.

but they had scuttled away towards a group of tents, and now several men with dark skins and gay clothing came from the tents and ran towards the WoggleBug.

      “Good morning,” said our hero, removing his hat with a flourish and bowing politely.

      “Meb-la-che-bah!” shouted the biggest Arab, and at once two others wound coils of rope around the WoggleBug and tied the ends in hard knots.

      His hat was knocked off and trampled into the mud by the Shiek (who was the big Arab), and the precious parcel was seized and ruthlessly opened.

      “Very good!” said the Shiek, eyeing the plaids with pleasure. “My slaves shall make me a new waistcoat of this cloth.”

      “No! oh, no!” cried the agonized Insect; “it is taken from a person who has had small-pox and yellow-fever and toothache and mumps—all at the same time. Do not, I bet you, risk your valuable life by wearing that cloth!”

      “Bah!” said the Shiek, scornfully; “I have had all those diseases and many more. I am immune. But now,” he continued, “allow me to bid you goodbye. I am sorry to be obliged to kill you, but such is our custom.”

      This was bad news for the WoggleBug; but he did not despair.

      “Are you not afraid to kill me?” he asked, as if surprised.

      “Why should I be afraid?” demanded the Shiek.

      “Because it is well-known that to kill a wogglebug brings bad luck to one.”

      The Shiek hesitated, for he was very superstitious.

      “Are you a wogglebug?” he asked.

      “I am,” replied the Insect, proudly. “And I may as well tell you that the last person who killed one of my race had three unlucky days. The first his suspenders broke (the Arab shuddered), the second day he smashed a looking-glass (the Arab moaned), and the third day he was chewed up by a crocodile.”

      Now the greatest aversion Arabs have is to be chewed by a crocodile, because these people usually roam over the sands of the desert, where to meet an amphibian is simply horrible; so at the WoggleBug’s speech they set up a howl of fear, and the Shiek shouted:

      “Unbind him! Let not a hair of his head be injured!”

      At once the knots in the ropes were untied, and the WoggleBug was free. All the Arabs united to show him deference and every respectful attention, and since his own hat had been destroyed they wound about his head a picturesque turban of an exquisite soiled white color, having stripes of red and yellow in it.

      Then the WoggleBug was escorted to the tents, where he suddenly remembered his precious plaids, and asked that the cloth he restored to him.

      Thereupon the Shiek got up and made a long speech, in which he described his grief at being obliged to refuse the request.

      At the end of that time one of the women came op to them with a lovely waistcoat which she had manufactured out of the Wagnerian plaids; and when the Shiek saw it he immediately ordered all the tom-toms and kettle-drums in the camp destroyed, as they were no longer necessary. Then he put on the gorgeous vestment, and turned a deaf ear to the WoggleBug’s agonized wails.

      But there were some scraps of cloth left, and to show that he was liberal and good-natured, the Shiek ordered these manufactured into a handsome necktie, which he presented WoggleBug in another long speech.

      Our hero, realizing a larger part of his darling was lost to him, decided to be content with the smaller share; so he put on the necktie, and felt really proud of its brilliance and aggressive elegance.

      Then, bidding the Arabs farewell, he strode across the desert until he reached the borders of a more fertile and favored country.

      Indeed, he found before him a cool and enticing jungle, which at first seemed deserted. But while he stared about him a sound fell upon his ear, and he saw approaching a young lady Chimpanzee. She was evidently a personage of some importance, for her hair was neatly banged just over her eyes, and she wore a clean white pinafore with bows of pink ribbon at the shoulders.

      “Good morning, Mr. Beetle,” said she, with merry laughter.

      “Do not, I beg of you, call me a beetle,” exclaimed our hero, rather peevishly; “for I am actually a WoggleBug, and Highly-Magnified at that!”

      “What’s in a name?” laughed the gay damsel. “Come, let me introduce you to our jungle, where strangers of good breeding are always welcome.”

      “As for breeding,” said the WoggleBug, “my father, although of ordinary size, was a famous Bug-Wizard in his day, and claimed descent from the original protoplasm which constituted the nucleus of the present planetary satellite upon which we exist.”

      “That’s all right,” returned Miss Chim. “Tell that to our king, and he’ll decorate you with the medal of the Omnipotent Order of Onerous Orthographers, Are you ready to meander?”

      The WoggleBug did not like the flippant tone in which maiden spoke; but he at once followed her.

      Presently they came to a tall hedge surrounding the Inner Jungle, and without this hedge stood a patrol of brown bears who wore red soldier-caps and carried gold-plated muskets in their hands.

      “We call this the bearier,” said Miss Chim, pointing to the soldiers, “because they oblige all strangers to paws.”

      “I should think it was a bearicade,” remarked the WoggleBug.

      But when they approached the gateway the officer in charge saluted respectfully to Miss Chim, and permitted her to escort the WoggleBug into the sacred precincts of the Inner Jungle.

      Here his eyes were soon opened to their widest capacity in genuine astonishment.

      The Jungle was as clean and as well-regulated as any city of men the Insect had ever visited. Just within the gate a sleek antelope was running a popcorn stand, and a little further on a screech-owl stood upon a stump playing a violin, while across her breast was a sign reading: “I am blind—at present.”

      As they walked up the street they came to a big grey monkey turning a hand-organ, and attached to a cord was a little nigger-boy whom the monkey sent into the crowd of animals, standing by to gather up the pennies, pulling him back every now and then by means of the cord.

      “There’s a curious animal for you,” said Miss Chim, pointing to the boy. “Those horrid things they call men, whether black or white, seem to me the lowest of all created beasts.”

      “I have seen them in a highly civilized state,” replied the WoggleBug, “and they’re really further advanced than you might suppose.”

      But Miss Chim gave a scornful laugh, and pulled him away to where a hippopotamus sat under the shade of a big tree, mopping his brow with a red handkerchief—for the weather was somewhat sultry. Before the hip was a table covered with a blue cloth, and upon the cloth was embroidered the words: “Professor Hipmus, Fortune Teller.”

      “Want your fortune told?” asked Miss Chim.

      “I don’t mind,” replied the WoggleBug.

      “I’ll read your hand,” said the Professor, with a yawn that startled the insect. “To my notion palmistry is the best means of finding out what nobody knows or cares to know.”

      He took the upper-right hand of the WoggleBug, and after adjusting his spectacles bent over it with an air of great wisdom.

      “You have been in love,” announced the Professor; “but you got it in the neck.”

      “True!” murmured the astonished Insect, putting up his left lower hand to feel of the beloved necktie.

      “You think you have won,” continued the Hip; “but there are others who have 1, 2. You have many heart throbs before you, during your future life. Afterward I see no heart throbs whatever. Forty cents, please.”

      “Isn’t he