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T'S a hoarse hoot from El Paso to South America; but did you ever see a pink whale playing with a ball of yarn? Well, that's the answer. Tib was about as graceful as that fettlesome fish in trying to explain to the big-gun how he happened to leave the show across the line and why he did not care to frolic back and reclaim it. Naturally we were at once released from all earthly ties, so far as the circus boss was concerned, and after squeezing out car-fares for the four orphans we sauntered along to New Orleans, where we met young Santos. He was of Portuguese extraction, and his pater, we learned, was one of the head business sharps in Brazil. The more he came to know Tib the more he insisted the old chap should hie home with him and cut up in a commercial way.

"Finally my patron agreed, all our expenses being paid. Young Santos, it seemed, needed a man tinged with sanity and a git-up-and-git quality of mind to ramble up to Cavinas and obtain rubber