thinking.
Little Miss Mary piped up, âOrnery?â
âNo, I was about to say feisty, â answered Edson. âOr perhaps outspoken. Never would I call such a lovely lady as you ornery. â
âWhy, thank you, Calvin. May I say itâs a pleasure to pass the time of day with a true gentleman such as yourself.â She giggled again and moved her eyelashes up and down at Edson. âSeeing as weâre so suited to each other, how about we get married? The Trasks could charge admission to the ceremony. What a âcuriosityâ that would be! And our children! Why, Lovey and Hiram could make a bundle. What do you say, Calvin, shall you and I get married?â
Little Miss Mary enjoyed her joke so much she fell into a laughing fit, and Calvin Edson had to pat her back to keep her from choking. When sheâd recovered herself, she looked me over and said, âSo, young man. Did you come searching for a job? Worldâs Dirtiest Boy, perhaps? Iâm afraid the position of wild savage is already taken.â
She stared at me and waited for my answer. Iâd never heard a voice quite like hers. It was pitched high, the same as her laugh, and sounded little, somehow, like the rest of her. I didnât quite know how to take her. Truth to tell, I found her frightening, though I couldnât have said just why. She was laughing fit to die, but she seemed angry about something, instead of happy, which made me wonder if she was in her right mind.
I didnât have time to think about it just then. âIâIâm looking for somebody,â I said. âA friend. I think he might be the savage youâre talking about. The one you call the White Injun. Is he here?â
Calvin Edson and Little Miss Mary stared at me like maybe I was on display in a show.
âYou say youâre his friend?â Calvin Edson asked after a minute had gone by with them both looking at me, their eyes and mouths wide open.
âYes,â I said.
Miss Mary and Edson glanced at each other, and I could have sworn something passed between them, though I was puzzled as to what it might be.
I tried again. âIs he here?â I asked.
âYou say youâre looking for the White Injun?â Edson said slowly.
âItâs what you folks call him, anyhow,â I said. âHis real nameâs Ezra Ketcham, and he ainât an Indian or a savage, either.â
âYouâll have to talk to the Trasks,â Miss Mary said. Her lips were set in a straight line. She appeared to have sobered up right quick.
âTheyâre the folks who own the show?â I asked.
âThatâs their wagon,â she said, pointing. âAnd listen here. Donât tell them you talked to us, understand?â
I shrugged. âSure,â I agreed. âIf you say so.â I started to walk away. Then I turned back and said, âEzraâhe is here, right?â
âAsk the Trasks,â said Miss Mary. She was hopping down off the back of the wagon as she spoke, which was a pretty far ways for someone as little as she was. Edson put his feet down and stood up, and they both hurried off and disappeared behind one of the other wagons. It struck me as mighty peculiar behavior.
There didnât seem to be anything to do but find the Trasks. I headed toward the wagon Miss Mary had pointed out, and heard voices coming from inside. I wasnât exactly trying to listen in on somebody elseâs talk, but I couldnât help it.
âSoon as we get back to South Carolina for the winter, I say we buy us a new act, something folks out here canât even imagine. If we could find one as good as the Injun, we could get rid of some of the others.â
There was some mumbling I couldnât understand, then the same voice, which sounded like a womanâs, answered back.
âBy next season, or the next, people will be tired of fat ladies, skinny men, and midgets. We need something