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

by Edgar B. P. Darlington

  CHAPTER XV

  A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE

  "That was a knockout, kid," nodded Mr. Miaco, with emphasis. "I'mlaughing on the inside of me yet. I don't dare let my facelaugh, for fear the wrinkles will break through my makeup."

  "Thank you," smiled Phil, tugging at his silk tights, that fittedso closely as to cause him considerable trouble in stripping themoff.

  "You'll have the whole show jealous of you if you don't watchout. But don't get a swelled head--"

  "Not unless I fall off and bump it," laughed Phil. "Where do Iwash?"

  "You always want to get a pail of water before you undress."

  "Say, Phil, did you really fly?" queried Teddy, who was standingby eyeing his companion admiringly.

  "Sure. Didn't you see me?"

  "I did and I didn't. Will you show me how to fly like that?"

  " 'Course I will. You come in under the big top tomorrow afterthe show and I'll give you a lesson."

  Teddy had not happened to observe the simple mechanicalarrangement that had permitted the young circus performer tocarry out his flying act.

  "I reckon you ought to get a dollar a day for that stunt,"decided Teddy.

  "Yes, I think so myself," grinned Phil.

  Teddy now turned his attention to Mr. Miaco, who, made up for hisclown act in the ring, presented a most grotesque appearance.

  "How do I look?" asked the clown, noting the lad's observantgaze.

  "You look as if you'd stuck your head in a flour barrel," gruntedTeddy.

  "Ho ho," laughed the clown. "I'll have to try that on theaudience. That's a good joke. To look at you, one wouldn't thinkit of you, either."

  "Oh, that's nothing. I can say funnier things than that when Iwant to. Why--"

  But their conversation was cut short by the band striking up thetune to which Mr. Miaco always entered the ring.

  "Listen to me, kid. You'll hear them laugh when I tell 'em thestory," he called back. And they did. The audience roared whenthe funny man told them what his young friend had said.

  His work for the day having been finished, Phil bethought himselfof his trunk, which had not yet been packed. His costume wassuspended from a line in the dressing tent where many othercostumes were hanging to air and dry after the strenuous laborsof their owners.

  Phil took his slender belongings down, shook them out well andlaid them in the trunk that Mrs. Waite had given him. It was toolate for Phil to get his bag from the baggage wagon, so with agrin he locked his tights and his wig in the trunk.

  "Guess they won't break their backs lifting that outfit," hemused.

  Phil then strolled in to watch the show. He found many newpoints of interest and much that was instructive, as he studiedeach act attentively and with the keenness of one who had been inthe show business all his life.

  "Someday I'll have a show like this myself," nodded the boy. Hedid not know that he expressed his thoughts aloud until henoticed that the people sitting nearest to him were regarding himwith amused smiles.

  Phil quickly repressed his audible comments.

  The show was soon over; then came the noise and the confusion ofthe breaking up. The illusion was gone--the glamor was a thingof the past. The lad strolled about slowly in search of hiscompanion, whom he eventually found in the dressing tent.

  "Teddy, isn't it about time you and I went to bed?" he asked.

  "Oh, I don't know. Circus people sleep when there isn't anythingelse to do. Where we going to sleep?"

  "Same place, I presume, if no one gets ahead of us."

  "They'd better not. I'll throw them out if they do."

  Phil laughed good-naturedly.

  "If I remember correctly, somebody was thrown out last night andthis morning, but it didn't happen to be the other fellow. I'mhungry; wish I had something to eat."

  "So am I," agreed Teddy.

  "You boys should get a sandwich or so and keep the stuff in yourtrunk while we are playing these country towns. When we get intothe cities, where they have restaurants, you can get a lunchdowntown after you have finished your act and then be back intime to go out with the wagons," Mr. Miaco informed them."You'll pick up these little tricks as we go along, and it won'tbe long before you are full-fledged showmen. You are pretty nearthat point already."

  The lads strolled out on the lot and began hunting for theirwagon. They found nothing that looked like it for sometime andhad about concluded that the canvas wagon had gone, when theychanced to come across the driver of the previous night, whodirected them to where they would find it.

  "The wagon isn't loaded yet. You'll have to wait half an hour orso," he said.

  They thanked him and went on in the direction indicated, wherethey soon found that which they were in search of.

  "I think we had better wait here until it is loaded," advisedPhil, throwing himself down on the ground.

  "This having to hunt around over a ten-acre lot for your bedroomevery night isn't as much fun as you would think, is it?" grinnedTeddy.

  "Might be worse. I have an idea we haven't begun to experiencethe real hardships of the circus life." And indeed they had not.

  Soon after that the wagon was loaded, and, bidding the driver acheery good night, the circus boys tumbled in and crawled underthe canvas.

  They were awakened sometime before daylight by a sudden heavydownpour of rain. The boys were soaked to the skin, the waterhaving run in under the canvas until they were lying in a puddleof water.

  There was thunder and lightning. Phil scrambled out first andglanced up at the driver, who, clothed in oilskins, was huddledon his seat fast asleep. He did not seem to be aware that therewas anything unusual about the weather.

  "I wish I was home," growled Teddy.

  "Well, I don't. Bad as it is, it's better than some other thingsthat I know of. I'll tell you what I'll do--I'll get rubbercoats for us both when we get in in the morning."

  "Got the money?"

  "That's so. I had forgotten that," laughed Phil. "I neverthought that I should need money to buy a coat with. We'll haveto wait until payday. I wonder when that is?"

  "Ask Mr. Sparling."

  "No; I would rather not."

  "All right; get wet then."

  "I am. I couldn't be any more so were I to jump in the mill pondat home," laughed Phil.

  Home! It seemed a long way off to these two friendless, or atleast homeless, boys, though the little village of Edmeston wasless than thirty miles away.

  The show did not get in to the next town until sometime afterdaylight, owing to the heavy condition of the roads. The cooktent was up when they arrived and the lads lost no time inscrambling from the wagon. They did not have to be thrown outthis morning.

  "Come on," shouted Phil, making a run for the protection of thecook tent, for the rain was coming down in sheets.

  Teddy was not far behind.

  "I'm the coffee boy. Where's the coffee?" he shouted.

  "Have it in a few minutes," answered the attendant who had beenso kind to them the previous morning. "Here, you boys, get overby the steam boiler there and dry out your clothes," he added,noting that their teeth were chattering.

  "Wish somebody would pour a pail of water over me," shiveredTeddy.

  "Water? What for?"

  "To wash the rain off. I'm soaked," he answered humorously.

  They huddled around the steam boiler, the warmth from which theyfound very comforting in their bedraggled condition.

  "I'm steaming like an engine," laughed Phil, taking off his coatand holding it near the boiler.

  "Yes; I've got enough of it in my clothes to run a sawmill,"agreed Teddy. "How about that coffee?"

  "Here it is."

  After helping themselves they felt much better. Phil, after atime, walked to the entrance of the cook tent and looked out. Thesame bustle and excitement as on the previous two days wasnoticeable everywhere, and the men worked as if utterly obliviousof the fact that the rain was falling in torr
ents.

  "Do we parade today?" called Phil, observing Mr. Sparlinghurrying past wrapped in oilskins and slouch hat.

  "This show gives a parade and two performances a day, rain,shine, snow or earthquake," was the emphatic answer. "Come overto my tent in half an hour. I have something to say to you."

  Phil ran across to Mr. Sparling's tent at the expiration of halfan hour, but he was ahead of time evidently, for the showman wasnot there. Nice dry straw had been piled on the ground in thelittle tent to take up the moisture, giving it a cosy,comfortable look inside.

  "This wouldn't be a half bad place to sleep," decided Phil,looking about him. "I don't suppose we ever play the same towntwo nights in succession. I must find out."

  Mr. Sparling bustled in at this point, stripping off his wetoilskins and hanging them on a hook on the tent pole at thefurther end.

  "Where'd you sleep?"

  "In wagon No. 10."

  "Get wet?"

  "Very."

  "Humph!"

  "We dried out in the cook tent when we got in. It might havebeen worse."

  "Easily satisfied, aren't you?"

  "I don't know about that. I expect to meet with somedisagreeable experiences."

  "You won't be disappointed. You'll get all that's coming to you.It'll make a man of you if you stand it."

  "And if I don't?" questioned Phil Forrest, with a smile.

  Mr. Sparling answered by a shrug of the shoulders.

  "We'll have to make some different arrangements for you," headded in a slightly milder tone. "Can't afford to have you getsick and knock your act out. It's too important. I'll fire somelazy, good-for-nothing performer out of a closed wagon and giveyou his place."

  "Oh, I should rather not have you do that, sir."

  "Who's running this show?" snapped the owner.

  Phil made no reply.

  "I am. I'll turn out whom I please and when I please. I've beenin the business long enough to know when I've got a good thing.Where's your rubber coat?" he demanded, changing the subjectabruptly.

  "I have none, sir. I shall get an outfit later."

  "No money, I suppose?"

  "Well, no, sir."

  "Humph! Why didn't you ask for some?"

  "I did not like to."

  "You're too modest. If you want a thing go after it. That's mymotto. Here's ten dollars. Go downtown and get you a coat, andbe lively about it. Wait a minute!" as Phil, uttering profusethanks, started away to obey his employer's command.

  "Yes, sir."

  "About that act of yours. Did you think it out all yourself?"

  "The idea was mine. Of course the property man and Mr. Kennedyworked it out for me. I should not have been able to do italone."

  "Humph! Little they did. They wouldn't have thought of it in athousand years. Performers usually are too well satisfied withthemselves to think there's anything worthwhile except whatthey've been doing since they came out of knickerbockers. How'dyou get the idea?"

  "I don't know--it just came to me."

  "Then keep on thinking. That act is worth real money to anyshow. How much did I say I'd pay you?"

  "Ten dollars a week, sir."

  "Humph! I made a mistake. I won't give you ten."

  Phil looked solemn.

  "I'll give you twenty. I'd give you more, but it might spoilyou. Get out of here and go buy yourself a coat."