“Suuure, I can imitate it.”
“Well, don’t, you’ll only drown the music.”
“Shall I keep still so you can hear the tigers roar?” he asked.
“No,” she said, “we don’t care if the tigers don’t.”
“Gee whiz, they should worry,” said Pee-wee.
They seemed not to worry as they paced their narrow cages. Following them came gorgeous chariots drawn by spirited horses, resplendent in gold harness and driven by men resembling Julius Caesar. Came a clown driving a donkey, then more floats, then two giants, then some midgets in a miniature automobile.
Little Irene watched, spellbound. Pee-wee divided his attention between the pageant and the company, which seemed to enjoy him quite as much as it did the spectacular procession. He seemed to have appropriated the parade as his own private exhibition.
“I suppose you’d have arrested the whole parade, elephants and all, if they hadn’t turned into this street,” a lady said.
“They got a right to do what he says,” said the admiring Irene.
“Do you see my badge?” Pee-wee asked, displaying it. “I got a whistle, too.”