Wells Hawks, Red Wagon Stories; or, Tales Told Under the Tent
“ The man who sold the red paste-boards at the ticket wagon always dressed better than the man who owned the circus. He ran largely to striped vests and wore shirts that were of the sassiest shade of pink. Like the Candy Butcher, he never wore his coat when he was working, but the vest and the trousers made him a swell enough picture. The rest of the outfit regarded him with the same awe that fills the spirit of a man earning twelve dollars a week who accidentally runs into J. Pierpont Morgan. ”
