The policeman in plain clothes is rather contemptuously referred to as a “flattie.” A trunk is known as a “keester” and a valise as a “turkey.” Circus dialect for a man is always “guy,” and the proprietor of the show is invariably styled “the main guy,” or the “main squeeze.” The former appellation is probably adapted from the fact that the main guy rope holds the tent in position. To “fan a guy” is to make an examination to discover whether or not he is carrying concealed weapons. A pocketbook is a “leather,” a watch a “super,” and a watch chain a “slang.” “Lid” signifies a hat and a ticket is called a “fake.” A complimentary ticket or a railroad pass has no other name than “brod.” An elephant in circus language is never anything except a “bull.” The showman’s word for peanuts is “redhots,” and their lemonade concomitant is designated “juice.” “Plain juice” is water. Human eyes are “lamps,” and heads are chosen “nuts.” The posters and lithographs sent out in advance are “paper,” and the programmes and other literature are distinguished as “soft stuff.” Side-show orators have the cognomens “spielers” and “blowers,” and the employee who has charge of the naphtha torches, which are “beacons” in the circus world, is known as the “chandelier man.” Reserved seats are alluded to as “reserved,” and all other allotted sitting space is termed “the blues,” derived from the painted color of the boards. Clowns are “joys” and the other performers “kinkers.” * * * * * The history of the circus records many disasters by fire, wind, and wreck, but only a few solitary instances in which patrons have suffered. In none of the vocations of life, in times of crisis, are given better examples of energy, daring, discipline, and power of command and obedience. For more than a score of years, since the old method of overland horse and wagon mode of transportation was abandoned for the swift, modern steam-engine way, hardly a year has failed to catalogue a catastrophe entailing loss of life and property and human and animal misery. Yet death and damage are confined to the ranks of the show people. [Illustration: CIRCUS ENCAMPMENT AT EARLY DAWN.] Railroads are notoriously indifferent to the interests of the long, heavy circus trains in their temporary keeping. Accidents in transit are frequent. A misplaced switch, confusion in running schedules, a careless engineer or trainman, may bring impoverishing adversity. The circus is never exempt from peril, when planted for the day in apparent security, when journeying from town to town or when housed in wood or brick. Misfortune follows, too, even to winter quarters, where, perhaps, general impression assumes to the circus owner freedom from care and apprehension. There are many things conspiring to make him old before his time. * * * * *