The little fellow nodded in a grave, mature way at Andy.  According to his size, he resembled a child of four.  That was why they called him Midget.  Andy learned later that he was ten years old.  He had an act with the circus, going around the ring perched on the shoulders of a bare-back rider.  He also sometimes had a part with “the Tom Thumb acrobats,” doing some clever hoop-jumping with a trick Shetland pony.

He seemed to be just recovering from a fit of sickness.  His face, prematurely old, was pinched and colorless.

“Our Columbine in the Humpty Dumpty afterpiece,” was the way the clown introduced the lady.  “I don’t know how to thank you for all your trouble, Miss Nellis.”

“Don’t mention it, Billy,” responded the woman.  “Any of us would fight for it to help you or the kid, wouldn’t we, Midge?”

“I don’t know why,” answered the lad in a weary way.  “I ain’t much good any more.”

“Now hear that ungrateful boy!” rallied Miss Nellis.  “Billy, the doctor says his whole trouble was poisoned canned stuff, bad water and a cold.  He’s broken the fever.  Here’s some medicine.  Every hour a spoonful until gone, and doctor says he’ll be fit as ever in a day or two.”

“That’s good,” said the clown, a lone tear trickling down his cheek.  “I wish I could afford the hotel for the lad, instead of this rough-and-tumble shack life, but my wife’s hospital bills drain me pretty well.”

“Never mind.  Better times coming, Billy.  Don’t you get disheartened,” cheered the little woman.  “Remember now, don’t miss that medicine.”

Miss Nellis went away.  Andy heard poor Billy sigh as he adjusted the larger mattress.

“There’s your bunk,” he said to Andy.  “Marco will see you early in the morning.”

Andy took off his coat and shoes and lay down on the rude bed.  He watched Midget tracing the outlines of a picture with his white finger in a book Miss Nellis had brought him.

Andy saw the clown go over to a stool and place a homely, old-fashioned watch and a spoon and medicine bottle Miss Nellis had given him upon it.

Then Blow came back to the big mattress and sat down on it.  He bent his face in his hands in a tired way.  Every minute he would sway with sleepiness, start up, and try to keep awake.

“The man is half-dead for the want of sleep, worn out with all his worries,” thought Andy.  “Mr. Blow,” he said aloud, sitting up, “I can’t sleep a wink.  This is all so new to me.  I’ll just disturb you rustling about here.  Please let me attend to the little fellow, won’t you, and you take a good sound snooze?  Come, it will do you lots of good.”

“No, no,” began the clown weakly.

“Please,” persisted Andy.  “Honest, I can’t close my eyes.  Now don’t you have a care.  I’ll give Midget his medicine to the second.”

Andy felt a glow of real pleasure and satisfaction as the clown lay down.  He was asleep in two minutes.  Andy went over to the stool.