“’Tis a faker I am. Me name’s Thomas Cronan an’ I was born in the wilds of County Clare, which is the grane garden spot of ould Ireland. Sure, we’re all fakers in the side show. Mrs. Wheet over there is ‘Princess Zoe’ and does thricks with three ould shnakes thot’s had the shtingers yanked out of them. She’s a lady, too, me boy, if iver there was one.”
Nelson, to his surprise, discovered that “Princess Zoe” was the nice-looking elderly lady at the ringmaster’s right.
“An’ further along there,” continued his informant, “is ‘Zul-Zul,’ which her name is Maude Harris. She used to be an equistreen—rode the horses, you know—till she had a fall and hurted her back. Thin she blached her hair and now they call her an al-bin-o, which is an ungodly name to my mind.”
“She—she sings, doesn’t she?” asked Nelson, observing the young lady in question.
“Same as onybody sings, me boy, no more an’ no less.”
“Oh,” said Nelson. “And do you—like being a Wild Man?”
“I do an’ I don’t,” responded the other judicially. “’Tis asy money, but the life’s confinin’. I’m thinkin’ I had the best of it when I was drivin’ the tent wagon. Thot’s what I used to do. Come an’ see me this avenin’, an’ bring your frinds. Tell Billy Conly, the feller outside, I said he was to let you in.”
“Thanks,” answered Nelson. “And I’ll bring some raw meat with me.”
“Sure,” answered the Wild Man, laughing as he arose from the table, “it’s kind of you, me boy, but I could ate no more to-night. We’re shmall aters on the Tar-tary Shteppes.”
After supper Nelson and Dan walked to the telegraph office, and this time found the money awaiting them. There was also a telegram from Mr. Speede.