Mr. Nicholas Crips had the primitive instincts of the pure individualist; fine notions of honour and delicate concepts of propriety had no influence on his modes of conduct.
It may be inferred in these circumstances that Mr. Crips had no compunction, about coveting his neighbour's wife.
Madame Marve had a light heart and a plump waist, She did not take Nickie's advances very seriously, but she found a certain piquancy in the situation, and was not above a reciprocal sigh or a responsive hand pressure.
This unlooked-for development in the internal economy of the Museum of Marvels might have provided Professor Thunder's patrons some amazing novelties had they been permitted peeps behind the scenes. For instance, there were occasions when the public was deaf to Professor Thunder's appeals, and resolutely passed by on the other side. On such occasions the Egyptian Mystic might have been discovered in the small, back tent, with white, well-shaped arms bare to the shoulder, busily engaged fabricating an Irish stew for the evening meal. The Museum was very partial to Irish stew, even the Living Skeleton liked the smell of it. Ten to one the Missing Link would be found hovering about Madame at such a time, garbed in his simian costume, but with the mask-like make-up turned back, exposing Nickie's florid countenance and rakish grin. Possibly at such moments Nickie would presume to squeeze Madame's waist. He might even venture to steal a kiss. If so, Madame's protest might be forcible, but it would not be vindictive.
Madame was not disposed to quarrel with Nickie; he was a profitable adjunct; the Museum had never possessed so versatile a missing link, and, as for a little philandering—pooh, it was all in a lifetime.
The tents were pitched at Catcat. The situation was similar to that
described above, but Professor Thunder had the bad taste to intrude when
Nickie was in the act of forcibly extracting a kiss in revenge. Madame
Marve having playfully covered him with flour.
Professor Thunder was a jealous man, and an inflammatory one. He uttered a roar that would not have discredited the Missing Link in its native jungle in the wilds of Darkest Africa.
"You infernal blackguard!" he yelled.
"Now, Jim," cried Madame Marve in sudden alarm, standing between the men with her paste pin.
"Out of my way, woman!" cried the Professor, tossing her aside.