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at his ring costume with disfavor. "A man can't eat comfortable in a stiff shirt."

"Well, don't be long." It was a needless warning, for Big Dan never was long. He disappeared behind the curtain, moving as softly as a cat, and presently reappeared in a huge blue dressing-gown and soft slippers. Supper smoked upon the table. They attacked it with an enjoyment that was not lessened by being compelled to guard against the antics of their plates when the caravan jolted and rocked like a ship in a heavy sea.

"Silly of me to eat so much; it'11 come against me if ever I go back to the ring," remarked Mrs. Dan. "But I never could say No to a fried onion!"

"You don't need to. You'11 never go back to the ring, my girl," declared her husband, scraping out the saucepan. "Plenty for you to do without that."

"Oh, I dunno. I often hanker for it, you know, Dan. When I stand behind and see the girls ride in, all in the old get-up, and smell the smell of it all, and hear the clapping and the cheers—well, it gets me, you know. I feel sort of sad to be out of it."

" 'M," said Dan, with his mouth full. "All very well for an odd hanker, Polly. But it's another pair of shoes when it means goin' into the ring afternoon an' evening, ill or well, hot or cold, good houses or bad. Not so much fun then, and you know it well enough! Besides, it don't do for the Boss's wife to be a performer. I'm dead against it."

"What you're dead against," said Mrs. Dan, shrewdly,