Saturday nights, also, when the last show for the week was over, the freaks sometimes had a little “feed,” and formerly Bobo had been one of the most jovial spirits. Lately, however, he refused to attend any of these gatherings, and spent most of his time alone. As Stetson said, though, the freaks were always complaining about one another, so little attention was paid to the grumbling in the side-show tent. The management couldn’t afford to offend Bobo, for there was no denying that the wild man was the star attraction. He was doing better work than he ever had done before. He didn’t wait for the manager to come to him to begin acting; but as soon as the crowd appeared, he was growling and tearing away at the bars of his cage. The other freaks complained; for even when the dog-faced boy was making his worst grimaces during Stetson’s description of him, most of the audience preferred standing in front of the wild man’s cage watching his antics. One Sunday night the attendant, who had been before rebuffed, again sought out Stetson with a new tale of woe. “Bobo sleeps in his cage every night now,” he declared, “and he’s been in there all day to-day.” “Perhaps he’s sick,” said Stetson, but he didn’t believe it. He himself had noticed a change of late in the wild man. The meat, which had been thrown in to him, had formerly been taken out untouched and given to the lions; but lately there hadn’t been any meat left. “He ain’t sick, neither,” declared Murphy, “but he’s too damn ugly to live. He tried to bite me when I changed the water in his dish; and yesterday, when Skoggy brought him a newspaper like he used to, to show him the stock report, Bobo tore it to pieces, and tried to hit Skoggy with that bar that’s loose in his cage. Stetson consulted with Poole Brothers, and that night the three men went to the side-show tent, which was up in readiness for the Monday’s performance. They found Bobo lying asleep in his cage. He still had on his make-up, but some way he didn’t look natural to the Poole Brothers. They didn’t go to the side-show tent very often, and it had been over two months since they had seen the wild man. The hair on his arms and breast was thicker than it used to be, and his teeth seemed longer and yellower. Stetson opened the door of the cage and called, “Wake up, Pat. It’s time for supper.” The wild man opened his eyes quickly, and snarled like a dog which has been roused suddenly. “It’s time for supper,” repeated Stetson, stepping back and clasping his cane a little tighter. Bobo seized the little iron dish in which they brought him water, and started to hurl it at the speaker; but noticing suddenly who it was, he only growled, “Don’t want no more supper; just had mine.” The younger Poole brother looked at a half gnawed bone lying on the bottom of the cage, and muttered something which nobody heard. “Well, you’re not going to stay here all night, are you?” persisted Stetson.