"Thanks. I will," said Dene.
"My name's Sidcup," said the man, in a friendly way. "What's yours?"
This was another staggerer.
"Oh, mine's—Sydney Green," said Dene.
Mr. Sidcup smiled and winked. "Good name," he said. "Short; descriptive; good professional name."
Dene coloured, but passed off his embarrassment with a laugh.
"You'll find you've not joined a bad lot, Mr. Green," said Sidcup, with a jerk of his head towards the collected company. "It's a good show, and some of us"—he passed his hand over his smooth chin, and pulled down his waistcoat complacently—"are not without talent."
"I'm sure of that," said Dene, with an air of conviction. "I'll go and see—what is the proprietor's name?"
"Bloxford. Bloxford's Mammoth Circus; the largest on Earth; see Press notices. But, of course, you know," replied Mr. Sidcup, with some surprise. "The old man's all right, as you'll find. Curious customer; but knows his business. He's not much to look at; but he's a devil to work, and he's a born manager. What I mean is, that he sees what a man's worth, in the—er—twinkling of an eye. And here's a tip for you: never argue with him; don't contradict him; just let him have his say and keep your mouth shut. If he says the moon's made of green cheese—ask him for a biscuit to eat with it. I've been with him for five years, and I understand him."
"Thank you very much," said Dene. "I'll take your tip. I'm not fond of arguing myself."