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"Near late, we was. Gee, the Boss is wild today! Some-

thing's bit him."

Hugh had never been at such close quarters with a clown. He gazed at him open-mouthed. He wore a redand-white striped costume, made all in one, with huge baggy trousers gathered in to form frills round his ankles. There was a fuzzy white ruff about his neck: his hat, tall and peaked, was of white feit with a red pom-pom at its top. The baby face was painted so that he looked as if he were about to cry. A baby's feeding-bottle was slung about his neck by a scarlet cord. It seemed almost inhuman to hear the deep tones of an angry man coming from that fantastic face.

"Hasn't been at his brightest all day," remarked Micky. "There was a word or two he gave meself this morning that I'd not have taken if only he'd been a fut shorter. Was he peevish wid ye, Joey?"

"Peevish!" the clown growled. "You'd have thought the sky was fallin' 'cause I hadn't all me make-up on. 'S if it mattered, comin' through a one-house town like this. Got a cigarette, Micky?"

"Yerra, what good?" said Micky, scornfully. "If he saw ye smokin' up here in that outfit, he d tear the face off ye. ril give ye one afther."

"I s'pose you're right," said the clown, mournfully. "Who's this you've got?" He indicated Hugh, who was still gazing at him, fascinated.

"Oh, a new hand. Name of Hugh."

"Well, he's got a great head of hair," said Joey; and

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