That next small city, if Johnny had but known it, was only ten miles from the home of the grandparents of the millionaire twins. They had ridden cross country for a visit to their grandparents. Along the roads they had seen glaring posters announcing the coming of the circus. They had decided at once that now was the time to join that circus. Their circus riding clothes were in the trunk, which had been sent on by express. Even as Johnny rose from beside the fire, the twins, in their beds at their grandfather’s rambling, old house, were planning how, on the morrow, they would slip on their circus garb underneath their dresses, and ride away to discover their old friend, Johnny, and join the parade.

Morning broke bright and clear on the old fair grounds of Rokford, which was the place of the great circus’ next one day stand. When Johnny had eaten breakfast, he strolled past the cooking tent and, having paused to admire the row of shining copper steam kettles, he thought of his promise to get in touch with the manager of these kettles. The cook was not in sight at that moment, so Johnny paused to study these great vats, which resembled nothing so much as giant kettle drums.

“Just a twist of the valve and the steam does the rest,” he murmured to himself.

“Great, ain’t they?” a voice said at his elbow.

“Sure are.” Johnny turned about. It was the cook. A tall, slender man, well past middle age, with a drooping mustache, and a wrinkled smile, he studied Johnny from head to toe.

“You’re a boxer,” he said, getting his smile into operation. “Saw you box a conman once. Been wonderin’ ever since how such a small fellow could pack such a wallop.”

“I don’t mind tellin’ you,” said Johnny. “It’s absurdly simple. Instead of just getting the force of your arm muscles into the blow, or the push of your shoulder, you leap as you strike, and that puts the whole of your body back of your mitt. That’s easy, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is, after you been doin’ it a few thousand times; easy as fryin’ flapjacks.”

“How long have you been cooking with steam kettles?” asked Johnny.

“Only five or six years. But I’ve been cookin’ all my life. I was cook for a surveying outfit when the Union Pacific was built. Boy! Those were the days of real sport. Used to run out of fuel and everything.”

A humorous twinkle lurked about the 

 Prev. P 78/98 next