“This is a pretty good outfit. We carry our own show train, even for the short jumps, and the star performers and the big boss and the barkers—when they’re flush—eat in the dining car. Got a special cook for the big bugs, waiters and everything. ’Course sometimes we can’t get show grounds clost enough to the railroad to use the cars much, but in this burg we’re lucky enough to get a lot pretty clost to a siding. The performers will sleep in their berths, less’n it gets too hot and they want their tents pitched on the lot.” “What do you do in the carnival, Eddie?” Sally asked respectfully. “Oh, I’m helpin’ Lucky Looey on the wheels. Gamblin’ concessions, you know,” he enlarged grandly. “Looey’s got three kewpie dolls booths and I’m in charge of one of ’em. Old Bybee—Winfield Bybee—owns the show and travels with it—not like most owners. He owns the concessions and lets concessionaires operate ’em on percentage. He owns the freaks and the girlie show and the high-diver and all the ridin’ rackets—ferris wheels, merry-go-rounds, whips ’n everything. He’ll be showin’ up any minute now and I’ll give you a knockdown to him.” “You’re so good to us, Eddie,” Sally glowed at him. “David and I hadn’t an idea what we should do, and we were so hungry we could have eaten field corn off the stalks.” “You looked all in,” Eddie grinned at her. “So you run away, too, Sally. Couldn’t stand the racket any longer, eh? Is David here a buddy you picked up on the road? Gosh! To think of little Sally Ford hoboing?” “I’m afraid I’ve taken advantage of your friendship for Sally, Cobb,” David said. “The truth is, Cobb—” “Aw, make it Eddie. We’re all buddies, ain’t we?” “Well, the truth is, Eddie, that I’m afraid I’m a fugitive from justice. I wanted to take Sally back to the orphanage and give myself up for murder—” “Gawd!” Eddie ejaculated, paling. Then something like admiration glittered in his little black eyes. “Put the soft pedal on, Dave. Don’t let nobody hear you—” “It wasn’t murder, Eddie,” Sally interrupted eagerly, her hand going out to close on David’s reassuringly. “It was—an accident, in a way. Tell him, David. Eddie will understand.” The cook tent was filling up, so David lowered his voice to a murmur as he told Eddie Cobb, briefly but accurately, the story of his probably fatal attack upon Clem Carson. “Jees!” Eddie breathed, when the recital was finished. “I hope you finished for him! If the old buzzard ain’t dead—and I’ll bet he ain’t—I’d like to take a crack at him myself. You two kids stick with us. I’ll tip off Bybee and I’m a son-of-a-gun if he don’t give you both jobs. The concessions are always short of help—” “Oh, Eddie, if he only would!” Sally gasped. Then sudden doubt clouded her bright face. “But Eddie, we’d be so conspicuous with the carnival. The police would lay hands on us as soon as we showed our faces—”