"A trainer will know how to coax Rajah off," says he, "and perhaps he will take him as a gift."
"It's easy money," says I.
But it wasn't. That duck at Newport sends back a message that covers four sheets of yellow paper, tellin' how glad he was to get track of Pinckney again and how he must come down right away. Oh, they wanted Pinckney bad! It was like the tap of the bell for a twenty-round go with the referee missin'. Seems that Mrs. Jerry Toynbee was tryin' to pull off one of those back-yard affairs that win newspaper space—some kind of a fool amateur circus—and they'd got to have Pinckney there to manage it or the thing would fush. As for the elephant-trainer, he'd forgot that.
"By Jove!" says Pinckney, real sassy like.
"That's drawin' it mild," says I. "Would you like the loan of a few able-bodied cuss-words?"
"But I have an idea," says Pinckney.
"Handcuff it," says I; "it's a case of breakin' and enterin'."
But he didn't have so much loft-room to let, after all. His first move was to hunt up a railroad station and charter a box-car. We carpets it with hay, has a man knock together a couple of high bunks in one end, and throws in some new horse-blankets.
"Now," says Pinckney, "you and I and Rajah will start for Newport on the night freight."
"Have you asked Rajah?" says I.