dicine, after telling the
people how much good it would do them, had stopped to let the boy
traveling with him play the banjo.

There are, or there used to be, many such traveling medicine shows.
Sometimes there would be a whole troop of Indians, some real and some
make-believe, that would be engaged by the seller of the medicine. He
would have the Indians do some of their queer dances and then, when a
crowd had collected, he would sell some medicine--maybe some he said the
Indians made themselves.

Another medicine seller would go about with a gaily painted wagon,
carrying a cornet player, a singer or a banjoist to attract a crowd. And
when the men and women were gathered about the end of the wagon, which
had a broad platform on the end and a flaring gasolene torch at night,
the man would tell about his medicine and sell all he could.

This traveling medicine show which Bunny Brown and his Sister Sue saw
was like those. And, just as the Browns reached the place in the village
square where the torch on the wagon was burning, the man had finished
selling a large number of bottles of medicine. It was about time he
amused the crowd again, he thought. So he called in a loud voice:

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, while I am getting out of my storeroom some
more bottles of my wonderful medicine that will cure all your pains and
aches, I will have my friend here, Professor Rombodno Prosondo entertain
you on his magical banjo. Professor Rombodno Prosondo, I might say, is
the most wonderful player on the banjo you have ever heard. He has
traveled all over the world and played in every country. Professor, you
will now oblige!"

Of course what the medicine man said about the banjo player was only a
joke, and the people knew that. He was not a professor at all. But he
was a good banjo player and a singer, and Bunny and Sue were delighted
with the music. The songs, too, were funny.

"He sings like a real colored boy," said Sue.

"Maybe he is," her father observed.

"Yes, and maybe he's only blacked up, like most of them," suggested Mrs.
Brown. "Can you tell if he looks anything like Fred Ward, Daddy?"

"No, I can't be sure that he does," said Mr. Brown. "I never saw much of
the missing boy, you know; and I certainly would not know him if he were
blackened like a negro. This one, if he is not really colored, is well
made-up. He would fool almost any one."

"Is there any way we could find out?" asked Mrs. Brown. "We ought to d