Breakfast was a much better meal than Jack had expected, from knowing the hurried manner in which it must have had to be prepared and under what adverse circumstances. But he was to learn that a circus cannot afford not to feed its employees and performers well, and that the preparation and cooking of meals had been reduced to a science. Large stoves were carried on wagons, the sides of which dropped down, making a regular kitchen. Soup was cooked in immense caldrons, and the supplies, which had been contracted for in advance, the bread, meat, milk, vegetables, as well as fodder for the animals, had been brought to the circus grounds by local dealers before daylight. “I’m glad we’ve had good weather this week,” observed Sam as he finished his third cup of coffee. “Why? Did it rain much before I joined?” asked Jack, feeling somewhat of a veteran already, though it was only his second day with the show. “Did it? Well, I should crack my grease paint!” Which was the clown’s way of remarking that he should smile. “It rained for three days straight.” “And you have to show in the rain, I suppose?” “Rain or shine, we go on. Only it’s not much fun. It’s cold and dreary, and the crowds don’t laugh worth a cent. The sunshine for mine, every time.” Jack wondered whether he had better tell his friend what he had overheard near the hippopotamus wagon, but he decided he had better try to fight his own battles, or, at least, wait until he needed help against the schemes of his enemies. For Jack was convinced that Ted Chester would endeavor to do him some injury. If not a physical one, the vindictive clown would probably try to interfere with Jack when the boy was doing his turn in the ring. This would cause him to fail to make the audience laugh, and he might get discharged. “I’ll keep away from the side of the ring where Ted is,” thought the young clown. “I suppose I’ve got to be on the watch against that ringmaster, too. His whip certainly hurts. If he hits me again I’ll tell Sam. I’m not going to stand it.” Jack found there was nothing special for him to do until the street parade was ready to start. This had been omitted in the town they had just left, as the place was not considered important enough for such a demonstration. Here, however, one was to be given, and Jack learned that all the clowns were to ride on top of a big gilded wagon, each one playing some grotesque musical instrument. “But I can’t play anything but a mouth organ,” the boy had objected to Sam, who told him what was expected of him. “That doesn’t make any difference. We only make all the noise we can on battered horns, broken drums and all the odd things the property man can get together. I’ll give you a trumpet. All you’ll have to do is to blow it as loud as you can.”