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Fitzhugh, Percy Keese, 1876-1950

"Roy Blakely, Pathfinder"


Judge Dot just said very stiff like, "I'll bid you good night, sir ."
"Happy dreams, Shorty," Jib Jab called after him. Then he said, "That's the
trouble with all these freaks-uppish, especially the giant. Why he looks
down on everybody. Ma's about the best of the lot. Shorty thinks he's the
whole circus just because he has three rings on his hands. Same with
Skinny. I'd rather be back in the jungle than living with this bunch. Half
the time they don't speak to me. You see I'm not a regular freak; they
look on me as a kind of a butt-in."
I said, "Gee, I'm sorry; I should think they'd like you."
"They're all jealous," he said; "that's the trouble. They're all down on
parade work, even Ma. They couldn't stand for me making a hit with that
chain. Last week, up in Albany, I started to growl just as Shorty started
selling his photographs. The louder he piped away with that silly little
squeaky voice of his, the more I roared. When it comes to roaring, I've
got even the lions jealous. Fact is I'm not liked; they are all jealous,
even the animals. And I feel it, too; any honest hard working
_what-is-it_ would.


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