hin us so much that is no
laughing matter.

Rube laughed and mingled with the crowd.

"Come out of that!" shouted an urchin. It was the signal for a regular
broadside of raillery and chaff from the pestiferous small boy, a
many-tongued volume out of print, and circulating in open space at the
rate of a thousand editions to the minute.

Nothing abashed, amid groans and jeers, and gibes, and hoots, Rube
took his place with the others, the only make-shift knight among
them.

"For pity's sake, look at Rube," exclaimed Miss Rutland, "actually in
his shirt sleeves? Rube, don't! You are not in costume, and you spoil
the artistic effect."

"Look sharp," came Rube's laughing reply, "or I'll spoil the artistic
result, also."

"Don't get excited over the prospect," commented Jerome, nodding his
head reassuringly at Miss Rutland, "there's not the remotest cause for
alarm."

Miss Rutland sat on a tub turned bottom side up, which had served its
purposes in lemonade. Jerome took his ease on a wagon-body, also
turned bottom side up, which had served its purposes as a table. Such
are the phases of a picnic--and one picnic has more phases than all of
Jupiter's moons.

"The tortoise," pursued Jerome, now turning his attention more
particularly to Rube, "is a remarkable animal, but like thee, oh
friend of my soul, 'thou drone, thou snail, thou slug,' not much on a
run. How much is it I can beat thee, Rube, every time and without
trying--three lengths?"

"Just you keep quiet," retorted Rube. "The man so sure, let him look
to himself; the man who blows, let him beware! In all our trials at
speed there never was before anything to win, and I'm a fellow who
can't run to beat where there's nothing to win."

"A tremendous issue is involved on the present occasion," announced
Jerome in withering scorn. "A lot of paper flowers strung on a piece
of wire to stick on a girl's head, and when it's all over and done, I
don't know who feels most idiotic or repentant, the girl who wears 'em
or the fellow who won 'em. I've been there! I know. I hope a more
enduring crown than this perishable travesty will fall to my lot!"

"So do I!" prayed Rube aloud, and with devoutness.

"Oh, Rutland, Rutland!" exclaimed his friend, going off into an
uncontrollable fit of laughter. "There isn't anything in this
wide world half so deliciously transparent as your intentions,
unless--unless," subjoined Jerome, as soon as he could again
command his voice,