When Carl finally rounded up his wits he found himself sitting under the lee of the "animal top," leaning against one of the guy ropes. The wind was blowing half a gale, and the big tents swayed and tugged at their fastenings. There was only one idea just then in the Dutch boy's mind, and that was this:

"How dit dot Roman gandle go off mit itseluf? I remember taking him in my handt und holting him pehindt me, und den—whizz, bang! Ach, how der shparks dit fly! Dere vas fordy-'lefen palls in der gandle, und I hit a freak mit efery pall. Donnervetter, vat a hot time!"

At this point Ping came rounding the curved canvas wall, head to the wind, blouse and wide trousers flapping, and pulling himself along by means of the guy ropes.

"Hello, Clal!" he called, mooring himself to a tent stake.

"Hello yourseluf once!" answered Carl, drawing one powder-blackened hand up and down his trousers leg. "How you like der pooty firevorks?"

"By Klismus!" grinned the Chinaman, "him velly fine. Fleaks no likee."

"How dit der gandle go off mit itseluf? Tell me dose."

Ping's grin faded from his yellow face, and he grew solemn and serious.

"No savvy, Clal. Him devil joss stick, awri'. Whoosh!"

A sudden suspicion darted through Carl's brain as he stared at Ping. The Chinese boy was altogether too serious.

"Py shiminy grickets!" whooped Carl, "vas it you dot douched him off ven der gandle vas my pack pehindt und I don'd see? Dit you make all der drouples? Oof I vas sure oof dot, den I vould eat you oop like some ham santviches."

Ping gave a yell of protest.

"We allee same fliends, huh?" he demanded. "Why my makee tlouble fo' fliend?"

"Vell, I don'd know for vy, aber such chokes iss nod vat I like. Oof I findt oudt dot you lit der gandle, den I vill ged efen for dot. You bed my life, I pay efery debt vat I owe."

Ping looked serious. Then, glad that he was able to change the subject, he remarked:

"You losee one piecee papel in tent, Clal?"

"I don't got one piecee paper, shink. How could I lose somet'ing vat I don't got?"

"My findee him same place you makee tumble. Look."

Ping drew the folded sheet from his blouse. Carl stretched out his hand.

"I vill take a look at dot," said he.

When opened flat, the sheet contained writing, but it was not writing that Carl could read.

"Vedder it iss a ledder or nod," mused Carl, "I don'd know. Vat I see on dis paper looks schust like hen dracks. It don'd vas English, und it don'd vas German. Iss it shink wriding, Ping?"

Ping dropped to his knees and examined the sheet of paper upside down and sideways.

"My no savvy," he answered. "Him not China writing. Some fleak lettee dlop—him fleak writing. Him no gottee sense."

Carl wrinkled his brows ominously.

"I tell you somet'ing," said he. "Dere iss more to dis alretty as we know, Ping. I peen a tedectif. Meppy you vill make a tedectif, too. Subbose we findt oudt vat der ledder iss aboudt?"

"Plaps we no makee find out."

"Dot's vere der tedectif part comes in."

"Plaps we no gottee sense enough, Clal."

"Ach, du lieber!" grunted Carl. "Ditn't I findt dot Margaret Manners vat vas draveling mit der show? Ditn't I get dot Ben Ali Hindoo feller on der run? Ditn't I vin fife tousant tollars?"

"You no gettee fi' thousan' dol'."

"I vill get dot. It has to come from Inchia, und Inchia iss more as ten tousant miles from vere I am. It takes time to get money from Inchia. I was a shmard feller to do all dot. Meppy I gif you some lessons und you vill be as shmard as vat I am."

"Plaps."

"You vant to choin in mit me, hey?"

"Awri'. No savvy pidgin, Clal. What we do?"

Before Carl could answer, the "barker" for the side show came running around the tent wall. Carl grabbed the letter out of Ping's hand and thrust it into his pocket.

"What yuh got there?" demanded the "barker," coming to a halt and glaring at Carl.

"You don'd got some pitzness to know," was the Dutch boy's calm reply.

The "barker's" name was Bill Wily, but, on account of his shady character, he was generally known as Wily Bill.

"I lost a letter durin' that shake-up in the tent," said Wily Bill, truculently, "an' it looked to me as though that sheet yuh just tucked away in your jeans was the one. Hand it over."

"Don'd get gay mit yourseluf," warned Carl, rising to his feet.

"Where'd yuh git that paper?"

"Dot's for me to know. Oof you get pitzness any blace else, don'd let us keep you a minid. Moof on. I don'd like you none too vell, anyhow."

"You'll give me that paper," declared Wily Bill angrily, "or I'll twist that Dutch neck o' yours."

"Meppy you vill," answered Carl, "aber I don'd tink. Here it iss different as it vas in der show. You don'd got der freaks und der odders to helup."

[Pg 4]

"I'll find Burton," fumed Wily Bill, "and I'll tell him yuh've stole that there paper off me."

"Den you vill be telling Purton vat ain'd so."

The "barker" took a step forward.

"Yuh goin' to give me that?" he shouted.

"Say," answered Carl, with a happy thought, "you tell me vat iss in der ledder, den oof it agrees mit vat iss dere you prove he belong mit you, und I gif him oop. Oddervise, nod. Hey?"

"Oh, you fall off the earth!" growled Wily Bill. "I don't have to tell what's in the letter in order to prove it's mine, see? Fork over."

Carl had thought he might get Wily Bill to translate the "hen tracks," but the "barker" either could not or would not.

"You und me don'd agree on dot," said Carl stoutly. "You tell me vat iss in der ledder, oder you don'd get him. Dot's all aboudt it."

"Look here," and Wily Bill made a threatening gesture with his clinched fist, "pass that over or I'll push yer face inter yer back hair. Now, then. Cough up or take the consequences."

"I dradder fighdt as eat some meals!" whooped Carl. "Come on vonce, oof dot's der game. Hit me in der eye! Dot geds my madt oop kevicker as anyt'ing, und I fighdt pedder der madder vat I ged. Eider eye, it machts nichts aus. Blease!"

With a savage exclamation, Wily Bill threw himself forward and lunged with the full force of his right. Carl ducked sideways. The fist missed him, and the impetus of the blow hurled Wily Bill over the guy rope.

Boss Burton, the proprietor of the show, seeing the clash from a distance, was hurrying up to take a part in proceedings. He arrived just in time to collide with the tumbling form of the "barker."

It was with difficulty that Burton retained his footing. The breath was knocked out of him, and as he tottered and gasped he glared at Wily Bill.

"Dere iss Poss Purton," chuckled Carl. "Schust tell him vat you vant und see vat he say."

"What're you roughing things up like this for, Wily?" demanded the showman. "You know very well I don't allow any fighting on the show grounds."

"That Dutchman," answered the "barker," getting his temper a little in hand, "has got a letter belongin' to me. I want it, an' he won't give it up."

"Is that so, Carl?" asked Burton, whirling on the Dutch boy.

"I don'd know vedder or nod it iss so," replied Carl. "I got a ledder, und he say it pelongs by him. Aber he von't say vat iss in der ledder, so how could I know?"

"Isn't the envelope addressed?"

"Dere iss no enfellup."

"Isn't there a name on the letter?"

"Dere iss no name anyvere."

"It's from a pal o' mine, Burton," explained Wily Bill, "and I dropped it out of my kick in the tent. This Dutch lobster and that chink turned on a row in the side show. The Dutchman got one of the Armless Wonder's Roman candles, and while he held it behind him the chink touched a match to it, and we had all kinds of fireworks for a——"

"Donner und blitzen!" yelled Carl, facing Ping and shaking his fist. "Den it vas you, hey? I von't be no tedectif mit you! You vas no bard to blay sooch a choke! I vill ged efen, yah, so hellup me! Oof you——"

"That will do," cut in Boss Burton sternly. "We'll settle this letter business before we do anything else. Where did you get the thing, Carl?"

"Dot false-alarm chink gif him by me," answered Carl, watching angrily while Ping allowed the wind to waft him out of sight around the side-show tent.

"Where did he get it?"

"He picked him oop from vere I lay on der groundt. Dot's vat he say, aber my confidences in him vas padly shook."

"Give it to me."

There was no dodging such an order from the proprietor of the show, and the folded sheet was handed over.

Burton looked at the letter. While he was doing so, Wily Bill made a desperate grab for it. The showman was too quick for the "barker," and jerked the sheet out of reach.

"That's your game, is it?" growled Burton. "Go back to your job, Wily. Come to me after the show, and we'll talk this over. I don't like the way you're acting in this matter, and if you know when you're well off, you'll put your foot on the soft pedal and keep it there. Not a word! Clear out!"

With a black scowl, and a look at Carl that boded him no good, Wily Bill turned on his heel and made his way back to the side show.