Mahdi had a fixed allowance his beer supply was rigorously prescribed by Professor Thunder, and precisely measured by Madame Marve.  It was this precision that prevented Nickie being quite content with an artistic career.

He had had his first pint.  The second pint was not due for two hours.  Nicholas Crips was not satisfied he would survive the time.  The place was stifling.

“Yar-r, get to blazes!” snorted the Darwinian hypothesis, and hurled his water tin at Ammonia.

Ephraim, the pig, grunted pitifully, and Matty Cann, the bone man, drowsed in his chair.  Madame Marve was sleeping, too, and the ripple of a monotonous snore came from the Egyptian tent.

There were no patrons, the town was still, prone under the great heat.  Professor Thunder entered, mopping his brow, and the Missing Link pressed against the bars.

“How is it for a drink?” he said.  “You’ve got to be generous, Professor, or I resign.  There you are, a drink, or my resignation—­the loss of the most versatile Link in the profession.”

The Professor entered the Egyptian tent, and presently returned with a pint pannikin which he passed through to Mr. Crips.  Nickie seized it greedily, raised it to his lips, and then changed his mind, and hurled it at Thunder with a furious imprecation.

“Water!” snarled the Missing Link, “Water!  You have the heart to insult a Christian thirst with water on a day like this, you blastiferous heathen!  Let me out!  I resign.  Let me out of this monkey house.”

Professor Thunder laughed and returned to his post at the door, and the baffled Link pushed his face through the bars and poured a torrent of frantic objurgations in the direction of the street door.

“Nickie, fer th’ love iv ’Eaven let er man sleep,” pleaded the Living Skeleton pitifully.  “I was just a-dreamin’ iv pickled pigs’ feet an’ fried taters—­crisp, brown, fried taters.  Oh, Lord!”

“Be quiet!” snarled the Missing Link, “and do a perish here from thirst while that cow of a man swills his fill and makes a fortune out of my mortal agony?  No, hanged if I do.”

The Missing Link howled again, and Madame Marve, that she might sleep peacefully, broke rules and regulations, and smuggled him another half pannikin of beer.

“Lucky dog!” sighed the bone man.  “If I was t’ tear the place up they wouldn’t give me half yard iv grilled steak an’ er pint iv chips.”

After tea, Mahdi was very quiet on his straw.  The Professor and Madame Marve were making their usual dinner of cold boiled leg of mutton, bread and beer, in the Egyptian tent.  The other animals were sleeping.

The Link was not sleeping, he was amusing him self in a quaint way at the back of his cage.  He had a small lassoo made of cord, and was throwing it at an object near the wall at a distance of five feet.

Every time Nickie failed he swore in a patient heart-broken way, but he persisted, and eventually success crowned his efforts.  An exclamation of great joy burst from his lips.