The jungle element was generously supplied by troops of trumpeting elephants, tigers with tails lashing, bloated serpents dangling ominously from the overhanging tree branches, while bands of lean and angular monkeys jabbered and chattered throughout all the picture.
Little Tim heaved a sigh.
"Gee!" he exclaimed. "I'd like to see that Royal Bengal tiger that ate up three of his keepers alive."
Little Tim, fired with the very thought, and emulative of an athlete in distorted attitude and gaudy fleshings, proceeded to turn himself upside down and walk upon his hands, waving his bare feet fraternally at the pictured gymnasts. He found himself suddenly caught by the ankles, however, and slung roughly across someone's shoulder.
"Hello, Tim," said his captor, good naturedly, "going to join the circus?"
Little Tim grinned, sheepishly.
"Guess not, Jack," he replied. "Say, wouldn't you like to see that tiger eat up a keeper?"
Jack Harvey laughed, setting Tim on his feet again.
"I'll bet that tiger isn't as great a man-eater as old Witham," he said. "They put that in to make people think he's awful fierce, so they'll go to the show. You going?"
Tim Reardon, thrusting his hands into his pockets and closing his fingers on a single five cent piece, three wire nails and a broken bladed jack-knife, looked expressively at Harvey.