circus—he saw coming toward him a dilapidated rig. He knew it could be none other than that of Henry Darby. As the horse and wagon approached it seemed to Dick to look, more than ever, ready to fall apart.
"Well, Henry," he remarked. "I see you're still in business. The panic hasn't bothered you, has it?"
"Not me, so much as it has the horse and wagon," replied Henry, with a laugh. "Don't you think that beast's ribs are nearer caving in than they were the last time you saw it?"
"He does look thinner, for a fact," admitted Dick.
"He is," and Henry spoke with solemn earnestness. "They were almost touching on either side this morning, but I gave him all the hay I could afford and that sort of spread them apart. As for the wagon—well, I don't need any bell or automobile horn to tell people I'm coming. It rattles enough to be heard two blocks off."
"Why don't you get a better outfit?" suggested Dick. "I should think it would pay."
"It might pay, but I couldn't. I'll have to get along with this for a while," and Henry looked at the odd assortment of old metal he had collected and was taking to his storage yard.
"Isn't the business paying as well as you thought it would, Henry?"
"Oh, the business is all right. The trouble is the way the president manages it," and Henry
