Victor had never thought that in one person could two such different manners exist. It was no longer the easy-going, indolent Dave he saw before him, but a bold, fearless lad who always had a ready retort on his tongue for any quip hurled at him from the audience.
A different feeling regarding the “Big Indian” came into Victor’s brain in spite of the fact that it wasn’t entirely welcome; he saw Dave in an entirely new light. It made him think.
There was too much going on all around, however, for his present train of thought to keep long on the track. The gasoline torches of the barker’s stand and the lights from various booths devoted to the purpose of supplying the multitude with food and drink threw a strange, fitful glare over the ever-moving crowds.
“Get your hot frankfurters! Peanuts, pretzels and lemonade!” rose crisply above the babel of sounds.
Amid the general noise and confusion, Victor began to lose sight of his grievances.
As Dave finished his “oration,” seized the mallet and hammered lustily on the gong, Victor felt his heart responding so strongly to its wild, clanging notes that the tide moving toward the ticket wagon carried him along, a willing victim.
“Hello, Brandon; hello!” he cried, eagerly. He felt even a touch of pride in knowing so prominent a personage. “I say, Brandon——”
“Have the correct change, gentlemen! Have the correct change!”
The brusk voice of the ticket seller broke in upon his sentence.
Victor, feeling himself being elbowed and jostled aside, scarcely heard the barker’s hearty greeting. Next instant a ticket was in his hand, and the next after that found him passing the portal of “Spudger’s.”