Pretty soon Mademoiselle Rose came out and did some trick riding on Dexter. She danced and stood on her head and jumped through hoops and the audience applauded and shouted until the tent walls shook. They would have applauded just as loud if she had ridden around the ring without doing any tricks at all, she was so popular. Mademoiselle Rose knew this, and so she had thought up some extra stunts—for like all performers, she wanted her skill to be appreciated. So first they brought in Jerry, the rhinoceros, and she rode him around, standing on her head; and then they brought in Rajah, the tiger.
Rajah looked up at the row upon row of people in the audience and roared angrily, and everybody was very still. Mademoiselle Rose went towards him and he backed away, snarling, and everybody said: “Oh!” under their breaths. They weren’t scared of course for they all knew Rajah; he had been with the circus for years, and had many friends in Centerboro; indeed when the circus was in town he got more invitations than he could accept, for he was a fine storyteller, a good dancer, and entertaining without being noisy. But he had now of course to act as bad tempered and ferocious as possible, so that Mademoiselle Rose would seem to be in danger.
So he snarled and snapped, and made swipes at her with a paw as big as a broom, and the audience shuddered and squealed, and a little girl in the top row began to cry. Which was foolish of her, because only that morning Rajah had been sitting on her front porch, telling her stories about the jungle. He had never been in the jungle, which is probably why his stories were so exciting. So the little girl’s mother slapped her and she stopped crying; and by that time Mademoiselle Rose had vaulted on to Rajah’s back and he went tearing around the ring, pretending to try to throw her off. And just then Freddy’s old friend, the sheriff and a small fat man in a black suit and a derby hat shouted: “Stop the show!”
Stop the Show
Mr. Boomschmidt rode towards them. “Here, here!” he said. “Good gracious, you can’t come in here like this, upsetting things.”
“Sorry, Mr. Boom,” said the sheriff, “afraid I have to. It’s my duty.”
“Oh, it’s you, Sheriff,” Mr. Boomschmidt said. “I didn’t see you. That is, I did see you, but I didn’t know it. I mean—well, you know what I mean. Glad to see you, now that I do.”
“Well, I ain’t glad to be here,” said the sheriff. “But they ain’t given me any choice. This here—” he pointed at his companion, “is Mr. Nuisance—”
“Newsome is the name,” said the little man.
“That’s what I said—Nuisance,” said the sheriff.
“But the name is—” the other began.
“Shut up, will you?” the sheriff snapped. “Now, Mr. Boom,” he went on, “this here Nuisance is lawyer for a man named Watson P. Condiment.” He stopped and said: “Condiment. Condiment. Guess I can’t do anything with that name.” Then he went on. “And this here Condiment, he claims that by forcin’ this young lady, Mademoiselle Rose, to appear in public performances with rhinoceroses, lions, tigers and other unmanageable animals and wild and ferocious beasts of the jungle, you, the hereinafter—” He stopped again. “Or was it ‘heretobefore’? Can’t remember; Nuisance, where’s that paper?”
Mr. Newsome handed him a folded paper, and the sheriff opened it. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “’Twasn’t either one. Guess I better read it. ‘—you, the abovementioned Orestes Boomschmidt, are placing the aforesaid young lady in great jeopardy and danger of life and limb, and further, that by allowing the said unmanageable animals to wander about freely, unrestrained by cages, bolts, bars, muzzles or other protective measures, you, the abovementioned Orestes Boomschmidt, are endangering the life, liberty and pursuit of happiness of the residents of Centerboro. And we therefore direct the sheriff to forcibly restrain you, the aforesaid Orestes Boomschmidt, and to compel you to cease, desist and refrain from the abovementioned practices, and if you refuse we direct the sheriff to place you under arrest pending investigation.’
“There,” said the sheriff. “That’s said real pretty, but it don’t mean much.”
“It’s very nice, Sheriff,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, who apparently hadn’t understood what it was all about. “I like hearing you read aloud. Is there any more?”
“Isn’t that enough?” demanded Mr. Newsome. “You heard what the sheriff said. If you don’t want to go to jail, you have to take Mademoiselle Rose out of the show.”
“Take me out of the show? Nonsense!” said Rose. She stood beside Rajah, with one hand resting on his shoulder. She looked very pretty.
“My goodness gracious!” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “Rajah, are you unmag, unmalla—oh, well—a wild and ferocious beast of the jungle? I never should have suspected it, never! I shall have to keep an eye on you, I guess.” He walked to the edge of the ring and faced the audience. “My good friends,” he said, “this gentleman is a Mr. Nuisance. He wants the sheriff to arrest me, because he claims that Rajah here, is dangerous. Says he eats two or three little boys every day for breakfast—”
“I never said—” Mr. Newsome began angrily.
But the sheriff said: “Shut up, you! Go on, Boom.”
“Well, my gracious, if Rajah does things like that, I want to know about it,” Mr. Boomschmidt went on. “I know that Rajah has been around town all morning. And I’ll just ask you—have any of you missed any of your little boys today? Have you even heard of any that are missing—or any dogs or cats—”
“Hey, boss,” said Rajah reproachfully. “Be reasonable!”
“Dear me, of course, Rajah; excuse me. I know you wouldn’t eat anybody’s pets. Well, friends, what do you say? Shall we lock Rajah up and do the show without him?”
The audience stood up and shouted. “No, no; we want Rajah.” “Throw Nuisance out and go on with the show.” And two men in the front row threw pop bottles at Mr. Newsome. One of them zipped past the ear of the kangaroo clown, who was so startled that he forgot to jump.
“Well, well, that settles that,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Now, Mr. Nuisance—”
“I keep telling you,” said the little man angrily, “that the name is Newsome.”
“Newsome—Nuisance; what’s the difference,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “It’s what a man is that counts. Eh, Leo? Isn’t that so?”
“Right, chief,” said the lion, who had joined the group in the ring. “Want I should chew his arm off?”
“Later, Leo; later,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Now, sheriff, if you’ll clear the ring—”
“Sorry, Mr. Boom,” said the sheriff, “but I’ve got my duty to do. I’ve got to investigate this case before the show can go on. This claim that Rajah is dangerous—”
“Me dangerous?” said the tiger. “You kidding, sheriff?”
Mademoiselle Rose said: “I know you don’t want to stop the show, sheriff. Tell us what you want us to do, and we’ll do it.”
“Well, ma’am, this tiger has been called dangerous. You got to prove to me that he ain’t.”
“Why that ought to be easy,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Why he’s so gentle a baby could ride him.”
“Oh, indeed!” said Mr. Newsome sarcastically. “Well, I wouldn’t want my baby to ride him.”
“I wouldn’t want him to either,” said Rajah, “if he takes after you.”
Mr. Boomschmidt addressed the audience again. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard what Mr. Ah—this man says. To prove how gentle Rajah is, we now offer free rides around the ring on his back to any boy or girl—my gracious, yes—any man or woman who wants one. You have Rajah’s personal guarantee that no harm will come to them.”
There was a buzz of conversation along the benches, but no one came forward. Several wives poked their husbands hopefully and said: “Go on, Henry, what you afraid of?” and a number of husbands tried to persuade their wives that a ride on a tiger would be fun. But nobody volunteered.
“Golly,” Freddy said to Jinx, “somebody’s got to start this, or Mr. Boom won’t be able to prove his point.” And he got up and vaulted
over the barrier into the ring.
Mr. Boomschmidt shook hands with him and thanked him, and Rajah grinned and licked his chops. “If I was hungry, Freddy,” he said, “I can’t think of anybody I’d rather invite to breakfast than you.”
“All right, tiger,” Freddy said. “No fancy stunts, now. And none of your jungle jokes. Remember, I’m not Mademoiselle Rose.”
“It would be hard to forget it,” Rajah said. “Though I don’t know,” he added, “put a little ballet skirt on you, and you’d look real cute.”
So Freddy got on Rajah’s back and they started around the ring at a long easy lope. Freddy was a little nervous at first. He had his own horse and was a fine rider, but he had never ridden a tiger before. As a matter of fact it was very comfortable. When he dismounted at the end of the ride the audience, led by Mr. Bean, gave him three cheers; and then a number of other people volunteered for a ride. The last one, before the show went on again was the little girl who had started to cry when Rajah first came in.
At this the sheriff expressed himself as completely satisfied that Rajah was no more dangerous than a kitten. Mr. Newsome protested of course, but the sheriff hustled him out, and Mademoiselle Rose went on with her act.
For some time afterwards Mr. Bean kept fizzing and slapping his knee, and at last Mrs. Bean turned to him and said: “Land of liberty, Mr. B., what are you giggling about?”
“That man,” said Mr. Bean. “Nuisance, the sheriff called him. That was good, that was!”
“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Bean. “I don’t see that was so smart. Easy enough to make up that kind of a joke on somebody’s name.”
“Fiddlesticks yourself!” he replied. “You couldn’t make up anything on our name—Bean.”
“Pshaw, that’s easy,” she said. “I could call you—” But he never found out what she could call him, for at that moment two chariots came rumbling into the big tent and lined up for the start of the chariot race.
“Cracky!” said Mr. Bean. “Look at that second chariot!”
CHAPTER
3
When the Bean animals arrived at the circus, Mr. and Mrs. Bean and the smaller animals were shown to front row seats. But Hank, and the three cows, Mrs. Wiggins, Mrs. Wurzburger and Mrs. Wogus, were too big to sit on the benches, so Mr. Boomschmidt let them stand right down in the ring, beside the doorway where the performers came into the tent.
Just before Mademoiselle Rose started her trick riding, Bill Wonks came out and talked to Mr. Boomschmidt for a minute; then he came over and said to Hank: “We’re getting ready for the Roman chariot race, and the boss thinks maybe you can help us.” And when Hank said sure, he’d do what he could, Bill explained. “There’s been three white horses on one chariot, and three black horses on the other. But Mr. Huber, the middle horse on the white team, has got the hiccups. ’Twouldn’t matter with a smaller animal, but horse hiccups are pretty big hiccups, and I guess it would look pretty silly to have a horse hiccupin’ in a chariot race. The boss thought maybe you’d take his place.”
“Well, I dunno,” said Hank slowly. “I’d like to accommodate Mr. Boom, sure enough. But I ain’t as young as I was, and I got the rheumatism in my off hind leg something fierce. Makes me yell when I take a quick step. Guess a yeller would be sillier than a hiccuper. Though I dunno; maybe not. Hiccupin’s pretty silly.”
“Take me,” said Mrs. Wurzburger suddenly. “I’m mostly white, and if you harness me between the others, nobody’ll notice.”
Bill shook his head. “You couldn’t keep up. Those horses run fast.”
“So do I,” said the cow. “I won the two-twenty free-for-all at the Tushville Fair last fall, and there were two horses in it and a boy who’s on the track team at Hamilton College.” And as Bill still shook his head, she said, “All right, I’ll prove it. I’ll race you out to the gate and back.”
Bill grinned. “O.K.,” he said, “if you beat me you run in the chariot race.”
Most cows are slow and clumsy runners, but now and then you find one that is a real racer, and Mrs. Wurzburger was one of these. “I have to be known for something,” she used to say. “Sister Wiggins is proud of being known as Freddy’s partner in the detective business. And Sister Wogus—well, being dumb isn’t usually anything to be proud of, but she’s so dumb that—gracious, you can’t believe it. It’s a gift. But I wasn’t famous for anything. ‘She’s that middle one,’ they used to say. So I took up track work.” And indeed she was wonderful over hurdles.
So Hank said: “Ready, get set, go!” and they started. They were about even when they reached the gate, but Bill Wonks wasn’t in training, while Mrs. Wurzburger always kept herself in pretty good shape and dieted and went to bed early. So after they turned back, Bill began to fall behind. There wasn’t anybody around outside except the ostrich, who was selling tickets, and a couple of elephants whose job was to walk around the tent and pull out any little boys who were trying to crawl in under the canvas without paying admission. But when the elephants saw a cow running, with Bill in pursuit, they thought that Mrs. Wurzburger had crashed the gate, and that Bill was chasing her to make her pay up.
“Hey, you; stop! Where you going?” they yelled, and started to head her off. And then Mrs. Wurzburger did something which won her undying fame. One of the elephants was directly in her path. But she didn’t stop. She just put on a burst of speed and leaped. She leaped right over that elephant, and went on into the tent.
She leaped right over that elephant.
So Bill came panting up and explained to the elephants, and then he went in and, without saying a word, harnessed Mrs. Wurzburger between the two white horses and the two-wheeled chariots rumbled into the ring.
It was always hard to surprise Mr. Boomschmidt because he had seen a lot of queer things in his time, and also because he was one of those happy people who find almost everything queer and interesting. He blinked when he saw the cow between the two horses, and then he just climbed into their chariot, and gathered up the reins, and Bill got into the black chariot.
They were to race three times around the ring. The two white horses were pretty scornful of the cow. They laughed right in her face and said they were ashamed of being seen in such company. But they would have done better to keep still, for once the race started, Mrs. Wurzburger tore along at such a swift pace that she practically dragged them around the ring.
But the race never finished. Just as they were starting around on the second lap, with the two chariots rattling and thumping along side by side and the audience all standing up and waving and yelling, there came from high up in the air outside the tent the whine of a diving plane. The sound increased suddenly and terrifyingly to an almost deafening whistling roar; and there was great confusion in the audience, some people jumping up to try to escape and others diving under the benches. The two men pulled their chariots to a stop, and Mr. Boomschmidt jumped out and began shouting to the terrified audience. But of course nobody could hear him.
Then as suddenly as it had come the sound diminished.
But the show had been spoiled. The people had been thoroughly frightened, and their only thought was to get out as quickly as they could. They scrambled for the exits, falling over one another in their anxiety to get away; and Mr. Boomschmidt, who had stopped trying to calm them, called to Bill to tell Oscar to give all the people their money back.
Alice and Emma had been pretty scared when the plane had buzzed the tent. Emma had put her head under her wing and trembled. Alice however was made of sterner stuff. She trembled a little too, but then she looked at Mr. Bean to see how he was taking it, and when she saw him puffing away peacefully on his pipe and not even looking up at the tent roof, she stopped trembling and nudged Emma with her wing. “Sister!” she whispered. “Take your head out and stop that shaking! What would Uncle Wesley say!”
“I know what old Wes would do,” said Jinx. “He’d tremble so that he’d loosen half his tail feathers.”
The sisters knew i
t too, but they always pretended that their pompous little uncle was a sort of mixture of George Washington and Wild Bill Hickok. Dignified but dashing; the bravest of the brave. “You wouldn’t dare say that to his face!” Alice said, and Emma pulled her head out to say: “I guess you wouldn’t.”
Mr. Bean turned to look up at the rapidly emptying benches behind him. “Well, Mrs. B.,” he said, “guess that concludes the show.” He got up and walked down to speak to Mr. Boomschmidt. “Congratulations,” he said. “Fine show. Specially that there last act with the airplane. Fine way to get your audience out quick as soon as the show is over. Don’t see how you ever thought of it.”
Mr. Boomschmidt said: “I didn’t. That isn’t our plane. Good gracious, we try hard to scare our audiences. That’s what a lot of ’em come for—to be scared by ferocious wild animals. But we don’t want to scare ’em right out of the tent—so bad we have to give ’em their money back.”
“Didn’t scare me,” said Mr. Bean. “Didn’t scare Mrs. B. either. Thought it was part of the show.”
“My goodness gracious me,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “That gives me an idea! Maybe we could advertise it as part of the show. Gracious, it really is part of the show anyway. Even though I don’t know whose plane it is. It has followed us all the way up from the South. Does that dive on the tent in the middle of every show. Then everybody runs and I have to give their money back. Another month of it and the show will have to fold up.”
“Well who is it—whose plane is it?” Freddy asked.
But Mr. Boomschmidt paid no attention. “New added feature,” he said. “That’s the way we’ll advertise it. Never before presented by this or any other circus. Thrilling sensation! Be dived at by bomber! Oh golly, what an idea! Eh, Leo, isn’t that a wonderful idea?”
“’Twon’t work, chief,” said the lion. “Can’t be done.”
Freddy the Pilot Page 2