“Shake hands on it, lad! I’m glad you’ve decided, and I’ll be hanged if you won’t make a splendid workman, and one of these days as fine a soldier as ever stepped. Here’s wishing you the best of luck. Now we’ll go off to Timms right away and see what he has to say.”
Accordingly the two started off, and in due time reached a big building in which the menagerie had its home. Phil was introduced to Timms, as fine an old soldier as the sergeant-major, and was greatly relieved to hear that his services would be accepted at fifteen shillings a week.
“Come in a week, when your notice is up,” Timms said pleasantly, “and your job will be waiting for you. You’ll look after the horses at first, and perhaps we’ll give you one of the cages later on. You’ll want rough clothes and strong boots, and, for sleeping, a couple of thick rugs. Get a bag to hold your kit, and that will do for your pillow as well. Set your mind easy, Williams. I’ll look after the lad and see that he comes to no harm.”
That day week Phil left the office on the expiration of his notice, having meanwhile written to Mr Western and to Joe. Then he returned to his room, packed the few valuables he possessed, and a couple of changes of clothing in a waterproof bag, and with this under one arm, and a roll of coarse blankets under the other, set out for the menagerie.
“That you, youngster?” Timms asked cheerily. “’Pon my word I hardly expected you. Some fellows back out of a job like this at the last moment. But come along and I’ll show you where you will sleep, and who will be your mate. He’s a good fellow, and will show you the ropes.”
Passing outside the building, Timms led the way to a large yard at the back in which was an assortment of the caravans which usually accompany a circus.
“Jim!” he shouted. “Here, Jim, your new mate’s arrived. Show him round.”
A jovial and dirty face, with a two-days’ growth of beard upon it, was thrust out of a wagon, and a voice called out: “Come right in here, mate. Glad to see yer. Bring your togs along.”
Phil scrambled up the steep steps and into the wagon, where, having grasped the hand extended to him, he looked round with some curiosity, noticing with much interest the two neat little bunks, one above the other, at the farther end, the diminutive table close to one red-curtained window, and the stove on the other side, filled with paper shavings of all colours, and gold tinsel, with its chimney of brightly-polished brass.
“Queer little house, mate, ain’t it?” sang out the man who went by the name of Jim, busying himself with a pot of hot water and a shaving-brush and soap.