"Drink hearty and often," said Costello loudly. "May it never be empty! Say, profess', the fat woman's all broke up; honest, she liked you!" and the big man roared with laughter at the bare idea of the stout lady's sorrow.
"The midgets," inquired Von Barwig. "How is their health?"
"You couldn't kill 'em with an axe!" replied Costello.
"And 'eat 'em alive!' She is still eating 'em, eh?" inquired Von Barwig with a slight smile.
"She does nothing but eat! Ah! she gives me a pain; she's a four-flush!" growled the Museum proprietor. "She don't make good!"
"Tell them, I have grown fond of them all, and I—part from them with regret, deep regret! They have kind hearts. Ah, there are many kind hearts in this world," and Von Barwig sighed deeply.
Costello looked at him and shook his head slowly: the man was touched. That any one could express anything like affection or sentiment for the poor creatures in his curiously assorted collection was a marvel to him.
"Put it there, profess'," he said, and held out his hand to Von Barwig. "You're all right, profess'; you're all right, and your job is always open for you, rain or shine, summer or winter! You can always come back—good or bad biz—the job is yours for the askin'. There ain't nobody that can touch you in your line; and you're all to the good at that! Good-bye, profess'," and shaking Von Barwig's hand heartily the big man went away, leaving the object of his praises standing alone, deep in thought.
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of a slight scream. It was Miss Husted. She had met Mr. Costello on the stairway, and that gentleman had frightened her by playfully poking her in the ribs and bursting into a loud laugh.
Von Barwig hastily put the water pitcher into his trunk.