“Sure, ’tis the plucky lad he is. But he’s right, the circus be’s no place for a gintleman.”
“Do you belong?” asked Nelson innocently. Then he blushed and stammered until the Irishman laughed his embarrassment away.
“Sure, there’s no offinse, me boy. I’m no gintleman. Yes, I belongs to the show. Now, what would you think I was, sir?”
Nelson studied him a moment and shook his head.
“Are you—are you a clown?”
“Faith, no,” chuckled the other, “’tis not as bad as thot. Was you in the side show? No? Well, you’d have seen me there if you’d been. They call me ‘Boris,’ bedad! ’Tis a disgraceful, onchristian name, but it’s money in me pocket.”
“Boris? Why, I thought Boris was the—the——”
“The Wild Mon of the Tar-tary Shteppes? Thot’s me, me lad. Raw mate’s me shpecialty and I shpake no word of any known language.”
Nelson glanced at the Wild Man’s plate, well filled with steak and potatoes, and laughed. The Wild Man joined him.