A TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION
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each mopping motion. The next time the red bandanna went up to the perspiring brow there was the flash of a hurrying figure between the back wagon wheels and the tent wall, the twinkle of a pair of dusty feet as this shadow dove adroitly in under the waving canvas, and no sign of intrusion or disturbance as the uniformed guard walked past the spot, twirling his stick as he went.
THE RED BANDANA WENT UP
Lonely, in the grassy gloom within, lay still for a moment, under a bank of humanity-packed seats, cautiously looking about him
