"Why, there was a report it was the fault of four rascals who used to work for the circus—-three men who were discharged for getting drunk, and a boy who did stunts on the trapeze and ran away."
"That boy!" cried Snap. "Oh, I don't think he had anything to do with it."
"Well, that's what the circus men say. If they catch the men and the boy they'll have the whole crowd locked up."
"I am sure the boy is innocent," said the doctor's son.
"I got shot by somebody hunting that lion," said Giant. "Do you know who fired his shotgun out yonder?"
"Oh, that was Hank Donaldson. He's always blowing about what he can do with a gun, and he was so worked up and nervous he killed Mack's dog and smashed the plate-glass window in the new five-and-ten-cent store. He got scared to death when somebody told him a boy over here fell from the roof and got hit. Is it bad?"
"No, but it might have been."
"You ought to pitch into Hank. He ought to know better than to fire so promiscuous-like in the city streets. He meant well, but if he had killed you, what then?" And the man passed on, shaking his head earnestly.
In the morning Giant felt quite like himself and insisted upon leaving off the bandage that had been placed over his forehead.
"I don't want to become an object of curiosity," he explained. "Even as it is, I suppose lots of folks will want to know all about it."