“I’m stocking up with ginger for the football games,” laughed Charlie.
“Oh, I can see the barker barking,” said Tom, suddenly. “Aren’t they the windy chaps? I’m just a little bit too cute to be taken in by them. Say, wouldn’t you think a man would have more self-respect than to stand out there sporting a red coat and dinky little cap like that?”
“Strikes me he’s a kind of fat fellow,” said Blake, with an earnest stare. “He ought to be out doing some useful work instead of trying to separate dimes and nickels from a lot of easy marks. Just look at the way he moves his arms!”
“You might think he was a lawyer pleading a case in court,” laughed Bob. “I guess he would about match Dave in size.”
“Hello!” said Charlie, his eyes resting on one of the large paintings. “There’s a picture of Adolphus, the boy giant. His figure seems to match our Tom’s.”
“Oh, cut out the Victor Collins remarks,” growled Clifton. “Stop here, Bob. It’s jolly good fun to watch the people. Crickets, what a noise! Why—why—what’s the matter?”
Bob Somers was staring toward the barker with a mystified expression which gradually deepened. He was about to speak, when:
“My gracious alive, if there isn’t that fellow, Tom Clifton!” came to their ears.
The three boys turned quickly at the sound of a familiar voice, and, to their utter astonishment, found themselves facing Victor Collins.