race led through the assembled crowd. If the contest
was a part of the day's program, no spectator seemed willing to play
"stooge" in this preliminary performance.

Some distance to the north where the two great tents of the main show
came together, a group of workmen were operating a stake driver. In
this gang the midget knew he would find understanding friends. If he
could gain sufficient distance to undertake this straightaway, he
would find help. He dived between a spectator's legs, turned to the
right, and ran for this haven of hope.

Two things interrupted his plans. A ramshackle auto moved across his
path. To avoid collision, the midget veered his course to step in a
hole and fall sprawling at the feet of the man clambering out of the
machine. His pursuer was on him in an instant. "I tole ye I would cut
yer heart out," he panted as he brandished the knife. But before he
could execute the threat, the knife was struck from his uplifted hand.

The lout screamed with pain as he grabbed his wrist. "Yu've broke my
arm," he shouted as he danced around the big man. "Why don't ye pick
on one of yer size?" The stranger took in the situation at a glance.
The slanting forehead and the evil though childish face revealed a
moron with whom words of reason would have little effect. He said
nothing.

It was the midget who took charge. He scrambled to his feet, took a
few deep breaths, brushed the dust off his coat, and ordered the moron
back to the side show. "Go back to your mother," he commanded. "Go
right back to Mamie and tell her what you've been doing, and tell her
all of it. Don't look for your knife; I'll get that for you when you
get over your tantrum."

The midget watched the retreating figure. "His mother is a fine
woman," he explained to the stranger. "Has charge of costumes and
assists in makeup. That dunce is with her on a few days vacation from
a school for the feeble-minded.

"And now, Mister, I want to thank you for your timely help. You
probably saved my life, for you can't tell what a half-wit will do,
when in a tantrum and armed with a knife. All my life I've had the
enmity of half-wits. The big ones tease 'em and they take it out on
the little fellow.

"Well, that's that, as dear Marie Dressler says. I certainly am
indebted to you, Mister. What's your name, Mister? I surely ought to
know the name of the man that probably saved my life."

"My name is Welborn, Sam Welborn. I live quite a distance back