BBS VERSUS MAHDI.

IT was shortly after noon, and the day was warm and still. No one was
stirring in Waddy. Professor Thunder had given up the idea that his
eloquence could conquer the general lassitude, and was snoring in the
tent of the Egyptian Mystic. Madame Marve was shopping in the township,
and Matty Cann, the Living Skeleton, had come down from his throne and
was curled up on a horse-rug. Ammonia, the orang-outang, sprawled on the
floor of his cage, and the other monkeys were chattering angrily.

Nickie sat with his back to the wall of his compartment, sweltering in
the hot garb of the Missing Link, drowsing and day-dreaming of beer. He
thought he was sitting in a sylvian glade, with an attendant nymph, where
a cascade splashed over crystal rocks, and the cascade was beer--all
beer.

"Ello there!" said a thick voice. Someone was shaking the bars of the
cage. "Get up and do some thin', blarst yer eyes! What have I paid yeh
for?" continued the voice.

Tish had taken sixpence at the door, and admitted a patron without giving
due warning to the exhibits. It was a rule that the public was not to be
admitted to the Museum of Marvels without proper notice being given to
the company. The precaution was necessary to obviate the chance of the
Egyptian Mystic being discovered in the act of preparing onions for the
stew, or engaged upon some other menial task, to the destruction of her
dignity and mystery as a distinguished foreigner with supernatural
powers. Or the people might have come upon the Missing Link in heated
debate with the Living Skeleton, or in the hearty enjoyment of a long
beer, or possibly reading a sentimental novel.

Nickie bared the long tusks of his mask in a malignant grin, but did not
stir. He couldn't be expected to waste his arts and graces on a common
drunk.

The man rattled the bars of the cage again. "'Ello! 'Ello!" he cried,
"shake yourself up! Le's see what yer made of. Get goin'. Give us a
specimen of yer arts."

The Missing Link yawned hideously, stretching his long hairy limbs, and
blinked his little eyes at the visitor.

"Tha's not so bad," growled the man. "You're a bit of an artist, anyhow,
but I reckon you ain't nothin' t' some of the Missin' Links I've come
across in my time. I've been in the business myself, so you can't monkey
me, my man."

Nickie sat up, growled in his best style, and scratched with the dull
laziness of a tired ape.

"'Ere, 'ere," cried the man, "'ere, '