“But how’d yeh beat the blanky gorilla?” asked the Living Skeleton on the morning after the rescue, as the Missing Link sat in his cage munching preserved fruits presented to him in abundance by the grateful Kit See.

“How do you think?” replied the intelligent animal.  “With an ammonia squirt, of course.  When he came at me I squirted a dose into him that nearly killed him.  I’m never without that little weapon, and I think, Matthew really think that we shall teach the gorilla proper respect for the superior animals before we have done with him.  His desire to supplant me in the scheme of evolution is contrary to science, my boy, and a defiance of natural law, and must not be countenanced for a moment.”

CHAPTER XI.

The defeat of Dan Heeley.

At Big Timber Professor Thunder’s Museum of Marvels had run for several consecutive hours to satisfactory business, and was now well on its way to The Mills, where a great day was expected in view of some local festivity that meant a general holiday for the mill hands, and a bush carousal.

The caravan was drawn up for tea in the moonlit bush by Howlet’s jinker track.  A camp-fire blazed in the end of a butt under a wide-branching gum.  The Professor lay at a distance—­for the night was warm—­smoking on the crisp grass.  The Living Skeleton crouched near, embracing his lean knees, staring into the fire, thinking fondly of his absent wife and family, a furtive tear lurking in the hollow of his cheek, for Matty Cann’s absurd sentimentality made him a failure as a vagabond.  Nickie fussed about gallantly, assisting Madame Marve and little Miss Thunder, who were busy spreading papers for the evening meal.

Professor Thunder had in Madame Marve a perfect wife for a showman.  In addition to her value as the Egyptian Mystic, a wonder-worker, and teller of for tunes, she was chief cook and housekeeper for the whole caravan, but she had a flirtatious disposition, and the attentions Nicholas Crips offered in his unprofessional moments were received in a spirit of frivolous appreciation that disturbed the boss showman’s complacency at times.

“Less of it.  Less of it, my boy!” was his deep throated exhortation on such occasions.

All the members of the company had to take a hand in the hard graft and menial tasks incidental to the upkeep, management and movement of the show, and neither professional etiquette nor artistic pride could rescue Nicholas Crips from the vulgar task of preparing comestibles for the monkeys.  But Madame was certainly the most useful artist on Professor Thunder’s salary list, a document preserved with much pride, to be exhibited in bars and such public places for purposes of advertisement, and which represented the Egyptian Mystic as receiving L30 per week.  On the salary list Bonypart, the Living Skeleton, was rated at L15 per week.  He actually received twenty-shillings and his keep.