entirely of Americans, I suppose?"

"Entirely, madam," Ferrani assented. "They are real Southern darkies,
from Joseph, the leader, down to little Peter, who blows the
motor-horn."

Pamela's interest in the matter remained unabated.

"I tell you it makes one feel almost homesick to hear them play," she
went on, with a little sigh. "Did they come direct from the States?"

Ferrani shook his head.

"From Paris, madam. Before that, for a little time, they were at the
Winter Garden in Berlin. They made quite a European tour of it before
they arrived here."

"And he is the leader--the man whom you call Joseph," Pamela observed.
"A broad, good-humoured face--not much intelligence, I should imagine."

Ferrani's protest was vigorous and gesticulatory. He evidently had
ideas of his own concerning Joseph.

"More, perhaps, than you would think, madam," he declared. "He knows
how to make a bargain, believe me. It cost us more than I would like to
tell you to get these fellows here."

Pamela looked him in the eyes.

"Be careful, Monsieur Ferrani," she advised, "that it does not cost you