They had big red shutters with gold designs to cover up the cage so no one could see Marshal Foch, and the keeper sat on the step in back. Oh boy, how that Mr. Costello did drive; and he could crack the whip so it sounded like a rifle going off.
Pretty soon we came pell-mell into Kingston and I could see the circus posters in all the store windows and on the fences. The pictures of Mr. Costello looked just like him, kind of brave and bold like, and he always had a whip in his hand. I guess he slept with that whip under his pillow, hey?
While we were passing along one of the streets, a half a dozen scouts shouted to me and I gave them the scout salute.
Mr. Costello said, “Those intrepid young gentlemen will be proud of their young comrade; the whole city will do you honor for your daring and dauntless deed.” I noticed that whenever he strung together a lot of words they all began with the same letter. It sounded fine, too.
I said, “I know one thing, and that is I’d like to have a rich, red, rare, racy, raspberry soda, just now.”
“You will soon be able to regale your ravenous and rapacious capacity among the freaks of two continents who will accord you a warm and wonderful welcome,” he said.
Gee, you couldn’t beat him at it, that was one sure thing.
CHAPTER XIX
JIB JAB, IS HE HUMAN?
Jiminy crinkums, I may be a nut (that’s what the troop calls me anyway), but I’m not a freak and, believe me, when I saw who I was going to have dinner with that day—good night!