THE HURRICANE SEASON. 



173 



The doctor and I went on shore. We climbed the 

 paved streets and descended again to the beautiful 

 Jardin dcs Plantcs. On our way the doctor indulged 

 in a free flow of that happy humor peculiar to the 

 Western Yankee (for we are all Yankees in those 

 islands). We met boys and boys, boys by dozens and 

 boys by scores, and some girls ; but the very first 

 group that drew our attention and provoked an out- 

 burst of the doctor's 

 ever-ready wit, con- 

 sisted of boys. 



"I say, young man, 

 pull down your vest !" 



This was addressed 

 to a rasped little 

 darky with beaming 

 face and bright eyes, 

 the center of a bunch 

 of the most ragged 

 and dirty gamins we 

 ever beheld. There 

 was not a whole ar- 

 ticle of clothing fur- 

 niture among them. 

 If one had a shirt, he p. p R oup of ^amins. 



had no pantaloons ; 



and the one that boasted the latter, had the least of 

 the former. There was not even an apology for a 

 single whole garment in the crowd, yet every mem- 

 ber of it was as blissfully unconscious of the gro- 

 tesque appearance he made as were the doctor and 

 myself aware of it. But the most glaringly conspic- 

 uous feature of the collection was a huge vest worn 



