Jerry and the Mullarkey children turned and faced the speaker.  It was “Darn” Darner, the ten-year old son of Timothy Darner, the county overseer of the poor, and a more or less important personage, especially in his own eyes.  You had to be very particular how you spoke to “Darn” unless you wanted to get into a fight, and unless you were as old and as big as he was you had no desire to fight with him.  He was especially touchy about his name.  He had been “Jimmie” at home but once at school he had signed himself, in the full glory of his name, J. Darnton Darner, perhaps to do honor to his grandfather, after whom he had been named.  Thereafter “Darn” was the only name that he was known by outside of the classroom and his own home.

He had fights innumerable trying to stop the boys calling him by that name, but it persisted until at length he came to accept it.  You could call him “Darn” or shout “Oh, Darn!” and nothing would happen, but if, in your excitement, you grew too emphatic and said “Darn!” or “Oh, Darn!” you might have to run for the nearest refuge, or take a pummeling from his fists.

So now Jerry answered very politely.  “It looks good,” he said.

“Is the circus coming?” asked Danny.

“Of course it is.  What do you suppose they’ve put up the posters for?”

“It don’t say so here,” said Nora.  “All it says is—­”

Darn interrupted.  “Where’ve you kids been?  That old poster has been up for a week.  Two new ones were pasted up to-day—­one at Jenkins’ corner and the other on Jeffreys’ barn.  It’s Burrows and Fairchild’s mammoth circus and menagerie and it’s coming a week from Thursday.”

“Are you going, Darn?” asked Danny.

“Am I going?” repeated that youth.  “I should say I am going—­in a box seat.”

“Is it a big circus?” asked Chris.

“It’s one of the biggest there is,” replied Darn, “with elephants and clowns and a bearded lady and everything.  I’ll tell you all about it the next day.”

Without more ado, he began to whistle and continued on his way.  When he was out of sight, Jerry turned back to the billboard, and the Mullarkey children lined up at his side and stood in silent contemplation of the delights forecast in the picture.  They felt a new respect for that elephant.

“I don’t suppose we can go,” said Chris at length in a voice that invited contradiction.  His remark was met by silence and they continued to stare at the elephant.

Jerry was puzzled.  “What does it want you to ask your mother for fifty cents for?” he asked Danny.

“To buy a ticket for the circus, of course.”

“Will she give you fifty cents?”

Danny seemed struck by some sudden thought; whether or not his question had inspired it Jerry was unable to tell.  After pondering for a time, Danny set out towards home on a run without having answered the question.

“Where’re you goin’?” asked Chris, with a tinge of suspicion in his voice.