"Twenty can play as well as one."
The man under the chaise top pricked up his ears and cast a significant look at the plug hat on the platform. Plug hat on the platform seemed to recognize some affinity in plug hat on the van, and there was an acceleration of mutual interest when the parrot croaked his sentence again.
Buck tipped forward with a clatter of his chair legs and trudged down to the roadside. He walked around the outfit with an inquisitive sniffing of his nose and a crinkling of eyebrows, and at last set himself before the man of the chaise top, his knuckles on his hips.
"Who be I?" he demanded.
The stranger surveyed him for some time, huggling his head down in cowering fashion, so it seemed in the dusk.
"You," he huskily ventured, "are Buck's Leviathan Circus and Menagerie; Ivory Buck, Proprietor."
"And you," declared Buck, "are Brick Avery, inventor of the dancing turkey and captor of the celebrated infant anaconda-side-show graft with me for eight years.
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