"How's the savage beast business?" he asked him.
"What makes you thing I'm Chandler?" Jib Jab said.
Harry said, "Oh, I've suspected you were Chandler ever since these boys saw
your picture in the paper, but of course, I didn't know you had been mixed
up in the big scrap with me. Funny how things come about, huh?"
"Well, I suppose I'll have to admit it," Jib Jab said; "I hope you're not
going to shout it out loud."
"No, I just want your assistance. I think you're a good sport. Far be it
from me to criticise you for being a _what-is-it_. I'd like to be one
myself. Must be kind of nice flopping around the country with a lot of
freaks. How much does that skinny fellow weigh, anyhow? He looks like
a ramrod. Little fellow's kind of pesky, isn't he?"
The two of them just sat there smoking cigarettes. Harry was dangling his
legs from the platform and Jib Jab had his feet resting on it and his chair
tilted back. It was awful funny to see them. For a couple of minutes
neither of them said anything, only Harry kept looking around at the
platforms where the freaks usually were. Pretty soon he just blurted out,
"How'd you happen to hit this job, Chandler?"
Jib Jab said, "Oh, I don't know; its a long story.
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