When Andy came to the paper tent he found a good many people inside.
There were several performers and canvas men on crutches or bandaged up.
There were village merchants with bills, newspaper men after free passes
and persons seeking employment.
They were called in turn up the steps of the wagon that constituted the manager's office.
Mr. Scripps was a rapid talker, a brisk man of business, and he disposed of the cases presented in quick order.
Andy saw four or five dissipated looking men discharged at a word. The applicants for work were ordered to appear at Tipton, two days later.
Several were after an advance on their salary. Some farmers appeared with claims for foraging done by circus hands. Finally Andy got to the front and tendered the card Mr. Harding had given him.
"All right," shot out Scripps sharply, giving the lad a keen look. "You're the one who blocked the game on Benares? Good for you! We'll remember that, later."
Scripps glanced over a pasteboard sheet on his desk, first asking Andy his name and age, and writing his answers down in a big-paged book.
"Half-a-dollar a day and keep, for the present," he said.
"All right," nodded Andy—"it's a start."
"Just so. Let me see. Ah, here we are. Report to the Wild Man of Borneo side top at twelve."