It was nearly midnight when, after a long tiresome journey, we arrived in Alabama’s capital, and after midnight when we reached the comfortable if curiously called Hotel Gay-Teague, which is not named for an Indian chief or a kissing game, but for two men who had to do with building it.

We had heard that Montgomery was a quiet, sleepy old town, and had expected to go immediately to bed on our arrival.  What then was our amazement at hearing, echoing through the wide street in front of the hotel, the sound of strident ragtime.  Investigation disclosed a gaudily striped tent of considerable size set up in the street and illuminated by those flaring naphtha lamps they use in circuses.  Going over to the tent, we learned that there was dancing within, whereupon we paid our fifteen cents apiece and entered.  I have forgotten what produced the music—­it may have been a mechanical piano or a hurdy-gurdy—­but there was music, and it was loud, and there was a platform laid over the cobble-stones of the street, and on that platform ten or more couples were “ragging,” their shoulders working like the walking beams of side-wheelers.  The men were of that nondescript type one would expect to see in a fifteen-cent dancing place, but the women were of curious appearance, for all were dressed alike, the costume being a fringed khaki suit with knee-length skirt, a bandana at the neck, and a sombrero.  On inquiry I learned that this was called a “cowgirl” costume.  The dances were very brief, and in the intervals between them most of the dancers went to a “bar” at the end of the tent where (Alabama being a dry State) the beverage called “coca-cola”—­a habit as much as a drink—­was being served in whisky glasses.

Unable to understand why this pageant of supposed western mining-camp life should confront us in the streets of Alabama’s capital, I made inquiry of an amiable policeman who was on duty in the tent, and learned that this was not a regular Montgomery institution, but one of the attractions of a street fair which had invaded the city—­the main body of the fair being a block or two distant.

These fairs, he said, travel about the country much as circuses do, making arrangements in advance with various organizations in different places to stand sponsor for them.

Long after we were in our beds that night we were kept awake by the sound of ragtime from the tent across the way.  I arose next morning with the feeling of one who has had insufficient sleep, and a glance at my companion, who was already at table when I reached the hotel dining room, informed me that he was suffering from a like complaint.  I took my seat opposite him in silence, and he acknowledged my presence with a nod which he accomplished without looking up from his newspaper.

After breakfast there arrived a pleasant gentleman who announced himself as secretary of one of the city’s commercial organizations.

“We have a motor here,” said the secretary, “and will show you points of interest.  Is there anything in particular you wish to see?”