We was jogging along one afternoon not fur from a good-sized town at the top of Ohio, right on the lake, when we run acrost some remainders of a busted circus riding in a stake and chain wagon.

They was two fellers--both jugglers, acrobats, and tumblers--and a balloon.

The circus had busted without paying them nothing but promises fur months and months, and they had took the team and wagon and balloon by attachment, they said.

They was carting her from the little burg the show busted in to that good-sized town on the lake.

They would sell the team and wagon there and get money enough to put an advertisement in the Billboard, which is like a Bible to them showmen, that they had a balloon to sell and was at liberty.
One of them was the slimmest, lightest-footed, quickest feller you ever seen, with a big nose and dark complected, and his name was Tobias.