Once in it, they did not arise swiftly, for they were entangled with each other. They floundered well out toward the middle of the basin before they disentangled themselves, rose, and came floundering toward its rim. Mr. James frankly sat down on the cold pavement to laugh in greater comfort; Pollyooly danced lightly in her childish glee.
The Honorable John Ruffin had halted his wondering charge in the shadow of one of the Nelson's lions, and laughing joyfully, surveyed the dim leviathans in the fountain.
"What is it? What's happening?" cried the Esmeralda.
"Nothing—nothing;" said the Honorable John Ruffin in reassuring, but shaken, tones. "It's only Mr. Vance collecting materials for his great historical picture of the Lion of Montevideo taking his evening bath."
"You're a perfect terror, John!" said the Esmeralda in a tone of profound conviction. "It's your doing, this! I'm sure of it!"
"The Ruffins have always been patrons of the arts. And I do what I can—the family tradition,
