But the other seemed obdurate.
"Start her up, Professor, when I give the word!" he called to the proprietor, and handed him one of the French banknotes. "Play it all out!" he directed, as this person gasped with amazement.
Cousin Egbert then proceeded to the head of the beast.
"You'll have to blind him," he said.
"Sure!" replied the other, and with loud and profane cries to the animal they bound a handkerchief about his eyes.
"I can tell he's going to be a twister," warned Cousin Egbert. "I better ear him," and to my increased amazement he took one of the beast's leather ears between his teeth and held it tightly. Then with soothing words to the supposedly dangerous animal, the Tuttle person mounted him.
"Let him go!" he called to Cousin Egbert, who released the ear from between his teeth.
"Wait!" called the latter. "We're all going with you," whereupon he insisted that the cabby and I should enter a sort of swan-boat directly in the rear. I felt a silly fool, but I saw there was nothing else to be done. Cousin Egbert himself mounted a horse he had called a "blue roan," waved his hand to the proprietor, who switched a lever, the "Marseillaise" blared forth, and the platform began to revolve. As we moved, the Tuttle person whisked the handkerchief from off the eyes of his mount and with loud, shrill cries began to beat the sides of its head with his soft hat, bobbing about in his saddle, moreover, as if the beast were most unruly and like to dismount him. Cousin Egbert joined in the yelling, I am sorry to
