The jungle element was generously supplied by troops of trumpeting elephants, tigers with tails lashing, bloated serpents dangling ominously from the overhanging tree branches, while bands of lean and angular monkeys jabbered and chattered throughout all the picture. Little Tim heaved a sigh. "Gee!" he exclaimed. "I'd like to see that Royal Bengal tiger that ate up three of his keepers alive." Little Tim, fired with the very thought, and emulative of an athlete in distorted attitude and gaudy fleshings, proceeded to turn himself upside down and walk upon his hands, waving his bare feet fraternally at the pictured gymnasts. He found himself suddenly caught by the ankles, however, and slung roughly across someone's shoulder. "Hello, Tim," said his captor, good naturedly, "going to join the circus?" Little Tim grinned, sheepishly. "Guess not, Jack," he replied. "Say, wouldn't you like to see that tiger eat up a keeper?" Jack Harvey laughed, setting Tim on his feet again. "I'll bet that tiger isn't as great a man-eater as old Witham," he said. "They put that in to make people think he's awful fierce, so they'll go to the show. You going?" Tim Reardon, thrusting his hands into his pockets and closing his fingers on a single five cent piece, three wire nails and a broken bladed jack-knife, looked expressively at Harvey. "I dunno," he replied. "P'raps so." Jack Harvey took the hint. "Come along with us," he said. "Where's the rest of the crew?" "They're going--got the money," said Tim. Harvey looked surprised. His crew, so called because the three other members of it besides Tim Reardon had sailed with him on his sloop in Samoset bay, were generally hard up. "All right," said Harvey, "you can go with Henry Burns and George Warren and me. Come on. Let's go down town and see the parade." The blare of trumpets and the clashing of brass was shaking the very walls of the city of Benton. A steam calliope, shrieking a tune mechanically above the music of the band and the roar of carts, was frightening farmers' horses to the point of frenzy. Handsome, sleek horses, stepping proudly, were bearing their gaily dressed riders in cavalcade. And the rumble of the heavy, gilded carts gave an undertone to the sound. Bagley & Blondin's great moral and scientific show was making its street parade, prior to the performance. Tim Reardon stood between Henry Burns and Jack Harvey on a street corner, with George Warren close by. Tim Reardon's eyes seemed likely to pop clean out of his head. "There he is! There he is, Jack!" he exclaimed all at once, fairly gasping with excitement. "Who is?" asked Harvey. "The man-eating tiger," cried Tim. "It says so on the cage." Harvey chuckled. "I'd like to throw you in there, Tim," he said. "He'd be scared to death of you. Here's the real thing coming, though. Say, what do you think of that?"