"No, no," I said, "not really surprised. Only a little staggered. You see, I know so few booths." 

 "What are you doing here?" 

 "To be frank, booth, I'm waiting." 

 "I'm waiting, too." 

 "So?" said I.  "I wait, you wait, let us wait, ye shall have been about to see, they would—" 

 "What are you waiting for?" 

 "Developments. And you?" 

 "My breakfast." 

 I looked up and down the road.  "I don't see it coming," I said anxiously.  "What's it look like?" 

 "Milk. You don't happen to have any, I suppose?" 

 I felt in my pockets. 

 "There, now," I said, "I must have left it on the piano. I got up rather hurriedly this morning," I added apologetically. 

 "Never mind." 

 "I'll tell you what, booth, I'll go and get some." 

 "No, thanks very much. Don't you bother; it'll come along presently." 

 "Are you sure? This isn't 'The Blue Bird.'" 

 "Yes, it's all right—really." 

 There was another pause. Then: 

 "Hadn't you better be getting back to breakfast?" said the girl. 

 "Not much," said I.  "I don't run up against booths every day. Besides—" 

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