He went directly to the man in the canvas chair.
“Mooney,” he said, “there’s something wrong with this damned thing; make it go.”
The little man opened his eyes without moving a muscle of his body. Then he put out his hand, took the metallic device, rested it on his knee, flicked a penknife out of his waistcoat pocket, and with a screw-driver blade took a plate off at the bottom of the thing. Then he adjusted something deftly inside, replaced the plate and returned the device to the mechanic.
It had taken only a moment; his fingers had moved with the precision of a pianist, and he had scarcely changed his position.
I had been greatly interested and had drawn a little closer. And when I looked up, the eyes of the big mechanic were on me; he had a hard, determined face and a sharp, piercing eye. I felt that he easily summed me up and had the measure of me. The little man in the canvas chair spoke as the mechanic turned away.
“White,” he said, “who’s it goin’ to be?”
“I don’t know yet,” replied the mechanic. “I’ll look ’em over.”
Then he disappeared under the circus tent.
I realized now that I was very close to the man in the canvas chair, and I stepped back across the green alley. A little group of tent hands were speaking as I came up.
“I wonder why they stick,” one of them was saying. “They can’t get much out of the boss for fixing these jimcracks.... The big one’s an expert mechanic and the dope Jimmy’s a wizard.”