“Whoa—gee! Confound that off hoss,” resumed Joe. “Then, after while, he lets me drive wagons and keer for the hosses. There ain’t nuthin’ I don’t know about them animals, Dave.”
“Satisfied with circus life, Joe?”
The boy pondered a moment.
“No, I ain’t,” he confided. “I’d like to git an eddication, an’ be sumphin. But I ain’t never had no chanc’t. I wonder if I ever will have a chanc’t!” he added, wistfully.
“What is your ambition?” pursued Dave.
“I dunno. Maybe I’d like to keep a peanut, pretzel and lemonade stand,” answered Joe. “I know’d a feller what follered the show with one. He did good, too—saved a hundred and fifty dollars in three years. He’s gittin’ old now—most twenty-five, I reckon.”
“Poor decrepit old gentleman,” sighed Dave. “Say, Joe,” he added, “does your uncle know where you are?”
“Sure! Whiffin up an’ writes ’im; an’ what Uncle Jim writ back must have been hot stuff, ’cordin’ to Whiffin. But I kep’ me job, all right.”
“Say, Brandon, why did you ever drag me into a mess like this?” broke in a peevish voice. “It’s raining worse every minute.”
“Too bad, Vic.”