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—a bitter punishment to the dwarf, whose greed for money was a proverb among the Circus folk.

The looking-after that he received was scant. Mrs. Pratt, the wardrobe mistress, saw to his bandages, remarking later on to her friends that she'd as soon touch a toad. The two men who shared his small caravan gave him a little rough attention; they were trick-riders, offhand young Australians who had always heartily disliked their queer little companion, with the instinctive feeling of repulsion with which healthy, vigorous young manhood regards anything not "natural." Toby had all the unpleasant characteristics possessed by many dwarfs: meanness, greed, ill-temper, coupled with a bitter tongue and extraordinary conceit. In softer surroundings there might be found pity for the stunted body and warped nature— but softness is rarely found in a circus.

As time went on, and the rib healed, leaving him able to sit up, Toby found himself even more neglected. Harry and Joe, disliking his peevish company, came to the interior of the caravan only to sleep and dress: they traveled on the driving-seat or on some lorry where the conversation was more cheerful, so that Toby's one real pleasure, a game of cards on the march, was denied him. Moreover, his meals reached him in irregular fashion, and were never more than lukewarm. Rarely had any one time—or inclination—to buy him the daily paper he loved or to replenish his stock of cigarettes. Mrs. Pratt was the only person who listened to his angry grumblings,

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