That was a very funny story; it was one of Dewey’s very best, and I wish that I could repeat it. The only trouble was that it was never finished. For, standing where they were, near the menagerie tent again, they heard two voices in conversation. What they heard completely drove from Dewey’s mind all thoughts of jokes and stories. It suggested a prospect of sport that knocked all previous adventures into the shade.
This was the conversation:
“Mike drunk! For heaven’s sakes, man! That’s the second time this week. How on earth will we ever do without him?”
The voice was that of the proprietor, all his anger at his treatment by Texas having left him at what was evidently some bad news.
“We’ll have to miss showing the dime museum tent again!” he groaned. “And it’ll mean five dollars out of my pocket, after I’ve just lost a twenty, too! Confound it!”
“Can’t you get somebody to take his place?” inquired another voice.
“No! How can I? I couldn’t do it myself, for I can’t remember half the jokes and things Mike used to get off in his speech when he exhibited the freaks. He kept the people laughing and they never saw how rotten the confounded exhibition is. And now what on earth am I to do?”
This dialogue was not meant for Mark and Dewey, but they heard it in passing. Now they were out for fun, bold and daring, both of them. And to each at the same moment those words suggested a wildly delicious idea. They turned and stared at each other with a look of inspiration on their faces; gave one gasp of delight; and then Dewey seized Mark by the shoulders.
“B’gee, old man,” he cried, “I dare you!”
An instant later Smithers felt a light tap upon the arm. He turned and confronted a tramp in a torn yellow and red tennis blazer, with hands bound up in rags.