“Let go of me, will you!”
“You sha’n’t go out! ’Tain’t your circus!”
“Who’s goin’ out!”
Signs of revolt manifested themselves.
“Why don’t you begin?”
“Gee, I’m hot!”
“If you don’t begin pretty soon I’m goin’ home, and I’ll take my rats, too!”
So, urged from behind, Ringmaster Hen stalked forth and announced:
“We’re ready to begin now.”
He swaggered and magnificently cracked his whip—a treasure consisting of a double length of leather lash, cut by the shoemaker from a square of oak calf, with a twine snapper and a skilfully whittled stock.