“Oh! not any to speak of,” said the scout leader, hastily. “I made sure to have my eye on a shed close by all the while; and if he’d really made a jump for me you’d have seen a mighty fine exhibition of high and lofty climbing. Mad or not, I wasn’t meaning to stay there and tackle him, without a thing to hit him with.”
“But it all worked well, as nearly always happens with you, Rob,” said Tubby; “though once my heart seemed to be up in my throat; that was when you had to snap your fingers and coax him, Rob. Only for that he’d have made for you, thinking you meant to strike him.”
“I’m glad it’s over,” observed Hiram, shuddering.
“That dog belonged to the Injuns we saw in the village,” ventured Andy, thoughtfully; “and you know Injuns think roast dog is the finest dish ever. I expect they’ll want to claim the remains. Little they’ll bother about any talk of mad dog; it’s more likely to be mad Injun when they find out what’s happened.”
And after that they tried to put the latest incident out of their minds, though Tubby would explode some new idea concerning it every once in a while, as they wandered about the Fair grounds taking in new sights.
CHAPTER XXII.
TAKING IN THE SIGHTS OF THE FAIR.
“Well, he’s gone, Rob!” said Andy, as they were coming out after an hour spent in the wonderful Transportation Building.
“Oh, you mean Hiram?” remarked the scout leader, after taking a comprehensive glance around. “Well, I’ve been expecting him to give us the slip for some time. He held on longer than I thought he would.”
“No trouble guessing where he’s bound for,” laughed Andy. “That hall where the latest modern inventions are on exhibition draws him like sugar or molasses does the pesky flies in summer time. He sticks there nearly as hard as—well, as Tubby did in that skimpy chair at the Panama show.”
“Bring it nearer home, can’t you, Andy, and say about as well as you want to stick to that Zone of freaks and flimsies and Coney Island shows,” ventured Tubby, with singular quickness, for him.