“But are you a German?” asked Giraffe.
“I was born in the good old United States,” replied the freak. “I believe my ancestors did come from the Fatherland, but to tell you the truth I haven’t a bit of German feeling in me. I’m Yankee to the backbone. I ran away as a boy, and have knocked about the four corners of the world, principally in the Far East, where all this wonderful tattoo work was done for me, a little at a time. When I’m done eating I’ll let you see what my body looks like. I’m told that there’s nothing like it known.”
“Do you like being a freak?” asked Bumpus, innocently.
The man looked at him and smiled. Every one liked Bumpus from the first, because there was something so candid and sincere about him. You could look straight into those blue eyes of his and believe that there was no hypocrisy or deceit lurking back of their depths.
“Well, son, I do and I don’t,” the other finally replied. “I know now I was a fool to get this done, but once it was started, there could be no rubbing it out, you understand, because it’s picked in with indelible colors. It gets me a living by exhibiting myself, and people do lots of mighty queer things for that, in their journey through this old world.”
“But if you had the chance again would you allow it to be done?” asked Giraffe, who himself had an anchor in blue upon his arm, of which he had been rather proud in the past.
“Not if I was in my right senses,” came the prompt reply. “To tell you the truth the first tattooing I had was given to me against my will when I was held a prisoner among some wild men in Borneo. They thought my white skin was a good background to display the art of their boss tattooer. Later on the crazy idea came to me to have it continued, and then join some show. I think with what little money I’ve got saved over in Philadelphia I’ll buy a farm and settle down, if only I’m lucky enough to get out of this war-cursed country alive.”
Later on the fugitive circus freak did let the boys look him over, and all of them united in declaring that he certainly was a wonderful exhibition of the art of tattooing in bright colors. Giraffe mentally decided, however, that he would never allow another anchor, or any other design for that matter, to be placed upon his arms. This awful example had effectually cured his leaning in that direction.
The man sat there for fully two hours and entertained his young hosts with amazing stories connected with his adventurous past. Whether they were all true or not might always be open to suspicion, but then none of the scouts doubted that he had been through a maze of exploits, equal to anything they had ever read in those books so dear to the heart of youth, “Robinson Crusoe,” “Swiss Family Robinson,” “Gulliver’s Travels,” “Sindbad the Sailor” and “The Arabian Nights’ Entertainment.”
Later on they disposed of themselves the best way they could, and managed to secure more or less sleep while the night lasted.