“Away when your message came,” it read. “Have sent fifty. Sorry for delay. Try and write oftener and send address.”
“I guess they’re worrying about us having the money swiped,” said Dan. “I’ll write to-morrow. There ought to be some letters for us at Bahogue. Supposing we walk on there to-night after the show? It’s only about four miles and it’ll be fairly light, I guess. Wait.” He turned back to the operator. “What’s a good hotel at Bahogue?” he asked.
“There’s the Seaview and the Bahogue House. They’re both good, I guess.”
“Seaview sounds good to me,” said Dan. “Is there an office at Bahogue?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Give me a blank.”
“Reserve two rooms for me to-night,” wrote Dan. “Will arrive about midnight. D. H. F. Speede.”
“Will you get that off for me, please?” he asked.
They paid for the message, thanked the operator, said good night, and went back to the circus, Barry, off his leash for the moment, cutting all sorts of wild capers. Later the Four paid a visit to the side show. The performance in the main tent had begun, and they had the place almost to themselves. The Wild Man of the Tartary Steppes was seated in a chair on a platform. He was dressed in yellow tights with a strip of leopard skin about his hips and a string of bones about his neck. A formidable club rested against his knees. On his head was a wig of loose and long black hair, and his face was painted with black and red stripes. He was not attractive, but nevertheless the picture on the canvas outside was a base libel. He tipped Nelson a portentous wink, jabbered something at him, and made signs with his hands which Nelson translated as demands for raw meat. There were a few people wandering about the tent, and so Nelson and the others waited until they had gone before approaching the wild man. Then,
“Well, boys,” said Mr. Cronan, “how are ye the avenin’?”