"Why, they'd go to pieces without me—to everlasting smithereens!" exclaimed Lloyd excitedly. "And it's hard to get a place in a company to break your neck in!"
"But I understand they went off and left you," said Dalton.
"Somebody had to stay, and I was the captain of the ship."
"But, Mr. Lloyd, think of the unpleasant personal publicity," said the priggish gentleman. "They will advertise your name in this connection and make money out of it. That's what they'll do—make money out of it. They will use your accession to fortune as a sensation, a card to draw people to the show."
"Exactly what I wrote to Haxon—work it for all it's worth, and quit sousin' in that old tank of yours that will break your back and drown you some day! I'll keep that show going—straight goods; it kept me going many a day."
Mr. Dalton mournfully shook his head, and the priggish gentleman, too inquisitive for good form—but he was justified in some degree by the uncommon circumstances—demanded:
"Then you contemplate a different occupation for your own life, I suppose?"
"Yes; I'm fed up with knocking about the world. I want to be quiet for a change. I'll go to my own house," he paused, and shook his head a trifle sadly. "Sounds funny to me! I don't understand farming, but I'll see if I can catch on. I like animals, but they're wild generally; the lions and panthers and such fellows always get to know me almost before I notice them. Maybe cows and mules would seem tame." He laughed a little.
"Professor Gordon B. Lancaster," read Mr. Dalton from another stamped and addressed envelope, "—thought I'd mislaid his letter; desiring if possible to secure his company and services."
"Ah, to read with Mr. Lloyd," said the priggish gentleman, a look like a benediction in the lashless orbs, such satisfaction beamed from them. "Yes—yes; you are still young enough to prepare for a collegiate course."