"Get out of here!" growled the ringmaster angrily. "What do you mean by breaking into the performance in this way. Out of here, I say!"
"The old hen has laid an egg!" repeated the clown, holding aloft the object that all might see.
Teddy Tucker, for it was he, cared nothing for the crowds occupying the seats. In fact, it is doubtful that he gave any thought to them at all.
"What do you mean?" demanded the ringmaster.
"The ostrich. Don't you see?"
"The ostrich?"
"Yes, she's laid an egg."
Quick to appreciate the value of the clown's interruption, the ringmaster took the great egg that Teddy had brought in, and held it aloft.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, as the band suddenly ceased playing, "wonders never cease in the Great Sparling Shows. You have been treated to startling feats of skill upon the lofty flying swings; you have witnessed desperately dangerous displays of unrivaled aerialism, and you are about to observe the thundering, furious Roman chariot races three times about the arena—"
"Say, what are you trying to get at?" growled Teddy Tucker.
"Give me back that egg."