemans aroundt der corners, but go away from town a few tays.
Good-pye."

So Madame Orleans had at last grown weary of the strange and ruffled
brood that came yearly to nestle beneath her charitable pinions.

After the big policeman had departed, Whistling Dick stood for
an irresolute minute, feeling all the outraged indignation of a
delinquent tenant who is ordered to vacate his premises. He had
pictured to himself a day of dreamful ease when he should have
joined his pal; a day of lounging on the wharf, munching the bananas
and cocoanuts scattered in unloading the fruit steamers; and then
a feast along the free-lunch counters from which the easy-going
owners were too good-natured or too generous to drive him away, and
afterward a pipe in one of the little flowery parks and a snooze
in some shady corner of the wharf. But here was a stern order to
exile, and one that he knew must be obeyed. So, with a wary eye
open for the gleam of brass buttons, he began his retreat toward a
rural refuge. A few days in the country need not necessarily prove
disastrous. Beyond the possibility of a slight nip of frost, there
was no formidable evil to be looked for.

However, it was with a depressed spirit that Whistling Dick passed
the old French market on his chosen route down the river. For
safety's sake he still presented to the world his portrayal of the
part of the worthy artisan on his way to labour. A stall-keeper in
the market, undeceived, hailed him by the generic name of his ilk,
and "Jack" halted, taken by surprise. The vender, melted by this
proof of his own acuteness, bestowed a foot of Frankfurter and half
a loaf, and thus the problem of breakfast was solved.

When the streets, from topographical reaso