This thought caused the interior of the tent to seem less disagreeable, and he almost persuaded himself that it would be sport to stay all night in a museum with a real contortionist as host.
Dan had thrown himself at full length on the ground where he could watch the proprietor of this "enormous exhibition" cook his supper on an oil-stove, and Sam, anxious about other people's affairs as usual, devoted his entire time to asking questions regarding the business.
"How do you count on gettin' along when the crowds get here? You can't sell tickets an' act too."
"I've got a barker an' a clown coming to-morrow; it was no use to pay 'em wages for layin' around when there was nothing to be done but put up the tent."
"What's a 'barker?'" Sam asked, in surprise.
"Why, the man who stands outside an' does the talking, of course."
Then, his supper having been cooked and eaten, the host amused himself and his guests by telling of his experience in the show business; relating stories and talking of the different fakirs he had met.
"When I started out," he said, "I made up my mind that a fortune could be made in one season. I bought a fine tent; had lots of performers, about twenty animals, and a dozen cases of stuffed birds and other curiosities. We struck hard luck from the sendoff, an' first the woman with an iron jaw gave me the shake because she got tired of waiting for the salary that never came. Two of the bears grew so disgusted with the bad business that they died, and one after another of the people skipped, till I was pretty nigh alone. A sheriff in Harmer seized the cases, another levied on my live stock, and it has only taken two seasons to bring the show down to where you see it."
This was not pleasing information for Teddy, who was obliged to make such a large amount of money in order to free himself from debt, and he asked:
"Isn't it possible to make money at every fair? I thought the fakirs got rich in a little while."