“But,” said Fryant, after a moment of comparative silence, “there are half of us who are young enough to go in at half-price.”
“And they always give schools a reduction,” added another.
“And their old show must be half-out by this time, anyway,” said a third, consulting his watch.
“But there’s Plumpy,” said Drake, in whom not even the seriousness of the emergency could wholly quench the spirit of fun. “Plumpy’s as big as any five of us, an’ it’d cost two dollars an’ a half to get him in, anyway, and they’d have to cut the canvas to do it, at that.”
Patchy had lately been reading the story of Joseph and his brethren.
“Le’s sell Plumpy to the Lishmalites for a freak!” he exclaimed, “an’ go into the show on the money.”
There was a general shout at this, in which Plumpy joined, and after that the fat boy bore the added title, “The Freak.”
“Well,” cried Brede, petulantly, “there’s no time for fooling. Shall we go on? What do you say?”
“Yes,” came the answer from nearly every one. “Go on.”
“Come along, then!”