I guess he had just been washing his face, anyway, there wasn’t any hair on it and the brown was all cleaned off. I could see now that he was a mighty nice looking fellow. His hair was kind of curly and his eyes were awful bright. He took off his fur covering and put on a kind of a bath robe and then sat down on a chair and stuck his feet up on Madame Whopper’s platform. Oh boy, you should have seen Dorry stare. First he looked at the fur covering. It had paws and claws on it just like an animal. Then he looked at Jib Jab. I guess he didn’t know what to make of him.
Jib Jab said, “Now for a smoke,” and he lighted a cigarette; “nothing like a quiet smoke after the day’s work is over. Back in the jungle I never had all this bother of dressing and undressing. Civilization is just killing me. Fact is I can’t be tamed. Anybody got a newspaper? I suppose I ought to be thankful I haven’t got my face all plastered up with fly paper. Where’s old Sky Scraper?” That’s what he called the giant.
“Gone to bed,” Judge Dot said.
“How about you, Shorty; got a match?” he asked Judge Dot.
Judge Dot just said very stiff like, “I’ll bid you good night, sir.”
“Happy dreams, Shorty,” Jib Jab called after him. Then he said, “That’s the trouble with all these freaks—uppish, especially the giant. Why he looks down on everybody. Ma’s about the best of the lot. Shorty thinks he’s the whole circus just because he has three rings on his hands. Same with Skinny. I’d rather be back in the jungle than living with this bunch. Half the time they don’t speak to me. You see I’m not a regular freak; they look on me as a kind of a butt-in.”
I said, “Gee, I’m sorry; I should think they’d like you.”
“They’re all jealous,” he said; “that’s the trouble. They’re all down on parade work, even Ma. They couldn’t stand for me making a hit with that chain. Last week, up in Albany, I started to growl just as Shorty started selling his photographs. The louder he piped away with that silly little squeaky voice of his, the more I roared. When it comes to roaring, I’ve got even the lions jealous. Fact is I’m not liked; they are all jealous, even the animals. And I feel it, too; any honest hard working what-is-it would. Especially if he’s human. The little two-headed boy we had was about the best of the lot, only he was double faced. He’s with Barnum’s now—fifty a week and overtime.”
“I don’t see why you want to be a what-is-it,” I told him; “especially if they don’t treat you right.”
He just went on smoking, awful funny, kind of. Jiminy, I couldn’t make him out at all.