"Oh-ho!" cried Mr. Priestly. "That's the way of it, eh?" and he pinched Bobby's cheek as he went into the tent. "I believe I can guess your joke, boys."
"Never mind! nobody else has guessed it," chuckled Fred, going before him. "Stand right there, Mr. Priestly."
The oil lamp was in a bracket screwed to a post in the back of the tent. Just where its light shone best was a narrow red curtain. Fred became preternaturally solemn as he stepped forward and laid his hand upon the cords that manipulated the curtain.
"We will show you, Mr. Priestly," he said, "the Strongest Man in the World—and as Bobby says, the very best man in Clinton!"
He pulled aside the curtain and Mr. Priestly saw his own reflection in a long mirror that had been borrowed from the Martin attic.
"Well, well!" exclaimed the minister, nodding. "And is this all your show?"
"Anybody who is not satisfied with what he sees," returned Fred, chuckling, "can have the entrance fee refunded."
At that the clergyman burst into a great laugh. "You boys! you boys! You certainly have them there. One must be dissatisfied with himself to ask for the return of his penny. I—I am not altogether sure that this doesn't smack of a swindle; but it certainly is smart. You should show your own face in the glass, Fred, when the younger victims come in to see the Smartest Boy in the World."
"No, sir," grinned Fred. "Every fellow that comes in is better satisfied to see his own reflection, I reckon."
The clergyman went out, laughing. That the joke had kept up all day was the wonder of it. The audience became smaller as supper time drew near.