low neck and
an apology for sleeves, who had just come out from the tent whereon the
picture of the Living Skeleton hung.

"Samuel," she screamed again, "come inside this minute, or you'll
catch your death o' cold, an' I shall have you wheezin' around with the
phthisic all night. Come in, Sam-u-el."

"That's her," said the skeleton to Toby, as he pointed his thumb in the
direction of the fat woman, but paying no attention to the outcry she
was making--"that's my wife Lilly, an' she's the Fat Woman of the show.
She's always yellin' after me that way the minute I get out for a little
fresh air, an' she's always sayin' just the same thing. Bless you, I
never have the phthisic, but she does awful; an' I s'pose 'cause she's
so large she can't feel all over her, an' thinks it's me that has it."

"Is--is all that--is that your wife?" stammered Toby, in astonishment,
as he looked at the enormously fat woman who stood in the tent door, and
then at the wonderfully thin man who sat beside him.

"Yes, that's her," said the skeleton. "She weighs pretty nigh four
hundred, though of course the show cards says it's over six hundred, an'
she earns almost as much money as I do. Of course she can't get so much,
for skeletons is much scarcer than fat folks; but we make a pretty good
thing travelin' together."

"Sam-u-el!" again came the cry from the fat woman, "are you never coming
in?"

"Not yet, my angel," said the skeleton, placidly, as he crossed one thin
leg over the other and looked calmly at her. "Come here an' see Job's
new boy."

"Your imprudence is wearin' me away so that I sha'n't be worth five
dollars a week to any circus," she said, impatiently, at the same time
coming toward the candy stand quite as rapidly as her very great size
would admit.

"This is my wife Lilly--Mrs. Treat," said the skeleton, with a proud
wave of his hand, as he rose from his seat and gazed admiringly at her.
"This is my flower--my queen, Mr. -- Mr. --"

"Tyler," said Toby, supplying the name which the skeleton--or Mr. Treat,
as Toby now learned his name was--did not know; "Tyler is my name--Toby
Tyler."

"Why, what a little chap you are!" said Mrs. Treat, paying no attention
to the awkward little bend of the head which Toby intended for a bow.
"How small he is, Samuel!"

"Yes," said the skeleton, reflectively, as he looked Toby over from head
to foot, as if he were mentally trying to calculate exactly how many
inches high he was, "he is