THE HURRICANE SEASON. 173 
The doctor and I went on shore. We climbed the 
paved streets and descended again to the beautiful 
Fardin des Plantes. 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. 
“Tsay, young man, 
pull down your vest !” 
This was addressed 
to a ragged little 
darky with beaming 
face and hkright 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 ft GROUP oF GAMINs. 
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 
