planter who was "backing"
the show.

He found this latter individual a somewhat sullen and taciturn man of
middle age, who had more the appearance of an Austrian than a Brazilian,
and with a swinging gait and an uprightness of bearing which were not to
be misunderstood.

"Humph! Known military training," was Cleek's mental comment as soon as
he saw the man walk. "Got it in Germany, too; I know that peculiar
'swing.' What's his little game, I wonder? And what's a Brazilian doing
in the army of the Kaiser? And, having been in it, what's he doing
dropping into this line; backing a circus, and travelling with it like a
Bohemian?"

But although these thoughts interested him, he did not put them into
words nor take anybody into his confidence regarding them.

As for the other members of the company, he found "the indifferent
rider," known as Signor Antonio Martinelli, an undoubted Irishman of
about thirty years of age, extremely handsome, but with a certain
"shiftiness" of the eye which was far from inspiring confidence, and
with a trick of the tongue which suggested that his baptismal
certificate probably bore the name of Anthony Martin. He found, too,
that all he had heard regarding the youth and beauty of the chevalier's
second wife was quite correct, and although she devoted herself a great
deal to the Brazilian coffee planter and the Irish-Italian "Martinelli,"
she had a way of looking over at her middle-aged spouse, without his
knowledge, that left no doubt in Cleek's mind regarding the real state
of her feelings toward the man. And last, but not least by any means, he
found the chevalier himself a frank, open-minded, open-hearted, lovable
man, who ought not, in the natural order of things, to have an enemy in
the world. Despite his high-falutin _nom de theatre_, he was Belgian, a
big, soft-hearted, easy-going, unsuspicious fellow, who worshipped his
wife, adored his children, and loved every creature of the animal world.

How well that love was returned, Cleek saw when he went with him to that
part of the building where his animals were kept, and watched them
"nose" his hand or lick his cheek whenever the opportunity offered. But
Nero, the lion, was perhaps the greatest surprise of all, for so tame,
so docile, so little feared was the animal, that its cage door was open,
and they found one of the attendants squatting cross-legged inside and
playing with it as though it were a kitten.

"There he is, doctor," sai