“Put it on,” ordered Whiffin, peremptorily.
The stout boy, with a broad grin, took off his coat and made an effort to follow instructions. It required the services of both Spudger and Whiffin, however, to force the garment around his ample shoulders, and during this operation every seam, in turn, seemed ready to burst in angry protest.
“Now ye look a bit better,” exclaimed Mr. Spudger, at length, as, somewhat winded with his exertions, he stood off to stare at Dave with an eye of approval.
“Stick this top-piece on yer, young feller,” came from Peter Whiffin.
He handed over a little red cap with still redder tassels on the sides.
“I certainly got myself into something when I took this job,” laughed Dave, carefully adjusting the head-gear. “What else do I have to change, Mr. Whiffin?”
“Your expression—that’s all,” growled Peter. “I’m goin’. Jist wait around the tent somewheres until the ‘Ten Thousand Dollar’ band reels off a few tunes; an’ when I flash the signal git your nerves together an’ come.”
“An’ don’t let any bunch o’ kids rattle you,” advised Mr. Spudger, following his manager with ponderous steps.
Left alone, Dave paid no attention to the men passing to and fro, but set his thoughts busily to work on the composition of his announcement. Then, suddenly, noticing a small, round hole in the canvas he walked quickly toward it. In another moment his eye was applied to the aperture.
He could see a considerable number of people crowding before the entrance and also “Spudger’s Ten Thousand Dollar Peerless Band” occupying a raised platform near the barker’s seat.