After this remark only the noise of the storm was heard until Joe Rodgers, a sadly bedraggled object, arrived on the scene of inaction.
“Stand as still as if you was a-loafin’ on the show, Joe,” commanded Whiffin, disagreeably. “If it hadn’t been for that there quarter you wanted to git you’d be asleep on the wagon now.”
Scott, the elephant trainer, with his assistant, Robins, next appeared, and the men quickly secured their charges.
A few specks of light on the road and the low rumble of wagon wheels soon indicated that the circus train was approaching.
“You’re the greatest feller in the world, Dave!” exclaimed Joe, admiringly. “I’ll bet Bill Potts never would have done it.”
“His forte is artistic riding,” laughed Dave. “Out on the plains with the cowboys taught me the plain variety.”
The leaders of the four-horse team swung up and the driver, who had taken Joe’s place, clambered to the ground.
“Oh, hasn’t this been another glorious day!” piped a small figure on the seat. “Are you safe, Brownie? Goodness, but this has given me an awful fit of the nerves.”
“I’m all right, Vic,” answered Dave. He led the black horse to its former place behind the wagon. “What’s that? Did you speak, Mr. Whiffin?”
A voice had come from the buggy.