“Don’t let’s argue about it,” said Dick, who had been looking at the man with the greatest curiosity. “Are you really so rubbery that you can wriggle in and out of pipes and things? Do you — ”

But he didn’t have time to finish his question because the rubber-man flung himself down on the ground, did a few strange contortions, flicked himself between the boys’ legs — and there they both were, flat on the ground! The rubber-man was walking off, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Well!” said Dick, feeling a bump on his head. “I tried to grab his legs and they honestly felt like rubber! I say — what a pity these people resent us being in their field. It’s not going to be very pleasant to have them all banded against us. Not fair either. I should like to be friendly.”

“Well, perhaps it’s just a case of us-folk and you-folk,” said Julian. “There’s a lot of that kind of feeling about these days, and it’s so silly. We’re all the same under the skin. We’ve always got on well with anyone before.”

They hardly liked to go near the other caravans, though they longed to have a closer view of Alfredo the Fire-Eater.

“He looked so exactly like what I imagined a fire-eater ought to be,” said Dick. “I should think he’s probably chief of all the fair-folk here — if they’ve got a chief.”

“Look — here he comes!” said Julian. And sure enough, round the corner came Alfredo, running fast. He came towards the boys, and Julian at first thought that he was coming to chase them away. He didn’t mean to run from Alfredo, but it wasn’t very pleasant standing still, either, with this enormous fellow racing towards them, his cheeks as red as fire, his great mane of hair flopping up and down.

And then they saw why Alfredo was running! After him came his tiny little dark wife. She was shrieking at him in some foreign language, and was chasing him with a saucepan!

Alfredo lumbered by the two boys, looking scared out of his life. He went down to the stile, leapt over it and disappeared down the lane.

The little dark woman watched him go. When he turned to look round she waved the saucepan at him.

“Big bad one!” she cried. “You burn breakfast again! Again, again! I bang you with saucepan, big bad one. Come, Alfredo, come!”

But Alfredo had no intention of coming. The angry little woman turned to the two boys. “He burn breakfast,” she said. “He no watch, he burn always.”

“It seems queer for a fire-eater to burn something he’s cooking,” said Julian. “Though, on second thoughts, perhaps it’s not!”

“Poof! Fire-eating, it is easy!” said Alfredo’s hot-tempered little wife. “Cooking is not so easy. It needs brains and eyes and hands. But Fredo, he has no brains, his hands are clumsy — he can only eat fire, and what use is that?”