“Yes, the walrus seems so intelligent,” said Bobby wickedly.
“Say, lay off, you fellows,” said Billy. “I was just thinking up a fine joke about a walrus when you started in with that nonsense and drove it out of my head.”
“And a good thing we did,” said Fred. “Every joke you forget is just that much gained for us. But now keep quiet and look at the show. Those clowns are working off some jokes that are the real thing, not mere amateur attempts.”
“Aw, I could think up better ones any day,” scoffed Billy. “Those fellows are nothing wonderful.”
“Yes, I’ll bet you’d make a first-class clown,” conceded Fred, with a wink at Bobby. “You seem to be specially fitted for that job, some way.”
“Just wait until we get outside,” threatened Billy. “I’ll bribe the keeper to feed you to the lions, see if I don’t.”
“Huh! Lions don’t bother me,” boasted Fred. “If they put me in the same cage with the lions, you’d see a wild mix-up for a few minutes, and then the poor beasts would come shooting out through the bars looking for some place of safety. There’s nothing I like better than throwing lions around.”
“It isn’t right to treat the poor animals that way,” said Bobby, pretending to take his friend seriously. “It’s much better to treat them kindly—pat them on the head and speak soothing words to them. That’s the way I do when I’m training wild tigers just out of the jungle.”
“Humph!” snorted Fred, with pretended contempt, and there the matter dropped.
All followed intently the further progress of the performance. At the last came the exciting chariot race, and the show was over.