When Stetson, manager of the freaks in the side-show, had spoken to Bobo of the necessity of appearing every day while traveling, he had also mentioned a material raise in the wild man’s salary. Every two weeks during the winter Stetson had written a check for seventy-five dollars in acknowledgment of services rendered. In the event of Bobo’s agreeing to make his appearance on each of the one-day stands, Stetson was authorized by the powers above to draw these fortnightly checks for one hundred and fifty dollars, and, after much discussion in the Blenden Street home, Stetson’s offer had been accepted. On this morning Bobo was trying to decide whether to sell out his twenty-three shares of Isle Royal while that stock was at eighty-one, or to hang on to it for a while, hoping for a rise. He fully intended to sell out some time during the next two weeks, for he did not want to be bothered with the stock while on the Eastern trip. “Get together there, you freaks,” called Stetson; “the whistle has just blown, and the yaps will begin coming in soon.” Bobo tucked his paper into a little wooden box in the back of the cage, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and curled up on the straw, pretending to go to sleep. He never worked over time, did Bobo; and up to the time when Stetson brought him his piece of meat, and began telling the people of the terrible struggle which had taken place in the swamps of Borneo, when the wild man was captured, Bobo always pretended to be asleep. When, however, the manager reached a certain point in his narration, the nearest of the onlookers were usually startled by a savage growl, and the wild man from Borneo got up on all fours. Some hysterical woman generally screamed at this juncture, for, with the help of his make-up box, Bobo certainly did look the part. For clothes, he wore merely a ragged breech-cloth about his loins, while the rest of his body was bare, save for a tawny growth of red hair. His skin was stained a dark brown, and in several places there were great raw-looking spots, where the manager said Bobo had bitten himself. But the wild man’s face was what caused the alarm on the part of the women and children. His nose was a snout-like protuberance with great cavernous holes for nostrils, while his eyes, peeping out from under bristling brows, were small and wicked. All over his face and neck, and extending down to his breast, was a coarse growth of stiff red hair. The manager finished his harangue over Herman, the Ossified Man, pictures of whom a small boy began offering to the crowd for the sum of ten cents each. “Next, and last, I call your attention, ladies and gentlemen, to Bobo, the wild man from Borneo,” began the exhibitor. He was always glad when he came to Bobo, partly because he was the last freak to describe, and partly because the wild man always acted his part so well. [Illustration: “The wild man ran to the bars of the cage and shook them furiously.” (See page 35.)]