The crowd rushed from in front of the platform on which the Ossified Man had been exhibited. “Don’t get so near there, boy,” shouted one of the attendants to a venturesome youth; “the wild man is liable to grab you. He killed a man that way last week.” Stetson began his lurid tale of the fierce struggle which had taken place when the wild man was captured, and the crowd of country people listened open mouthed. “Throwing this net about his head and shoulders, we succeeded in getting the creature to the ground,” droned Stetson in a sing-song voice. This was Bobo’s cue. He yawned, exposing a set of yellow fangs, at the sight of which the small boy in the front row turned a little pale, and tried to work his way back into the crowd. Then Bobo growled. Bobo was proud of that growl. It had taken him weeks to acquire it. Beginning with a kind of guttural rumbling in his throat, he worked himself up gradually, and ended with a ferocious howl. “The wild man is hungry, you see,” said Stetson; and taking a piece of raw meat from under the wagon, he held it up to view. Bobo immediately sprang at the bars of his cage, and rattled them loudly, chattering fiercely meanwhile. The crowd fell back, leaving a clear space in front of the cage; and the wild man, reaching a hairy arm out between the iron bars, seized the meat, and crawling to a corner, buried his teeth in the bloody shank. “This concludes the entertainment,” shouted Stetson, and the crowd reluctantly began to file out of the tent. Two months later, while Poole Brothers’ amalgamated shows were exhibiting in Vermont, Murphy, one of the side-show attendants, came to Stetson, and informed him mysteriously that Bobo was acting queer. “He don’t get out of his cage after the show’s over in the afternoon like he used to, but stays there till the evening performance.” “Nothing queer about that as I can see,” answered Stetson carelessly. “He’s been putting more life than usual into the part lately, and it probably tires him. What’s the difference whether he rests in his cage or goes over to the car? You’re probably kicking because you have to bring his supper to him.” “He used to wash the make-up off his face between the two shows,” persisted Murphy. “But now he keeps it on from ten in the morning till night.” “Well, you never take the trouble to wash the ordinary every-day dirt and grease off your face, and I don’t believe you ever would clean up if it took you the time it does Bobo,” replied Stetson irritably, and Murphy retired, muttering. But the other freaks had noticed a change in the wild man, too. Between performances Bobo used to play penny ante with the fat man and the bearded lady, both of which gentlemen now tried in vain to lure him into a game.