“I can’t tell exactly. I bought two from Tom Stick, the midget clown, three from Andy McQueen, the steam kettle cook, and two more from a bunco-steerer—feller with a bite taken out of his ear. I don’t know which ones those are.

“Say, boy!” The expression on his face suddenly changed. “You let me have them bonds.”

“No-o, sir!”

Snowball dashed away in sudden fright. With the ticket seller close on his heels, he dodged around a fat woman, nearly collided with a baby carriage, leaped the tent ropes. Like a jack rabbit, he scooted beneath the ponderous wagons on which rested the electric light plant of the circus, and, at last, dodging through the mess tent, succeeded in eluding his pursuer.

He was still breathing hard when he reached the place of rendezvous on the beach.

“What did he say?” demanded Pant.

“He said he bought some from dat midget clown, an’ some from a steam kettle cook, an’ some from a bunco-man wid a chewed ear. Say, Mister, do I get dat oder dollar?”

Pant held it out to him. “What you puffing about?”

“Dat ticket man chased me.”

“What for?”

“Don’t know, boss.”

For a moment they were silent.

“Say, Boss,” Snowball whispered after a time, “what you s’pose made dat ere red splotch on the groun’?”

“What red spot?” There was a suspicion of a smile lurking about the corner of Pant’s mouth.

“Man! Don’ you know? ’Roun’ dat fiah?”

“Oh, yes; I wasn’t looking just then.”

“Say, Boss!” The boy was whispering again. “I ain’t afraid of almost nuthin’—nuthin’ but signs and ghosts. You s’pose dat were a sign?”

“It might have been.”

 Prev. P 25/98 next