“‘Pescud,’ says she, a little mad.
“‘The rest of the name!’ I demands, cool as could be.
“‘John,’ says she.
“‘John—what?’ I says.
“‘John A.,’ says she, with her head high. ‘Are you through, now?’
“‘I’m coming to see the belted earl to-morrow,’ I says.
“‘He’ll feed you to his fox-hounds,’ says she, laughing.
“‘If he does, it’ll improve their running,’ says I. ‘I’m something of a hunter myself.’
“‘I must be going in now,’ says she. ‘I oughtn’t to have spoken to you at all. I hope you’ll have a pleasant trip back to Minneapolis—or Pittsburgh, was it? Good-bye!’
“‘Good-night,’ says I, ‘and it wasn’t Minneapolis. What’s your name, first, please?’
“She hesitated. Then she pulled a leaf off a bush, and said:
“‘My name is Jessie,’ says she.
“‘Good-night, Miss Allyn,’ says I.
“The next morning at eleven, sharp, I rang the door-bell of that World’s Fair main building. After about three-quarters of an hour an old nigger man about eighty showed up and
