“I earn all I get by starvin’.  My name’s Cann—­Matty Cann, but I’m known professionally as Bony-part.  Ain’t yeh seen me advertisements up the main street?  I’m drawed on a big poster outside Professer Thunder’s Museum iv Marvels, I’m the livin’ skelington.”

“He isn’t ruining himself with your upkeep,” Nickie.

“No.” replied the Living Skeleton.  “I’m allowanced off an’ I’ve got t’ eat on’y what he gives me—­that’s in our contrac’.  If I eat more an put on flesh out I go.  There’s a clause in ther contrac’ what sez I’m li’ble t’ be fired if goes above seven stone seven.  The previous livin’ skelington got the run at Barnip fer breakin’ out.  He was the only original.  I’m just a sort iv understudy.”

Nickie clicked his tongue sympathetically.  “Well,” he said, “you might pick a hone.  That wouldn’t be very fattening, and it might delude your stomach with the idea you were having something to eat.”

Bonypart, the Living Skeleton, took the wish-bone with a few shreds of chicken on it.

“Thanks,” he said, “it might be a comfort.”  He sucked the bone fondly.

“You said that Professor Thunder’s only original living skeelton broke out at Barnip.  What happened to him?”

“He went on the spree,” said Matty Cann.

“Drink?” queried Nickie.

“No, food.  He got at a bar spread in the Shire hall at Barnip, an’ afore they missed him he ate enough fer ten Shire Councillors.  He completely rooned that banquet.  That was the third time he’d gone on th’ spree, an’ ther Perfesser ’ad warned him if it ’appened again he’d get the shoot.”

Nickie the Kid grinned.

“It isn’t a Profession that would suit me,” he said.  “I have an instinctive fondness for meals.  I knew the travelling show’ business was a hungry game but I never reckoned on starvation as a means of earning a livelihood.”

“Oh. ‘tisn’t all bad.” said Ronypart eagerly.  “There’s th’ Missin’ Link, fer instance; he a glutton.  Blime, th’ food that Missin’ Link gets makes me lose all patience, an’ sometimes I’d like t’ get right up from my chair, an’ bite him.  He’s in the ‘ospital just now, sufferin’ from his over—­feedin’.  It’s a judgment on him.”

“A monkey in the hospital!”

“Well, he ain’t exactly a monkey.  He was a man done up something like one o’ them hoorang-hoo-tangs.  Yeh see, part o’ Perfesser Thunder’s show is called the Descent of Man.  It contains ten different kinds of monkeys, from Spider, a little cove ‘bout th’ size iv a rat, up t’ Ammonia, what’s a big griller.  Th’ Missin’ Link, he comes next; but as I was sayin’ he’s out iv it just now, bein’ ill, an’ Perfesser Thunder ud give ez much ez two quid er week fee a good, reliable Missin’ Link what wouldn’t over-eat hisself.”  The Living Skeleton was allowing an inquiring eye to roam over Nickie the Kid.

“I was thinkin’ yon was just bout th’ build fer a Missin’ Link,” he said.