m
his face with it (it was a hot day), and at the same time walked past
Wallace's back. The look troubled me at the time, for not only did I see
hatred in it, but I saw triumph as well.

"'De Ville will bear watching,' I said to myself, and I really breathed
easier when I saw him go out the entrance to the circus grounds and
board an electric car for down town. A few minutes later I was in the
big tent, where I had overhauled Red Denny. King Wallace was doing
his turn and holding the audience spellbound. He was in a particularly
vicious mood, and he kept the lions stirred up till they were all
snarling, that is, all of them except old Augustus, and he was just too
fat and lazy and old to get stirred up over anything.

"Finally Wallace cracked the old lion's knees with his whip and got him
into position. Old Augustus, blinking good-naturedly, opened his mouth
and in popped Wallace's head. Then the jaws came together, CRUNCH, just
like that."

The Leopard Man smiled in a sweetly wistful fashion, and the far-away
look came into his eyes.

"And that was the end of King Wallace," he went on in his sad, low
voice. "After the excitement cooled down I watched my chance and bent
over and smelled Wallace's head. Then I sneezed."

"It... it was...?" I queried with halting eagerness.

"Snuff--that De Ville dropped on his hair in the dressing tent. Old
Augustus never meant to do it. He only sneezed."

LOCAL COLOR

"I do not see why you should not turn this immense amount of unusual
information to account," I told him. "Unlike most men equipped with
similar knowledge, YOU have expression. Your style is--"

"Is sufficiently--er--journalese?" he interrupted suavely.

"Precisely! You could turn a pretty penny."

But he interlocked his fingers meditatively, shrugged his shoulders, and
dismissed the subject.

"I have tried it. It does not pay."

"It was paid for and published," he added, after a pause. "And I was
also honored with sixty days in the Hobo."

"The Hobo?" I ventured.

"The Hobo--" He fixed his eyes on my Spencer and ran along the titles
while he cast his definition. "The Hobo, my dear fellow, is the name for
that particular place of detention in city and county jails wherein are
assembled tramps, drunks, beggars, and the riff-raff of petty offenders.
The word itself is a pretty one, and it has a history. Hautbois--there's
the French of it. Haut, meaning high, and bois, wood. In English
it becomes h