To Billy's amazement, Peter jumped into the runabout, and fell asleep. A second later Mr. Carter loomed beside them. "Peter? William?" His tone brought them to attention with a jerk. Peter straightened his hat and blinked. "What, sir? Yes, sir! Beg pardon, sir; I must 'a' been asleep." Mr. Carter leaped to the seat beside him. "Drive to the police station," he ordered, in a tone that sent apprehensive chills chasing up Billy's back. "Yes, sir. Whoa, Trixy! Back, b-a-c-k. Get up!" he cut her with the whip, and they rolled from the circle of flaring torches into the outer darkness. "She's a trifle skittish, sir," said Peter, in his old-time conversational tone. "The noise o' the clappin' was somethin' awful; it frightened the horses, sir." Mr. Carter grunted by way of response, and Peter in the darkness hugged himself and smiled. He was once more brimming with cordial good-will toward all the world. Mr. Carter, however, was too angry to keep still, and he presently burst into a denunciation of the whole race of showmen, employing a breadth of vocabulary that Peter had never dreamed him capable of. "Yes, sir," the groom affably agreed, "It's true what ye say. They're fakes, every one of them, an' this show to-night, sir, is the biggest fake of all. The way they do people is somethin' awful. Fifty cents they charges to get in, an' twenty-five more for reserved seats. Extra for each of the side shows, an' there ain't nothin' in them, sir. Peanuts is ten cents a pint when ye can buy them at any stand for five, an' their popcorn balls is stale. I've quit goin' to shows meself. I spent a dollar in five minutes at the last one, sir. I had a good time and I ain't regrettin' the money, but 'tis expensive for a poor man." Mr. Carter grunted. "The worst sell I ever heard of, though," Peter added genially, "is chargin' fifty cents to ride the elephant in the openin' grand march. Ye wouldn't think it possible that anybody'd want to do it, but they tells me that never a night goes by but somebody turns up so forgettin' of his dignity----" Mr. Carter glanced at Peter with a look of quick suspicion. The groom leaned forward, and with innocent solicitude examined Trixy's gait. "Whoa, steady, ole girl! She's limpin' again in her off hind foot. They never shoe her right at Scanlan's, sir. Don't ye think I'd better take her down to Gafney's in the mornin'?" They were approaching the station house. Peter glanced sideways at his companion, and picked up the conversation with a deprecatory cough.