The boy let out a string of rough expletives under his breath.  Then fixing his eye on Andy curiously, he demanded: 

“Who’s the kindergarten kid?  Trying to break into the show?”

“I may,” answered Andy calmly.

“Oho!” chuckled the other, with a wicked grin—­“we’ll have some fun with you, then.”

“Maybe not,” broke in the musician.  “Dot poy has a pull.”

“Oh, has he?” snorted the other.

“Yaw.  Maybe you don’t know, hey, Jim Tapp?  You hear about dot cut trapeze?  Aha!  It vas dis poy who discovered dot in time.”

“Eh!” ejaculated young Tapp, with a prodigious start.  “Yes,” he continued very slowly, viewing Andy with a searching, hateful look.  “I heard of it.  Says Murdock put up the job to break Thacher’s neck.”

“Dot vas so.”

“How does he know it?”

“He overheardt dose schoundrels tell dot.”

“Maybe he’s lying.”

“Did dot cut trapeze show if he vas, hey?”

“Then he’s a spy.  Sneaking in on gentlemen’s private affairs.  Bah!” cried Tapp, with a venomous stare at Andy, “I wouldn’t train with you two at a hundred per week!”

He crawled over to the edge of the wagon preparatory to leaving the vehicle and seeking more congenial company.

“Hey, you, Jim Tapp,” observed Snitzellbaum, “you vas a pal of Daley, hey?  You see him?  Vell, you tell him ve hang him up by dose heels, und Murdock mit him, vonce ve catch dem.  See you?”

Tapp disappeared over the edge of the wagon into the road.

“Mein friend,” remarked the musician to Andy, “you vatch oud for dot poy.”

Andy Wildwood recalled the solemn warning before the next day was over.

CHAPTER XIV

BILLY BLOW, CLOWN

Billy Blow, the clown, woke up just as the wagon reached the tent site at Clifton.  It was nearly midnight.

His sleep did not seem to have refreshed him much.  He got down from the vehicle like a man half-awake, and as if the effort hurt him.  He had to shake himself to get the stiffness out of his limbs.

“Dis vos dot poy I told you aboud, Billy,” said the musician.

“Oh, yes, yes,” answered the clown in a preoccupied way, with a quick look at Andy.  “I’ll take him under my wing until Marco comes along.  This way, kid.  I’ve some baggage to look after.  Then we’ll bunk.”

Andy bade Hans Snitzellbaum adieu with reluctance.  He liked the bluff-hearted old German with his fatherly ways.

“Goot py for dot bresent times,” said the fat musician.  “Vhen I sees you mit dose tumblers, I gives some big bang-bang, boom-boom, hey?”

“I hope you will,” responded Andy with a cheery laugh.

He followed Billy Blow.  The latter finally found the wagon he was after.  He bundled its contents about and got a small wooden box and a big wicker trunk to one side.