essed like
jockeys in the ring parade.

Afterwards Andy was making for the clown's tent, when a fat, red-faced,
perspiring fellow, aproned as a cook, hailed him.

"Belong to show?" he asked, waving a frying pan.

"Sure, I do," answered Andy, proudly.

"Help me a little, will you?"

"Glad to. What can I do?"

"Open these lard and butter casks and carry them in. I haven't time.
There's a hatchet. My stuff is all burning up inside."

A hissing splutter of his ovens made the cook dive into his tent. Andy
picked up a chisel dropped by the cook. He opened six casks standing on
the ground and carried them inside.

The cooking odor pervading the place was very pleasing. The cook's
assistants were few, some of the regulars were absent, Andy guessed from
what he heard the cook say. The latter was rushed to death, and jumping
from stove to stove and utensil to utensil in a great flutter of
excitement and haste for he was behind in his work.

Andy caught on to the situation. In a swift, quiet way he anticipated
the cook's needs. He dipped and dried some skillets near a trough of
water. He sharpened some knives. He carried some charcoal hods nearer to
a stove needing replenishing.

After awhile the cook began to whistle cheerily. His perplexities were
lessening, and he felt good humored over it.

"Things in running order," he chirped. "You're a game lad. Hold on a
minute."

The cook emptied out a smoking pan into which he had placed a mass of
batter a few minutes previous.

"Don't burn yourself--it's piping hot," he observed, tendering Andy a
tempting raisin cake, enough for two meals.

"Oh, thank you," said Andy.

"Thank you, lad. Whenever you need a bite between meals, just drop in."

Andy came out of the tent passing the cake from hand to hand. He caught
a newspaper sheet fluttering by, wadded it up, and surmounted it with
the hot cake.

"That's better," he said. "My, it looks appetizing. Beg pardon," added
Andy, as rounding a tent he ran against a boy about his own age.

At a glance he saw that the stranger did not belong to the show. He was
poorly dressed, but clean-faced and bright-eyed, although he limped like
a person who had walked too far and too long for comfort.

"My fault," said the stranger. "I've done nothing but gape since I came
here. Say, this circus is a regular city in itself, isn't it?"

"Yes," answered Andy. "Stranger here?"

The boy nodded. He studied Andy's face quite anxiously.