Pa said:  “I’ll tell you.  You feed the horses and other hay-eating animals on musty baled hay, bought from contractors that may have had it on hand for five years.  How would you like it if you were served with breakfast food that had been stored in a warehouse until it was mildewed?  A horse or an elephant has feelings.  Give them baled hay, and when they are trying to pick out a mouthful that is not spoiled, you drive along with a load of nice new-mown timothy or alfalfa, and see them make a rush for that load of hay, the way my ten-horse team did the other day for that load of cornstalks.  Then the sacred cattle are hot under the collar because of the fellows who use profanity.  Can you imagine a sacred cow trying to be good, and set a pious example to the heathen animals, being patient when they have to listen to swearing?  You buy meat that is tainted for the lions, who like fresh meat, and the jackal, that only loves bad meat, gets the only sirloin in the lot.  Let me run the menagerie to-morrow, and I will have Mr. Lion, the walking delegate, declare this strike off.”

Well, they told pa to arbitrate the strike, and the next day he had a couple of loads of timothy hay, such as mother used to make, driven in and unloaded, and the horses, elephants, camels, and things almost set up a cheer for pa.  The meat-eating animals were given a picnic of the freshest beef, with a little so decayed that it was only fit to be buried, for the hyenas and jackals, and every animal was happy.  They did their turns better than ever, and the sacred cattle almost acted devilish.

Now the animals have declared the strike off, and they want to lick pa’s hand.  The owners of the show appreciate genius, and they have raised pa’s salary and given him full charge of the menagerie.

CHAPTER XIII.

    The Circus Strikes the Quaker City—­They Go on a Ginger Ale Jag—­Pa
    Breaks Up an Indian War Dance and Comes Near Being Burned Alive—­The
    World’s Fair Cannibals Have a Roast Dog Feast.

Ever since we knew the show was billed for Philadelphia for a Saturday and that we should have to stay over Sunday in that town, there has been symptoms of a revolt.  Everybody connected with the show has a horror of being found dead in Philadelphia.  They claim it is too dead for live people, and not very satisfactory to dead people.

A performer who was with the show last year says that nobody but the newspaper people who had free tickets attended the performances, and some of them wouldn’t go in the tent unless the press agent promised to set up a free lunch, with devilish ginger ale to drink, and that the press people got riotous on ginger ale.  A ginger ale jag is terrible.  When a man is full of ginger ale his intestines loop the loop, and tie up in knots, and gripe like cholera infantum, and unless his friends hold him he goes out into the world and wants to kill the women and children, and non-combatants.