There had been twelve solid hours of sleep. Then had come a marvelously satisfying supper in the dining car, or “privilege” car, with Bybee himself introducing her to those astonishing people whom the spieler was now exhibiting to the curious country people. The giant, a Hollander named Jan something-or-other, had bent from vast heights to take her hand; the tiny male midget, a Hawaiian billed merely as Noko, had gravely asked her, in a tiny, piping voice, if she would sew a button on his miniature coat for him; the bearded “lady” was a man, after all, a man with a naturally falsetto voice and tiny hands and feet. Boffo, the human ostrich, had disappointed her by being satisfied with a very ordinary diet of corned beef and cabbage. The fat girl, who had confided to Sally that she only weighed 380 pounds, though she was billed as “tipping the scales” at 620, had patiently drunk glass after glass of milk, until a gallon had been consumed—all in the interest of keeping her weight up and adding to it. Then Bybee had taken her to his wife, a thin, hatchet-faced shrew of a woman who seemed to suspect everything in petticoats of having designs on her husband, and who in turn, seemed to feel equally sure that every man must envy him the possession of such a wonderful woman as his wife. His deference toward her touched Sally even as it amused her. Mrs. Bybee was too good a business woman, however, to let jealousy interfere with her judgment where the show was concerned. She had demurred a little, then had abruptly agreed to Bybee’s plans for Sally. Hours of sharp-tongued instruction from Mrs. Bybee had resulted in Sally’s being on the platform now, nervously awaiting her turn. The crowd surged nearer to Sally’s platform. The spieler was introducing the giant now, and Jan was rising slowly from his enormous chair, unfolding his incredible length, standing erect at last, so that his head touched and slightly raised the sloping canvas roof of the tent. She wondered, as she gazed pityingly and a little fearfully at Jan, how it felt to be three feet taller than even the tallest of ordinary men, and as she wondered she gazed upward into Jan’s face and caught something of an answer to her question. For Jan’s great, hollow eyes, set in a skeleton of a face, were the saddest she had ever seen, but patiently sad, as if the little-boy soul that hid somewhere in that terribly abnormal body of his had resigned itself to eternal sorrow and loneliness. At the request of the spieler Jan stalked, like a seven-league-boots creature of a fairy tale, up and down the little platform, then, still sad-faced, patient, he folded up his amazing legs and relaxed in his great chair with a sigh. He was silently and indifferently offering postcard pictures of himself for sale when the barker turned toward Sally, cajoling the crowd away from the giant: