The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings; Or, Making the Start in the Sawdust Life

by Edgar B. P. Darlington

  CHAPTER IV

  THE CIRCUS COMES TO TOWN

  The Sparling Combined Shows came rumbling into Edmeston at aboutthree o'clock the next morning. But, early as was the hour, twoboys sat on the Widow Cahill's door-yard fence watching thewagons go by.

  The circus was one of the few road shows that are now travelingthrough the country, as distinguished from the great modernorganizations that travel by rail with from one to half a dozenmassive trains. The Sparling people drove from town to town.They carried twenty-five wagons, besides a band wagon, awild-west coach and a calliope.

  "Phil! Phil! Look!" exclaimed Teddy, clutching at hiscompanion's coat sleeve, as two hulking, swaying figures appearedout of the shadows of the early morning.

  "Where?"

  "There."

  "Elephants! There's two of them."

  "Ain't that great? I didn't suppose they'd have any elephants.Wonder if there's any lions and tigers in those big wagons."

  "Of course there are. Didn't you see pictures of them on thebills, Teddy?"

  "I don't know. Dan Marts, the postmaster, says you can't set anystore by the pictures. He says maybe they've got the things yousee in the pictures, and maybe they haven't. There's a camel!Look at it! How'd you like to ride on that hump all day?"questioned Teddy gleefully.

  "Shouldn't like it at all."

  "I read in my geography that they ride on them all the time onthe--on--on Sarah's Desert."

  "Oh, you mean the Sahara Desert--that's what you mean," laughedPhil.

  "Well, maybe."

  "I should rather ride an elephant. See, it's just like a rockingchair. I could almost go to sleep watching them move along."

  "I couldn't," declared Teddy. "I couldn't any more go to sleepwhen a circus is going by than I could fly without wings."

  "See, there comes a herd of ponies. Look how small they are. Notmuch bigger than St. Bernard dogs. They could walk right underthe elephants and not touch them."

  "Where do they all sleep?" wondered Teddy.

  "Who, the ponies?"

  "No, of course not. The people."

  "I don't know unless they sleep in the cages with the animals,"laughed Phil. "Some of the folks appear to be sleeping on thehorses."

  "I'd be willing to go without sleep if I could be a showman,"mused Teddy. "Wouldn't you?"

  "Sure," agreed Phil. "Hello! There come some more wagons. Comeon! We'll run down to meet them."

  "No; Let's go over to the grounds where the circus is coming off.They'll be putting up the tents first thing we know."

  "That's so, and I want to be around. You going to work any,Teddy?"

  "Not I. I'm going to see the show, but you don't catch mecarrying pails of water for the elephants for a ticket ofadmission that don't admit you to anything except a stand-up. Ican stand up cheaper than that."

  Both boys slipped from the fence, and, setting off at a jog trot,began rapidly overhauling and passing the slow-moving wagons withtheir tired horses and more tired drivers.

  By the time Teddy and Phil reached the circus grounds severalwagons were already there. Shouts sprang up from all parts ofthe field, while half a dozen men began measuring off the groundin the dim morning light, locating the best places in which topitch the tents. Here and there they would drive in a stake, onone of which they tied a piece of newspaper.

  "Wonder what that's for," thought Phil aloud.

  "Hey, what's the paper tied on the peg for?" shouted Teddy to apassing showman.

  "That's the front door, sonny."

  "Funniest looking front door I ever saw," grunted Teddy.

  "He means that's the place where the people enter and leave theirtickets."

  "Oh, yes. That's what they call the 'Main Entrance,'" noddedTeddy. "I've seen it, but I don't usually go in that way."

  With the early dawn figures began emerging from several of thewagons. They were a sleepy looking lot, and for a time stoodabout in various attitudes, yawning, stretching their arms andrubbing their eyes.

  "Hey, boy, what town is this?" questioned a red-haired youth,dragging himself toward the two lads.

  "Edmeston."

  "Oh, yes. I remember; I was here once before."

  "With a show?" asked Teddy.

  "Yes, with a Kickapoo Indian medicine man. And he was badmedicine. Say, where can I wash my countenance?"

  "Come on; I'll show you," exclaimed Teddy and Phil in the samebreath.

  They led the way to the opposite side of the field, where therewas a stream of water. While the circus boy was making hismorning toilet the lads watched him in admiring silence.

  "What do you do?" ventured Phil.

  "I perform on the rings."

  "Up in the air?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Ever fall off?"

  "I get my bumps," grinned the red-haired boy. "My name is RodneyPalmer. What's your names?"

  They told him.

  "We're going to be circus men, too," Teddy informed him, but theannouncement did not seem to stir a deep interest in the circusboy. He had heard other boys say the same thing. "Is it veryhard work?"

  "Worst ever."

  "When do you sleep?"

  "When we ain't awake."

  "And you perform on the flying rings?"

  Rodney nodded his head indifferently.

  "I should think you'd burn the tent up with that head of redhair," grinned Teddy.

  Instead of getting angry at the boy's thrust, Rodney glanced atTeddy with a half questioning look in his eyes, then burst outlaughing.

  "You're a cheerful idiot, aren't you?" he twinkled. "I'll tellyou why I don't. Confidentially, you know?"

  "Sure."

  "I wear a wig when I'm performing. Mebby if it wasn't for that Imight set something on fire. I must get over on the lot now."

  "You're in a lot already," Teddy informed him.

  "We call the place where we pitch the tents 'the lot.' The cooktent must be up by this time, and I'm half starved. Theperformance was so late yesterday afternoon that they had thecook tent down before I got my supper. Will you come along?"

  They did.

  "Do you think there is anything I could do to earn a ticket tothe show today?" asked Phil.

  "Yes, there's most always something for a boy to do."

  "Whom do I ask about it?"

  "Go see the boss canvasman. I'll point him out to you as we goalong."

  "Thank you. You want to see him, too, Teddy?"

  "No; I don't have to."

  "That's him over there. He's a grouch, but just don't let himbluff you. Yes, the cook tent's about ready. I'll sneak in andhook something before breakfast; then mebby I'll come back andtalk with you."

  "We'll look for you in the show this afternoon," said Phil.

  "All right, if I see you I'll swing my hand to you," Rodneyreplied, starting for the cook tent, where the meals were servedto the show people.

  "Now, I'm going to see that boss canvasman," announced Phil."See, they are laying the pieces of the tents flat on the ground.I suppose they fasten them all together when they get themplaced, then raise them up on the poles."

  "I guess so. I don't care much so long as I don't have to doit."

  "Teddy Tucker, actually you are the laziest boy I ever knew. Whydon't you brace up?"

  "Don't I have just as good a time and better, than you do?"

  "Guess you do."

  "Don't I get just as much to eat?"

  "I presume so," admitted Phil.

  "Don't I see all the shows that come to town, and go to all thepicnics?"

  "Yes."

  "Then, what's the use of being any more'n lazy?"

  Teddy's logic was too much for his companion, and Phil laughedheartily.

  "Look, the elephant is butting one of the wagons," cried Teddy.

  "No, they are using the elephant to push the cage around inplace. I wonder what's in it," said Phil.

  A roar that fairly made the ground shake answered P
hil'squestion. The cage in question held a lion, and a big, ugly oneif his voice was any indication. The great elephant, when thecage was being placed, would, at a signal from its keeper, placeits ponderous head against one side of the cage and push, while adriver would steer the wagon by taking hold of the end of thetongue.

  It was a novel sight for the two boys, and they watched it withthe keenest interest. A man dressed in riding clothes, carryinga short crop in his hand, was observing the operations with equalinterest. He was James Sparling, the proprietor and manager ofthe Great Combined Shows, but the lads were unaware of that fact.Even had they known, it is doubtful if Mr. Sparling would havebeen of sufficient attraction to draw their attention from theworking elephant.

  All at once there was a warning shout from Mr. Sparling.

  The men set up a yell, followed by a sudden scurrying from theimmediate vicinity of the cage that the elephant had beenshunting about.

  "Stop it! Brace it!" bellowed the owner of the show, makingfrantic motions with his free hand, cutting circles and dashes inthe air with the short crop held in the other.

  "What's the row?" wondered Teddy.

  "I--I don't know," stammered Phil.

  "The elephant's tipping the lion cage over!" shouted someone."Run for your lives!"

  For once in his life Teddy Tucker executed a lightning-likemovement. He was one of several dark streaks on the landscaperunning as if Wallace, the biggest lion in captivity, were inreality hard upon his heels. As he ran, Teddy uttered a howlthat could have been heard from one end of the circus lot to theother.

  A few of the more fearless ones, the old hands of the show, didnot attempt to run. Instead they stood still, fairly holdingtheir breaths, waiting to see what would happen next.

  Mr. Sparling was too far away to be able to do anything toprevent the catastrophe that was hanging over them, but it didnot prevent him from yelling like a madman at the inactiveemployees of the show.

  At the first cry--the instant he comprehended what washappening-- Phil Forrest moved every bit as quickly as had hiscompanion, though he leaped in the opposite direction.

  All about on the ground lay tent poles of various length andthickness, side poles, quarter poles and the short side polesused to hold the tent walls in place. These were about twentyfeet in length and light enough to be easily handled.

  With ready resourcefulness and quick comprehension, Phil pouncedupon one of these and darted toward the cage which was topplingover in his direction.

  The roof of the lion cage that housed Wallace projected over theedge some six inches, and this had caught the keen eyes of thelad at the first alarm. His plan had been formed in a flash.

  He shot one end of the side pole up under the projecting roof,jammed the other end into the ground, throwing his whole weightupon the foot of the pole to hold it in place.

  For an instant the tent pole bent like a bow under the pull ofthe archer. It seemed as if it must surely snap under theterrific strain.

  Phil saw this, too. Now that the foot of the pole was firmlyimbedded in the ground, there was no further need for him to holdit down. He sprang under the pole with the swaying cage directlyover him, grabbed the pole at the point where it was arching sodangerously, and pulling himself from the ground, held to theslippery stick desperately.

  Light as he was the boy's weight saved the pole. It bent nofurther.

  The cage swayed from side to side, threatening to topple over atone end or the other.

  "Get poles under the ends," shouted the boy in a shrill voice. "Ican't hold it here all day."

  "Get poles, you lazy good-for-nothings!" bellowed the owner."Brace those ends. Look out for the elephant. Don't you seehe's headed for the cage again?"

  Orders flew thick and fast, but through it all Phil Forrest hunggrimly to the side pole, taking a fresh overhand hold, now andthen, as his palms slipped down the painted stick.

  Now that he had shown the way, others sprang to his assistance.Half a dozen poles were thrust up under the roof and the cagebegan slowly settling back the other way.

  "Hadn't you better have some poles braced against the other side,sir?" suggested Phil, touching his hat to Mr. Sparling, who, hehad discovered, was some person in authority. "The cage may tipclear over on the other side, or it may drop so heavily on thewheels as to break the axles."

  "Right. Brace the off side. That's right. Now let it downslowly. Not so hard on the nigh side there. Ease off there,Bill. Push, Patsy. What do you think this is--a game of croquet?There you go. Right. Now let's see if you woodenheads knowenough to keep the wagon right side up."

  Mr. Sparling took off his hat and wiped the perspiration from hisforehead, while Phil stood off calmly surveying the men who werestraightening the wagon, but with more caution than they hadexercised before.

  "Come here, boy."

  Someone touched Phil on the arm.

  "What is it?"

  "Boss wants to speak to you."

  "Who?"

  "Boss Sparling, the fellow over there with the big voice and thesombrero."

  Phil walked over and touched his hat to Mr. Sparling.

  The showman looked the lad over from head to foot.

  "What's your name?" He shot the question at the lad as if angryabout something, and he undoubtedly was.

  "Phil Forrest."

  "Do they grow your kind around here?"

  "I can't say, sir."

  "If they do, I'd like to hire a dozen or more of them. You'vegot more sense than any boy of your age I ever saw. How old areyou?"

  "Sixteen."

  "Huh! I wish I had him!" growled Mr. Sparling. "What do youwant?"

  "I should like to have a chance to earn a pass to the show thisafternoon. Rodney Palmer said the boss canvasman might give me achance to earn one."

  "Earn one? Earn one?" Mr. Sparling's voice rose to a roar again."What in the name of Old Dan Rice do you think you've been doing?Here you've kept a cage with a five-thousand-dollar lion fromtipping over, to say nothing of the people who might have beenkilled had the brute got out, and you want to know how you canearn a pass to the show? What d'ye think of that?" and the ownerappealed helplessly to an assistant who had run across the lot,having been attracted to the scene by the uproar.

  The assistant grinned.

  "He's too modest to live."

  "Pity modesty isn't more prevalent in this show, then. How manydo you want? Have a whole section if you say the word."

  "How many are there in a section?" asked Phil.

  " 'Bout a hundred seats."

  Phil gasped.

  "I--I guess two will be enough," he made answer.

  "Here you are," snapped the owner, thrusting a card at the lad,on which had been scribbled some characters, puzzling to theuninitiated. "If you want anything else around this show youjust ask for it, young man. Hey, there! Going to be all daygetting that canvas up? Don't you know we've got a parade comingalong in a few hours?"

  Phil Forrest, more light of heart than in many days, turned awayto acquaint his companion of his good fortune. Teddy Tucker wasmaking his way cautiously back to the scene of the excitement ofa few moments before.

  "Did he get away?" Teddy questioned, ready to run at the drop ofthe hat should the danger prove to be still present.

  "Who, the manager?"

  "No, the lion."

  "He's in the cage where he's been all the time. They haven'topened it yet, but I guess he's all right. Say, Teddy!"

  "Say it."

  "I've got a pass to the show for two people for bothperformances--this afternoon and tonight."

  The interest that the announcement brought to Teddy's eyes diedaway almost as soon as it appeared.

  "Going?"

  "Am I going? I should say so. Want to go in with me on my pass,Teddy?"

  The lad hitched his trousers, took a critical squint at thecanvas that was slowly mounting the center pole to theaccompaniment of creaking ropes, groaning tackle and confusedshout
ing.

  "They're getting the menagerie tent up. I'll bet it's going tobe a dandy show," he vouchsafed. "How'd you get the tickets?"

  "Manager gave them to me."

  "What for?"

  "I did a little work for him. Helped get the lion's cagestraightened up. How about it--are you going in on my pass?"

  "N-o-o," drawled Teddy. "Might get me into bad habits to go inon a pass. I'd rather sneak in under the tent when the bossisn't looking."