"Eh, what—clown? Not the one who rides the donkey and tells such funny stories?"
"Oh, yaw," declared the musician in a matter-of-fact way.
Andy was naturally surprised. He could hardly realize that the person he was looking at could ever make up as the mirth-provoking genius who was the life and fun of the big circus ring.
"Poor Billy!" said Hans, shaking his head solemnly. "First his vife falls from a horse. She vas in dot hospitals. Den his little poy, Midget, is sick. Poor Billy!"
Andy suddenly remembered something. He craned his neck and looked steadfastly along the road.
"I want to leave the wagon when we get a little further along," he said.
"I likes not dot," answered Snitzellbaum. "Maybe you gets in droubles, so?"
"No, it's when we reach an old barn," explained Andy. "I left something there earlier in the evening. I won't be a minute getting it."
In about half-an-hour, as they approached the hay barn where Andy had overheard the conversation between Daley and Murdock, he slipped down from the wagon. He ran ahead, went up among the hay bales, found the coat containing the marble bag holding his little stock of money, and speedily rejoined the musician.
Hans finished his pipe and sank into a doze. Andy could not sleep. He had gone through too much excitement that day to readily compose himself.