“No, I suppose not. Waal, that’s hard luck. G’lang there, Dobbin,” this last to his horse. “Waal, I’m goin’. I’ve been savin’ up fer it over three months. I’ve got a dollar an’ thirteen cents. I kin git in fer half a dollar, an’ have sixty-three cents t’ spend.” “I guess you’ll have a good time,” commented Jack. “Betcher boots I will! That’s what I got up so early fer. Say,” Ferd added, as if a new thought had come to him, “did ye have yer breakfast?” “I had some breakfast,” replied Jack. He hardly felt like calling it his regular morning meal. “I jest happened t’ think they don’t serve meals in freight cars,” went on the country lad, with a shrewd smile. “Say, how’d ye like a nice drink of rich milk? Our cows give fine milk.” “I’d like it very much,” answered Jack. “But can you spare it?” “Shucks, yes! I’ve got a hundred an’ sixty quarts here in these cans. Wait; I’ll git ye a good drink.” “I haven’t a cup or a glass,” objected Jack, “and I’m afraid I can’t drink out of one of those cans.” “I’ll fix it,” replied Ferd. He stopped the horse and then, removing the top of one of the cans, tilted the receptacle over until a stream of thick, creamy milk flowed into the cover. “There ye are,” he announced. “Drink that, an’ it’ll make ye feel better.” It certainly did. Jack thought it was the best beverage he had ever had, not even excepting an ice cream soda. The ride was resumed, and soon they came in sight of a series of low buildings. “That’s the dairy,” announced Ferd. “Now we’ll see if ye kin git a job there.” CHAPTER XI JACK AT THE CIRCUS Ferd drove the wagon up to one of the buildings where a low, broad platform opened into a room with a concrete floor, about which stood many milk cans. In one corner was a big tank, partly filled with milk. Jack was interested in what followed. Greeting with a cheery “good morning” the man in charge, Fred proceeded to lift out his cans of milk to the platform of a scale. “Do you weigh the milk?” asked Jack. “I thought it went by measure.” “We weigh it here,” answered the man. “That’s the way they do at most dairies and cheese factories.” Ferd was given a ticket showing how much milk he had delivered, and then turning his wagon about, he drove to a pump that stood on a sort of elevated tank, with a trough extending from it to a height convenient for the vehicle. “What you going to do now?” asked Jack. “Pump up some sour milk for th’ pigs,” replied Ferd. “After that I’ll take you to th’ foreman of the cheese factory.” He stepped up to the pump and began to work the handle. “Jest hold that trough over one of th’ cans, will ye?” he asked Jack. Our hero did as directed, and, as the country lad pumped, a stream of curdled milk flowed into the cans that had just been emptied. “This is what’s left after they take out th’ cream, or use th’ milk for cheese,” explained Ford. “It’s fine fer pigs. Ours love it, an’ I take some home every trip.”