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Mrs. Crowe kept them cut to a seemly length, so that they formed a shining halo round his head, and he had to groom them as thoroughly as he groomed Tinker. Hugh never liked his curls, but he grew to regard them as a useful part of his equipment.

A sweet little boy, the ladies in the audience called him, when he made his first piping response to Joey's advances, his rosy face upturned in innocent surprise. Even Big Dan confided to his wife that he didn't know how on earth the kid kept up that air of being just hatched. The ladies used to thrill in sympathy for him when he struggled against the feeding-bottle: there had occasionally been feminine cries of "Shame! Put him down!" They rejoiced—and so did everybody else—when he escaped and outwitted his captor. They frequently screamed when Ram Singh tossed him up on his head. And nowadays the whole audience collapsed when the gentle child, thus elevated, rosé to his feet, after swiftly discarding his shoes: hurled them with excellent aim at Joey: cast from him with incredible speed collar, tie, false shirt-front and blue suit, appearing in scarlet and black tights: in which, transformed into a gleeful imp, he capered on the elephant's head as he was borne out of the ring.

It was an unfailing triumph: Big Dan privately considered it good enough to show in any big city. To Hugh it was always a huge game. He never grew stale in it: each evening seemed to bring new freshness, to make the whole thing more of a lark. He liked the applause—en-

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