“A hulking big thing like that ought to be out working on a farm,” roared Bob.
With a loud honk, honk, the motor car was off, and twenty minutes later the four were back at the circus.
They found the lot in the grip of a frenzy of sound. Dave was hammering on a gong, the ringing notes of which even overtopped the most strenuous efforts of the hard-working band; and this medley of sound was punctuated at intervals by the cries of venders, or the shrill whoops of children.
“It’s a dandy show, all right,” said Victor.
“If Whiffin had gotten me to do the barking instead of Dave——” began Tom. “Hey, what are you laughing about?” he demanded, suspiciously.
“Oh, nothing!” gurgled Victor. “Excuse me, but the thought of you chinning to a crowd somehow gave me a fit of the laughs.”
“Then get over it. I was going to say that there would have been a fine row if he’d tried any of his prattling on me.”
“My, oh my, isn’t that awful to think of?” snickered Victor.
Tom tossed his head scornfully, and was about to join in a rush for the ticket wagon when Bob stopped him.
“I want to get a chance to speak to Dave first,” he said. “Plenty of time yet, Tom.”