driver had disappeared. When they were out of sight he sighed deeply and caught his two chums by their sleeves. "Fellers," he said, and his voice trembled and there were tears in his eyes, "I would ruther be that boy and drive that pony than to own the whole rest of the circus."
"Ah, pshaw," returned Pickles. "Why, the owner of this show is a millionaire."
"I would ruther be a cowboy than drive that pony, anyhow," put in Beany scornfully. "The Wild West for me every time. I like shooting and scalping."
From this point on the three sat in silence while the wonders of the great American show rattled by. When the last wagon finally disappeared, they climbed down from their church step and made an appointment to meet at the entrance to the menagerie top at two o'clock. All three had been fortunate enough to earn tickets by helping on the lot, and there was a red-letter afternoon ahead of
