In about fifteen minutes Ralph leaned from the window to greet a coterie he had been expecting for some time.
Stiggs, placid-faced and leisurely as usual, led a party Ralph had seen grouped around the circus cages on the street tracks at noon.
The six menagerie men still carried their equipment for capturing the escaped tiger: pikes, hooks, halter chain, and muzzle.
The manager, his hat stuck back on his head, nervously chewing a match and urging Stiggs to hurry, looked very much excited.
"Come, can't you hustle a bit?" Ralph heard him say to Stiggs. "Where's your tiger?"
Stiggs pointed up to the switch tower.
"What are you giving me?" demanded the circus manager in disgust—"that's a boy."
"He sent me—he knows where the tiger is," asserted Stiggs.
"Oh, that's it. Young man!" called up the circus manager. "Do you know this man?"
"Very intimately. I sent him to you. I have located your escaped animal, as he told you, I presume?" said Ralph.
"He did. It's true, then?" cried the circus manager eagerly. "Where is the brute?"
"Mr. Stiggs," called down Ralph, "are these people going to pay you for your trouble?"
