“Yes,” replied Jeems, “he is.”
“What!” cried Tom in great surprise, “did something strike me.”
“I always thought your head was thick,” replied Jo contemptuously, “now I’m sure of it.”
By this time they had reached the shelter of the tent and stood looking out at the antics of the hail as it danced upon the hard ground and leaped from the surface of the rocks, and spatted into fire until a steam arose into the air. In a short time the ground was covered with several inches of whiteness.
“Did you boys ever hear that old circus joke?” inquired Jeems, looking musingly out at the jumping hail.
“Not recently,” said Jo. “Fire away, Jeems, and relieve your mind.”
“Well, in the circus they have a king rigged up on a throne. Him in a red robe and a tinsel crown. All the varlets come in and bow low before his majesty. Then comes the clown and bows lower than the others.
“‘Hail! Hail!’ he cries.
“‘How dare you hail,’ roars the king, ‘when I’m reigning!’ Then the crowd yells.”
“That isn’t so worse, Jeems,” laughed Jo, and the rest joined in.