Wild Rover No More: Being The Last Recorded Account Of The Life & Times Of Jacky Faber - Plot & Excerpts
says Higgins. Obediently, I duck my sudsy head ’neath the hot bathwater, and his strong fingers work at the roots of my unruly mop of hair. “Ahhhh.” I breathe as my face breaks the surface, eyes squeezed shut against the soap. “Nobody has hands like you, Higgins. I shall miss you.” We have visited two more towns since Wareham and are about to open in Taunton. We have been doing extremely well since the introduction of the midway, and I am most pleased. My people are happy and so am I. Higgins, alas, will leave us in New Bedford to return to Boston. “The feeling is mutual, Miss, but I think that I shall be of more service to you there, in your current precarious legal situation, than continuing to act as an overpaid circus barker and following you and your circus down to your winter quarters to bask on some tropical shore, however attractive that prospect might sound. And Mr. O’Rourke has shown an aptitude for delicate negotiations with greedy town officials and should step into that role quite nicely.”
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