“Here’s a quarter,” answered Pennington slowly.
“Gimme a dollar,” exclaimed Bud. “I’ll pay it back. I forgot to speak of it to Mr. Elder.”
“What do you want with a dollar?” asked his associate, somewhat alarmed. Bud’s credit wasn’t the sort that would ordinarily warrant such a loan.
“Why, for all of us, of course. We can’t work all night on empty stomachs. And there’s five of us.”
Thereupon, Lafe rose to the occasion and handed Bud a two-dollar bill.
“You can bring me the change,” he suggested promptly. “I’ll charge it up to the fair officers.”
Bud was off in the dark. His hopes of securing something to eat were based on what he had seen passing through the grounds on his way back with the lumber. In several groups under the big trees, he had seen camp-fires. “Concession” owners and their attendants who remained on the grounds during the night had turned the vicinity of the silent tents and booths into a lively camp. In one place, the proprietor of a “red hot” stand had a bed of charcoal glowing, and a supply of toasting sausages on the grill. These were in apparently steady demand by watchmen, hostlers, live stock owners and many others who had not yet retired.
On his way to this stand, Bud passed what he had not observed before. In the rear of a dirty, small tent, an old woman, a man and a woman of middle age were squatted about the dying embers of a fire. Almost concealing both the tent and group was a painted picture, worn and dingy, displayed like a side-show canvas. On this, above the attempt to outline an Egyptian female head, were the words: “Madame Zecatacas, Gypsy Queen. The Future Revealed.”