“We found him lodged between the door and the screen during the big tornado of 1925.” said my brother.
“Yes， sir. It adds up，” said the hobo，“I was with a circus in Missouri in March of 1925. That was sure some blow. The big tent was ripped to shreds. Everything was demolished.”
“This poodle was the number-one top show dog. He’s so valuable he was insured for hundreds of dollars. Lucky dog， he is. Blowed all that distance and not getting hurt.”
Suddenly the hobo asked， “Do you have a barrel hoop， boys？”
“Sure， I’ll get you one，” said my brother. Running quickly to an old barrel， he lifted off one of the steel bands. He dashed back and handed it to the hobo.
From beneath his old battered hat the hobo’s blue eyes sparkled. A smile broke through his heavy gray beard.
“Watch this， ” he said. “Less you boys been to a circus you ain’t never seen anything like this.”
He walked out into the yard and held the loop a couple of feet above the ground.
“Get ready，” he said to Jacky， again using that strange sounding name. Jacky trembled with excitement. On command he sprang forward and leaped through the loop—forward， then backward. As commands continued， he hurled through the hoop， turning end over end. He danced on his hind legs， then on his front legs. My brothers and I stared in awe as the knowledgeable old hobo put Jacky through his circus tricks.
“He’s a little rusty on some of？ but he sure ain’t forgetting any of it，” said the hobo. “Sure is great being together again. Brings back memories， don’t it little friend？” he said fondly as he patted Jack’s head.
Then with a forlorn look about him， he straightened up. “I guess I best be going，” he mumbled and headed slowly towards the gate.Without hesitation， Jacky followed at his heels.
“Jacky， come back！ ” all three of us called. But it did no good.Tears trickled down our cheeks. We knew we had lost him.