Wangaroo on Sundays. Mat's skeleton proportions were disguised in a long
overcoat, and Nickie wore a loud theatrical suit, and a conspicuous
clean-shave. He thought he looked like Henry Irving. He didn't see why he
shouldn't.

The company ate a late dinner in a room behind the show that evening.
Amiable Madame Marve had prepared an excellent meal, in which the
regulation beer and boiled leg of mutton course was relieved of monotony
with vegetables and dumplings. There was soup before and pudding after,
and in a burst of gratitude the Missing Link proposed the health of the
Egyptian Mystic which was being drunk with enthusiasm in Chinese brandy,
when suddenly a great racket arose in the yard, shouts and screams were
heard from the street, and Kit See burst in upon the dinner party, his
Celestial fade pale with terror, his usually benignant eyes round with
apprehension.

"What' for? Wha' far?" screamed the Chinaman at Professor Thunder. "Come!
Come! You come dam quick! Monkey he stealem my baby."

"Wha--at?" yelled the Professor.

"The monkey cally baby away alonga house-top si'." Kit pointed to the
ceiling. He was dancing with anguish.

The Professor dashed for the caravan cage, and was back in a minute.
"It's Ammonia," he cried, wild with excitement. "He's broke loose. He's
got the Chinaman's baby on the roof."

Kit See ran into the street, the Professor turned to follow, but Nickie
seized him.