meals. I knew the travelling show' business was
a hungry game but I never reckoned on starvation as a means of earning a
livelihood."

"Oh. 'tisn't all bad." said Ronypart eagerly. "There's th' Missin' Link,
fer instance; he a glutton. Blime, th' food that Missin' Link gets makes
me lose all patience, an' sometimes I'd like t' get right up from my
chair, an' bite him. He's in the 'ospital just now, sufferin' from his
over--feedin'. It's a judgment on him."

"A monkey in the hospital!"

"Well, he ain't exactly a monkey. He was a man done up something like one
o' them hoorang-hoo-tangs. Yeh see, part o' Perfesser Thunder's show is
called the Descent of Man. It contains ten different kinds of monkeys,
from Spider, a little cove 'bout th' size iv a rat, up t' Ammonia, what's
a big griller. Th' Missin' Link, he comes next; but as I was sayin' he's
out iv it just now, bein' ill, an' Perfesser Thunder ud give ez much ez
two quid er week fee a good, reliable Missin' Link what wouldn't over-eat
hisself." The Living Skeleton was allowing an inquiring eye to roam over
Nickie the Kid.

"I was thinkin' yon was just bout th' build fer a Missin' Link," he said.

"What, me?" cried Nickie.

The Skeleton nodded, and Nickie was silent for a moment, lost in thought.
It was very necessary that Nickie should sink his identity for a time.
Here was a magnificent opportunity. "Has the Missing Link much to do?" he
asked.

"No," replied Matty Cann. "He's just gotter he careful not t' over-eat
hisseif, as I was savin'. Yeh see, people what come in t' th' show gives
him buns, an' lollies an' things, an' if he's a glutton he' bound t' he
knocked out."

"What else does he do?"

"Oh, prowls round in the cage."

"Anything else?"

"An' scratches hisself."

"Yes."

"An' growls."

"That seems easy."

"Well, it all depends. If yer gifted that way it's easy enough, but real
scratchin' an' natural growlin' takes a bit o' doin'."

"How's this?" asked Nickie.

He scratched himself in approved monkey style, hopped briskly over the
stone, then sat up, and growled a deep, guttural growl.

"That's it--that's it, t' th' life!" cried Bonypart in amazed admiration.
"Why, you're er natural born artist, that's what you are. If I could
growl an' scratch like that I'd be a Missin' Link t'-morrer. No more
living skelingtons fer me."

"Look here," said Nicholas Crips seriously, "how long does the Missing
Link have to remain in the cage?"

"The