"I should say not."
"You're welcome. The general crowd they'd put you with is a bit too rough for a raw recruit. Just stand what they give you till we reach Tipton. You've got friends enough to pull you up into the performers' rank. We'll fix you out there."
"Thank you," said Andy.
He strolled about with a happy smile on his face. Prospects looked fine, and Andy's heart warmed as he thought of all the good friends he had made.
"They're a nice crowd," he thought—"Miss Starr, Marco, the Benares
Brothers, the clown. How different, though, to what I used to think!
It's business with them, real work, for all the tinsel and glare. It's a
pleasant business, though, and they must make a lot of money."
There was a shrill, whistling shriek from the calliope wagon. The various performers scampered from their dressing rooms at the signal.
Each person, vehicle and animal fell into line in the morning caravan with a promptness and ease born of long practice.
Soon there was a fluttering line of gay color, rich plush hangings, bullion-trimmed uniforms, silken flags and streamers.
Zeno, the balloon clown, eating "redhots," i.e. peanuts, led the procession, bouncing up and down on a rubber globe in the advance chariot. The bands began to play. The prancing horses, rumbling wagons, screaming calliope, frolicking tumblers, tramp bicyclists weaving in and out in grotesque costumes, often on one wheel, the Tallyho stage filled with smiling ladies, old Sultan, the majestic lion, gazing in calm dignity down from his high extension cage—all this passed, a fantastic panorama, before Andy's engrossed gaze.
"It's grand!" decided Andy—"just grand! A fellow can never get lonesome here, night or day. I'm going to like it. Now for the manager. Hope I don't have any trouble."