In the spotlight his name is Mister Mistin, Jr., and he is a little boy of five-going-on-six. As the star of the circus he is the envy of all who ever gummed spun sugar. His blond hair is long and in curls, and his Lord Fauntleroy suit shows no wrinkles. But who would dare call the confidante of lion tamers a sissy?

Since he is the star, Roland, as he is known to such intimate dependents as his mother, father, and big brother, pretty much calls the shots around the bigtop, even with interviewers from newspapers. "I talk English good," he said, when we were first introduced. "And I talk five languages too: English, my own French, Flemish--write this down," he broke off, pointing sharply at my notebook. "And, let's see, Flemish and Dutch and Swedish." began to stretch.

"Come Roland," his mother said. Time to dress for the act. You can talk afterwards."

"No!" he shot back.

"Please, Roland, you don't want this gentleman to think that you are note a nice little boy. Let me dress you."

"NO!"

"All right, Mama,: the older brother said. "Let him talk while he dresses."

Roland unscrewed his face from the brink of a tantrum and flashed a truly Continental smile. "Come," he told me. "I will tell you more. Will that man take my picture?" He turned to the photographer. "You can use the bright light that goes BOOM."

He let his mother undress him, only balking when she rubbed oil on his face and hair. "I have two friends here I play with," sputtered through the wash-cloth. "One is French, too, but you know," pointing to his head, "he's not so smart, and he is afraid of the animals. But the English boy whose father has the lions, is good. He knows what to do when a snake comes by. Do you know that?"

I admitted I didn't, but before he could explain, his brother came to take him into the arena. "Come with me," Roland commanded, so I joined the entourage. On the way we went be performers returning from the rings. They evenly divided between smiles and mutterings as Roland jostled past them.

While waiting for his cue, Roland told me about his act. "I play the xylophone. When he finally stepped before the audience that's about all he did. Everyone else feels that Mr. Mistin, Jr. would make a fine side show feature, but John Ringling North thinks it's a great act.

His mother came for a final check-up, but he waved her aside. "Go away, over there," he aid, pointing towards infinity. She shrugged and left. Before he went into his act, Roland flashed me another beatific smile and said, "You can talk more when I'm alone," then walked off in the brilliance of converging spotlights.

"He's a real little devil, like all boys," his mother said, smiling. "But he has the genius, and that makes a difference. It makes it all right--don't you think?"