“We’ll be starved by that time,” objected Tom.
“Look here, fellows,” said Dan. “If that money doesn’t come by twelve o’clock, I’ll get some dinner for you.”
“How?”
“I don’t know how yet. But I’ll do it, so don’t you worry. I’m mighty sorry, and I don’t see what the trouble can be.”
“Oh, don’t bother,” said Bob, noting Dan’s downcast looks. “We’ll do well enough. Who wants to eat, anyway?”
“Not I,” said Nelson. “Food has no attraction for me; I’m above it.”
“It’s bad for the digestion,” added Tom. “Let’s find Jerry. Maybe he’ll present us with a crust of bread.”
“If you ask him for food,” threatened Bob, “I’ll lick you, Tommy, till you can’t stand up—or sit down either, for that matter.”
“Who’s going to ask him?” muttered Tom. “I was only in fun.”
They found Jerry sitting on one of the trestles outside the mess tent reading a book. When they hailed him he laid the book aside rather hurriedly, but later Nelson caught a glimpse of the cover. It was a battered arithmetic. Jerry shook hands all around and was formally introduced to Barry, and they climbed to the trestle beside him and asked dozens of questions. Above all they wanted to know how Jerry came to be with the circus.