“How’s the kid?” was the owner’s salutation.
“In a bad way I think. What do you want to do with him?”
“He’ll be all right in the car. I’m just goin’ to get a doctor.”
“The cars were closed. We couldn’t get into them. I’ve taken the boy to my home to be examined.”
“Couldn’t get in the car?” was the circus man’s reply. “The nigger must ’a’ been asleep. I’ll see that it’s opened. You take him where I said. Bad luck always comes double. We nearly lost our only tiger an’ now this kid has to go an’ dump hisself. That’ll cut out our exhibition, to say nothin’ ’bout a doctor bill.”
“I’m afraid he can’t be moved for several hours,” began Mr. Trevor.
“Well he’ll have to be moved before midnight,” answered the circus man. “We can’t wait for him.”
“Hadn’t you better make some arrangement to have him cared for in this town?” asked Mr. Trevor, his lips closing.
“I don’t see why I should,” answered the circus proprietor. “Business is rotten enough. I’ve got to hire as cheap as I can and when work stops, pay stops. Some one’s always sick.”
“You don’t mean to say you’re not going to care for this unfortunate boy?” asked Mr. Trevor.