The Circus Boys Across The Continent Or Winning New Laurels on the TanbarkPart 2 out of 4
Throwing Phil from the tentman, Miaco jerked Larry about, and demanded to know what he meant by intruding on the privacy of the dressing tent in that manner. "I want that kid," he growled. "Put him out!" howled a voice. "What do you want him for?" "He--he dumped a pail of water over me. I'll get even with him. I'll--" "How about this, Master Teddy?" questioned Mr. Miaco. Teddy explained briefly how the fellow Larry and a companion had ducked him under the water tank, and had ruined his clothes, together with causing him to miss his train. "This demands investigation," decided Mr. Miaco gravely. "Fellows, it is evident that we had better try this man. That is the best way to dispose of his case." "Yes, yes; try him!" they shouted. "Whom shall we have for judge?" "Oscar, the midget!" The Smallest Man on Earth was quickly boosted to the top of a property box. "Vot iss?" questioned the midget, his wizened, yellow little face wrinkling into a questioning smile. "We are going to try this fellow, Larry, and you are to be the judge." "Yah," agreed Oscar, after which he subsided, listening to the proceedings that followed, with grave, expressionless eyes. It is doubtful if Oscar understood what it was all about, but his gravity and judicial manner sent the whole dressing tent into an uproar of merriment. After the evidence was all in, the entire company taking part in testifying, amid much merriment--for the performers entered into the spirit of the trial like a lot of schoolboys--Oscar was asked to decide what should be done with the prisoner Larry. Oscar was at a loss to know how to answer. "Duck him," suggested one. This was an inspiration to Oscar. He smiled broadly. "Yah, dat iss." "What iss?" demanded the Tallest Man On Earth. "Talk United States." "Yah," agreed Oscar, smiling seraphically. "Duck um." "Larry, it is the verdict of this court that you be ducked, as the only fitting punishment for one who has committed the crime of laying hands on a Circus Boy. Are we all agreed on the punishment meted out by the dignified judge?" "Yes, yes!" they shouted. "The rain barrel for him." "Men, do your duty!" cried Mr. Miaco. "I wouldn't do that," interposed Phil. "You haven't any more right to duck him than he had to put Teddy under the water tank. It isn't right." But they gave no heed to his protests. Willing hands grabbed the red-headed tentman, whose kicks and struggles availed him nothing. Raising him over the barrel of water they soused him in head first, ducking him again and again. "Take him out. You'll drown him," begged Phil. Then they hauled Larry out, shaking the water out of him. As soon as his coughing ceased, he threatened dire vengeance against his assailants. Four performers then carried their victim to the opening of the dressing tent and threw him out bodily. Instantly Larry's companions saw him fall at their feet, and heard his angry explanation of the indignities that had been heaped upon him. There was a lively scrambling over the ground, and the next instant a volley of stones was hurled into the dressing tent. Phil was just coming out on his way to the main entrance as the row began. A stone just grazed his cheek. Without giving the least heed to the assailants, he turned to cross the paddock in order to slip out under the tent and go on about his business. Most lads would have run under the circumstances. Not so Phil. His were steady nerves. "There he is! Grab him!" shouted Larry, catching sight of Phil and charging that Phil had been one of those who had helped duck him. Such was not the case, however, for instead of having taken part in the ducking, Phil Forrest had tried to prevent it. Larry and another man were running toward him. The lad halted, turned and faced them. "What do you want of me?" he demanded. "I'll show you what I want of you. You started this row." "I did nothing of the sort, sir. You go on about your business and I shall do the same, whether you do or not." Phil raised the canvas and stepped out. But no sooner had he gotten out into the lot than the two men burst through the flapping side wall. The boy saw them coming and knew that he was face to face with trouble. He adopted a ruse, knowing full well that he could not hope to cope with the brawny canvasmen single handed and alone. Starting off on a run, Phil was followed instantly, as he felt sure he would be, but managing to keep just ahead of the men and no more. "I've got you!" The voice was almost at his ear. Phil halted with unexpected suddenness and dropped on all fours. The canvasman was too close to check his own speed. He fell over Phil, landing on his head and shoulders in the dirt. The lad was up like a flash. Larry was close upon him now, and with a snarl of rage launched a blow full at Phil Forrest's face. But he had not reckoned on the lad's agility, nor did he know that Phil was a trained athlete. Therefore, Larry's surprise was great when his fist beat the empty air. Thrown off his balance, Larry measured his length on the ground. "I advise you to let me alone," warned Phil coolly, as the tentman was scrambling to his feet. Already Larry's companion had gotten up and was gazing at Phil in a half dazed sort of way. "Get hold of him, Bad Eye! What are you standing there like a dummy for? He'll run in a minute." Phil's better judgment told him to do that very thing, but he could not bring himself to run from danger. Much as he disliked a row, he was too plucky and courageous to run from danger. Bad Eye was rushing at him, his eyes blazing with anger. Phil side-stepped easily, avoiding his antagonist without the least difficulty. But now he had to reckon with Larry, who, by this time, had gotten to his feet. It was two to one. "Stand back unless you want to get hurt!" cried Phil, with a warning glint in his eyes. Larry, by way of answer, struck viciously at him. Phil, with a glance about him, saw that he could not expect help, for there was no one in sight, the performers being engaged at that moment in driving off the angry laborers, which they were succeeding in doing with no great effort on their part. The lad cleverly dodged the blow. But instead of backing away as the canvasman's fist barely grazed his cheek, Phil, with a short arm jolt, caught his adversary on the point of his chin. Larry instantly lost all desire for fight. He sat down on the hard ground with a bump. Now Bad Eye rushed in. Again Phil sidestepped, and, thrusting a foot between the fellow's legs, tripped him neatly. Half a dozen men came running from the paddock. They were the fellows whom the performers had put to rout. At that moment the bugle blew for all hands to prepare for the parade. "I guess I have done about enough for one day," decided Phil. "And for a sick man it wasn't a half bad job." With an amused glance at his fallen adversaries Phil ran to the big top, less than a rod away, and, lifting the sidewall, slipped under and disappeared within. CHAPTER VIII PHIL MAKES A NEW FRIEND "Tweetle! Tweetle!" Two rippling blasts from the ringmaster's whistle notified the show people that the performance was on. In moved the procession for the Grand Entry, as the silken curtains separating the paddock from the big top slowly fell apart. Phil, from his lofty perch on the head of old Emperor, peering through the opening of the bonnet in which he was concealed, could not repress an exclamation of admiration. It was a splendid spectacle--taken from a story of ancient Rome-- that was sweeping majestically about the arena to the music of an inspiring tune into which the big circus band had suddenly launched. Gayly-caparisoned, nervous horses pranced and reared; huge wagons, gorgeous under their coat of paint and gold, glistened in the afternoon sunlight that fell softly through the canvas top and gave the peculiar rattling sound so familiar to the lover of the circus as they moved majestically into the arena; elephants trumpeted shrilly and the animals back in the menagerie tent sent up a deafening roar of protest. After months of quiet in their winter quarters, this unusual noise and excitement threw the wild beasts into a tempest of anger. Pacing their cages with upraised heads, they hurled their loud-voiced protests into the air until the more timid of the spectators trembled in their seats. It was an inspiring moment for the circus people, as well as for the spectators. "Tweetle! Tweetle!" sang the ringmaster's whistle after the spectacle had wound its way once around the concourse. At this the procession wheeled, its head cutting between the two rings, slowly and majestically reaching for the paddock and dressing tent, where the performers would hurry into their costumes for their various acts to follow. This left only the elephants in the ring. The huge beasts now began their evolutions, ponderous but graceful, eliciting great applause, as did their trainer, Mr. Kennedy. Then came the round-off of the act. This, it will be remembered, was of Phil Forrest's own invention, the act in which Phil, secreted in the elephant's bonnet, burst out at the close of the act, and, by the aid of wires running over a pulley above him, was able to descend gracefully to the sawdust arena. He was just a little nervous in this, the first performance of the season, but, steadying his nerves, he went through the act without a hitch and amid thunders of applause. As in the previous season's act, old Emperor carried the lad from the ring, holding Phil out in front of him firmly clasped in his trunk. No similar act ever had been seen in a circus until Phil and Emperor worked it out for themselves. It had become one of the features of the show last year, and it bade fair to be equally popular that season. Phil had added to it somewhat, which gave the act much more finish than before. "Very good, young man," approved Mr. Sparling, as the elephant bore the lad out. Mr. Sparling was watching the show with keen eyes in order to decide what necessary changes were to be made. "Coming back to watch the performance?" "Oh, yes. I wouldn't miss that for anything." As soon as the lad had thrown off his costume and gotten back into his clothes, he hurried into the big top, where he found Teddy, who did not go on in his bucking mule act until later. "How's the show, Teddy?" greeted Phil. "Great. Greatest thing I ever saw. Did you see the fellows jump over the herd of elephants and horses?" "No. Who were they?" "Oh, most all of the crowd, I guess. I'm going to do that." "You, Teddy? Why, you couldn't jump over half a dozen elephants and turn a somersault. You would break your neck the first thing." "Mr. Miaco says I could. Says I'm just the build for that sort of thing," protested the lad. "Well, then, get him to teach you. Of course we can't know how to do too many things in this business. We have learned that it pays to know how to do almost everything. Have you made friends with the mule since you got back?" "Yes. He spooned over me and made believe he loved me like a brother." Teddy paused reflectively. "Then what?" "Well, then he tried to kick the daylight out of me." "I thought so," laughed Phil. "I'm glad I chose an elephant for my friend, instead of an educated mule. When are you going to begin on the springboard--begin practicing, I mean?" "Mr. Miaco says he'll teach me as soon as we get settled--" "Settled? I never heard of a show getting settled--that is, not until the season is ended and it is once more in winter quarters. I suppose by 'settled' he means when everything gets to moving smoothly." "I guess so," nodded Teddy. "What are you going to do?" "The regular acts that I did last year." "No; I mean what are you going to learn new?" "Oh! Well, there are two things I'm crazy to be able to do." "What are they?" "One is to be a fine trapeze performer," announced Phil thoughtfully. "And the other?" "To ride bareback." "Want to be the whole thing, don't you?" jeered Teddy. "No; not quite. But I should like to be able to do those two things, and to do them well. There is nothing that catches the audiences as do the trapezists and the bareback riders. And it fascinates me as well." "Here, too," agreed Teddy. "But there is one thing I want to talk with you about--to read you a lecture." "You needn't." "I shouldn't be surprised if there was some sort of an inquiry about the row in the dressing tent. You know Mr. Sparling won't stand for anything of that sort." "He doesn't know about it," interposed Teddy. "But we do. Therefore, we are just as much to blame as if he did know. And I am not so sure that he doesn't. You can't fool Mr. Sparling. You ought to know that by this time. There isn't a thing goes on in this show that he doesn't find out about, sooner or later, and he is going to find out about this." "I didn't do anything. You did, when you had a scrap with those two fellows out on the lot." "You forget that you started the row by emptying a pail of water on Larry's head. Don't you call that starting doing anything? I do." Phil had to laugh at the comical expression on his companion's face. "Well, maybe." "And we haven't heard the last of those fellows yet. They're mad all through. I am sorry I had to hit them. But they would have used me badly had I not done something to protect myself. I should tell the whole matter to Mr. Sparling, were it not that I would get others into trouble. That I wouldn't do." "I should think not." "By the way, Teddy, there come the bareback riders. Don't you follow after their act?" "My! That's so. I had forgotten all about that. Thought I was watching the show just like the rest of the folks." "Better hustle, or you won't get into your makeup in time to go on. There'll be a row for certain if you are late." But Teddy already had started on a run for the dressing tent, bowling over a clown at the entrance to the paddock and bringing down the wrath of that individual as he hustled for the dressing tent and began feverishly getting into his ring clothes. These consisted of a loose fitting pair of trousers, a slouch hat and a coat much the worse for wear. A "Rube" act, it was called in show parlance, and it was that in very truth, more because of Teddy's drollery than for the makeup that he wore. Phil quickly forgot all about the lecture he had been reading to his companion as the bareback riders came trotting in. His eyes were fixed on a petite, smiling figure who tripped up to the curbing, where she turned toward the audience, and, kicking one foot out behind her, bowed and threw a kiss to the spectators. Phil had walked over and sat down by the center pole right near the sawdust ring, so that he might get a better view of the riding. The young woman who so attracted his attention was known on the show bills as "Little Miss Dimples, the Queen of the Sawdust Arena." Phil, as he gazed at her graceful little figure, agreed that the show bills did not exaggerate her charms at all. Little Dimples, using the ringmaster's hand as a step, vaulted lightly to the back of the great gray ring horse, where she sat as the animal began a slow walk about the ring. Phil wondered how she could stay on, for she appeared to be sitting right on the animal's sloping hip. The band struck up a lively tune, the gray horse began a slow, methodical gallop. The first rise of the horse bounded Little Dimples to her knees, and the next to her feet. With a merry little "yip! yip!" she began executing a fairy-like dance, keeping time with her whip, which she held grasped in both hands. "Beautiful!" cried Phil, bringing his hands together sharply. In fact, he had never seen such artistic riding. The girl seemed to be treading on air, so lightly did her feet touch the rosined back of the ring horse. Little Dimples heard and understood. She flashed a brilliant smile at Phil and tossed her whip as a salute. Phil had never met her, but they both belonged to the same great family, and that was sufficient. His face broke out into a pleased smile at her recognition and the lad touched his hat lightly, settling back against the center pole to watch Dimples' riding, which had only just begun. It made him laugh outright to see her big picture hat bobbing up and down with the motion of the horse. "Works just like an elephant's ear when the flies are thick," was the lad's somewhat inelegant comparison. But now Dimples removed the hat, sending it spinning to the ringmaster, who, in turn, tossed it to an attendant. The real work of the act was about to start. Phil never having seen the young woman ride, did not know what her particular specialty was. Just now he was keenly observing, that he might learn her methods. Dimples' next act was to jump through a series of paper hoops. This finished, she leaped to the ring, and, taking a running start, vaulted to the back of her horse. "Bravo!" cried Phil, which brought another brilliant smile from the rider. She knew that it was not herself, but her work, that had brought this expression of approval from the Circus Boy, whom she already knew of by hearing some of the other performers tell of his achievements since he joined the circus less than a year ago. "The ring is rough. I should have thought they would have leveled it down better," Phil grumbled, noting the uneven surface of the sawdust circle with critical eyes. "I'll bet Mr. Sparling hasn't seen that, or he would have raised a row. But still Dimples seems very sure on her feet. I wonder if she does any brilliant stunts?" As if in answer to the lad's question, the "tweetle" of the ringmaster's whistle brought everything to a standstill under the big top. Even the band suddenly ceased playing. Then Phil knew that something worthwhile was coming. "Ladies and gentlemen!" announced the ringmaster, holding up his right hand to attract the eyes of the spectators to him, "Little Miss Dimples, The Queen of the Sawdust Arena, will now perform her thrilling, death-defying, unexcelled, unequaled feat of turning a somersault on the back of a running horse. I might add in this connection that Little Miss Dimples is the only woman who ever succeeded in going through this feat without finishing up by breaking her neck. The band will cease playing while this perilous performance is on, as the least distraction on the part of the rider might result fatally for her. Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you Little Miss Dimples," concluded the ringmaster, with a comprehensive wave of the hand toward the young woman and her gray ring horse. Dimples dropped to the ring, swept a courtesy to the audience, then leaped to the animal's back with a sharp little "yip! yip!" During the first round of the ring she removed the bridle, tossing it mischievously in Phil's direction. He caught it deftly, placing it on the ground beside him, then edged a little closer to the ring that he might the better observe her work. The ring horse started off at a lively gallop, the rider allowing her elbows to rise and fall with the motion of the horse, in order that she might the more thoroughly become a part of the animal itself--that the motion of each should be the same. Suddenly Dimples sprang nimbly to her feet, tossing her riding whip to the waiting hands of the ringmaster. Phil half scrambled to his feet as he saw her poise for a backward somersault. He had noted another thing, too. She was going to throw herself, it seemed, just as the horse was on the roughest part of the ring. He wondered if she could make it. To him it was a risky thing to try, but she no doubt knew better than he what she was about. The ringmaster held up his hand as a signal to the audience that the daring act was about to take place. Phil crept a little nearer. All at once the girl gracefully threw herself into the air. He judged she had cleared the back of the animal by at least three feet, a high jump to make straight up with unbent knees. But just as she was leaving the back of the horse, the animal suddenly stumbled, thus turning her halfway around, and for the instant taking her mind from her work. Dimples already had begun to turn backward, but he noted that all at once she stopped turning. Phil knew what that meant. As show people term it, she had "frozen" in the air. She was falling, head first, right toward the wooden ring curbing. "Turn! Turn!" cried Phil sharply. The girl was powerless to do so, while the ringmaster, being on the opposite side of the ring, could be of no assistance to her. "Turn!" shouted Phil, more loudly this time, giving a mighty spring in the direction of the falling woman. CHAPTER IX THE MULE DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF The audience had half risen, believing that the girl would surely be killed. It did seem that it would be a miracle if she escaped without serious injury. But the Circus Boy, his every faculty centered on the task before him, proposed to save her if he could. He sprang up on the ring curbing, stretching both hands above his head as far as he could reach, bracing himself with legs wide apart to meet the shock. It is not an easy task to attempt to catch a person, especially if that person be falling toward you head first. But Phil Forrest calculated in a flash how he would do it. That is, he would unless he missed. It all happened in much less time than it takes to tell it, of course, and a moment afterwards one could not have told how it had occurred. The Circus Boy threw both hands under Dimples' outstretched arms with the intention of jerking her down to her feet, then springing from the curbing with her before both should topple over. His plan worked well up to the point of catching her. But instantly upon doing so he realized that she was moving with such speed as to make it impossible for him to retain his balance. Dimples was hurled into his arms with great force, bowling Phil over like a ninepin. Yet, in falling, he did not lose his presence of mind. He hoped fervently that he might be fortunate enough not to strike on a stake, of which there were many on that side of the ring. "Save yourself!" gasped the girl. Instead, Phil held her up above him at arm's length. When he struck it was full on his back, the back of his head coming in contact with the hard ground with such force as to stun him almost to the point of unconsciousness. As he struck he gave Dimples a little throw so that she cleared his body, landing on the ground beyond him. The girl stretched forth her hands and did a handspring, once more thorough master of herself, landing gracefully on her feet. But Phil had undoubtedly saved her life, as she well knew. Without giving the slightest heed to the audience, which was howling its delight, Dimples ran to the fallen lad, leaning over him anxiously. "Are you hurt?" she begged, placing a hand on his head. "I--I guess not," answered Phil, pulling himself together a little. "I'll get up or they'll think something is the matter with me." "Let me help you." "No, thank you," he replied, brushing aside the hand she had extended to him. But his back hurt him so severely that he could only with difficulty stand upright. Phil smiled and straightened, despite the pain. At that Dimples grasped him by the hand, leading him to the concourse facing the reserved seats, where she made a low bow to the audience; then, throwing both arms about Phil, she gave him a hearty kiss. Thunders of applause greeted this, the audience getting to its feet in its excitement. Had it been possible, both the boy and Miss Dimples would have been borne in triumph from the ring. "Come back and sit down while I finish my act," she whispered. "You're not going to try that again, are you?" questioned Phil. "Of course I am. You'll see what a hit it will make." "I saw that you came near making a hit a few moments ago," answered the lad. "There, there; don't be sarcastic," she chided, giving him a playful tap. "If you feel strong enough, please help me up." Phil did so smilingly; then he retired to his place by the center pole, against which he braced his aching back. "Turn after you have gotten over the rough spot," he cautioned her. Dimples nodded her understanding. This time Phil held his breath as he saw her crouching ever so little for her spring. Dimples uttered another shrill "yip!" and threw herself into the air again. He saw, with keen satisfaction, that this time she was not going to miss. Dimples turned in the air with wonderful grace, alighting far back on the broad hips of the gray horse with bird-like lightness. Phil doffed his hat, and, getting to his feet, limped away, with the audience roaring out its applause. They had forgotten all about the boy who but a few moments before had saved Little Dimples' life, and he was fully as well satisfied that it should be so. Just as he was passing the bandstand the educated mule, with Teddy Tucker on its back, bolted through the curtains like a projectile. The mule nearly ran over Phil, then brought up suddenly to launch both heels at him. But the Circus Boy had seen this same mule in action before, and this time Phil had discreetly ducked under the bandstand. Then the mule was off. "Hi-yi-yi-yip-yi!" howled Teddy, as the outfit bolted into the arena. The old hands with the show discreetly darted for cover when they saw Teddy and his mule coming. Like Phil Forrest, they had had experience with this same wild outfit before. There was no knowing what the bucking mule might not do, while there was a reasonable certainty in their minds as to what he would do if given half a chance. "Hi! Hi! Look out!" howled Teddy as they neared the entrance to the menagerie tent, where a number of people were standing. The boy saw that the mule had taken it into his stubborn head to enter the menagerie tent, there to give an exhibition of his contrariness. In they swept like a miniature whirlwind, the mule twisting this way and that, stopping suddenly now and then and bracing its feet in desperate efforts to unseat its rider. But Teddy held on grimly. This rough riding was the delight of his heart, and the lad really was a splendid horseman, though it is doubtful if he realized this fact himself. A man was crossing the menagerie tent with a pail of water in each hand. The mule saw him. Here was an opportunity not to be lost. Teddy's mount swept past the fellow. Then both the beast's heels shot out, catching both the pails at the same time. The two pails took the air in a beautiful curve, like a pair of rockets, distributing water all the way across the tent, a liberal portion of which was spilled over the water carrier as the pails left his hands. The man chanced to be Larry, Teddy's enemy. Teddy was traveling at such a rapid rate that he did not recognize the fellow, but Larry recognized him, and thereby another account was charged up against the Circus Boy. But the mule, though the time limit for his act had expired, had not quite satisfied his longing for excitement. Whirling about, he plunged toward the big top again. "Whoa! Whoa!" howled Teddy, tugging at the reins. But he might as well have tried to check the wind. Nothing short of a stone wall could stop the educated mule until he was ready to stop. The ringmaster had blown his whistle for the next act and the performers were running to their stations when Teddy and his mount suddenly made their appearance again. "Get out of here!" yelled the ringmaster. "I am trying to do so," howled Teddy in a jeering voice. "Can't go any faster than I am." "Stop him! You'll run somebody down!" shouted Mr. Sparling, dodging out of the way as the mule, with ears laid back on his head, dashed straight at the showman. "Can't stop. In a hurry," answered Teddy. On they plunged past the bandstand again, the mule pausing at the paddock entrance long enough to kick the silk curtains into ribbons. Next he made a dive for the dressing tent. In less time than it takes to tell it, the dressing tent looked as if it had been struck by a cyclone. Clubs and side poles were brought down on the rump of the wild mule, most of which were promptly kicked through the side of the tent. Teddy, in the meantime, had landed in a performer's trunk, smashing through the tray, being wedged in so tightly that he could not extricate himself. Added to the din was Teddy's voice howling for help. The performers, in all stages of dress and undress, had fled to the outside. Then, the mule becoming suddenly meek, pricked forward his ears, ambled out into the paddock and began contentedly nibbling at the fresh grass about the edges of the enclosure. About this time Mr. Sparling came running in. His face was red and the perspiration was rolling down it. "Where's that fool boy?" he bellowed. "Where is he, I say?" "Here he is," answered the plaintive voice of Teddy Tucker. "Come out of that!" "I can't. I'm stuck fast." The showman jerked him out with scant ceremony, while Teddy began pulling pieces of the trunk tray out of his clothes. "Do you want to put my show out of business? What do you think this is--a cowboy picnic? I'll fire you. I'll--" "Better fire the mule. I couldn't stop him," answered the boy. By this time the performers, after making sure that the mule had gone, were creeping back. "I'll cut that act out. I'll have the mule shot. I'll-- Get out of here, before I take you over my knee and give you what you deserve." "I'm off," grinned Teddy, ducking under the canvas. He was seen no more about the dressing tent until just before it was time to go on for the evening performance. CHAPTER X HIS FIRST BAREBACK LESSON "Where's that boy?" "He'll catch it if he ever dares show his face in this dressing tent again." This and other expressions marked the disapproval of the performers of the manner in which their enclosure had been entered and disrupted. "Don't blame him; blame the mule," advised Mr. Miaco, the head clown. "Yes; Teddy wasn't to blame," declared Phil, who had entered at that moment. "Did he do all this?" he asked, looking about at the scene of disorder. "He did. Lucky some of us weren't killed," declared one. "If that mule isn't cut out of the programme I'll quit this outfit. Never safe a minute while he and the kid are around. First, the kid gets us into a scrimmage with the roustabouts, then he slam bangs into the dressing tent with a fool mule and puts the whole business out of the running." "Was Mr. Sparling--was he mad?" asked Phil, laughing until the tears started. "Mad? He was red headed," replied Miaco. "Where's Teddy?" "He got stuck in the strong man's trunk there. The boss had to pull him out, for he was wedged fast. Then the young man prudently made his escape. If the boss hadn't skinned him we would have done so. He got out just in time." "Are you Phil Forrest?" asked a uniformed attendant entering the dressing tent. "Yes; what is it?" "Lady wants to see you out in the paddock." "Who is it?" "Mrs. Robinson." "I don't know any Mrs. Robinson." "He means Little Dimples," Mr. Miaco informed him. "Oh." Phil hurried from the tent. Dimples was sitting on a property box, industriously engaged on a piece of embroidery work. She made a pretty picture perched up on the box engaged in her peaceful occupation with the needle, and the lad stopped to gaze at her admiringly. Dimples glanced down with a smile. "Does it surprise you to see me at my fancy work? That's what I love. Why, last season, I embroidered a new shirt waist every week during the show season. I don't know what I'll do with them all. But come over here and sit down by me. I ought to thank you for saving my life this afternoon, but I know you would rather I did not." Phil nodded. "I don't like to be thanked. It makes me feel--well, awkward, I guess. You froze, didn't you?" "I did," and Dimples laughed merrily. "What made you do so--the horse?" "Yes. I thought he was going to fall all the way down, then by the time I remembered where I was I couldn't turn to save my life. I heard you call to me to do so, but I couldn't. But let's talk about you. You hurt your back, didn't you?" "Nothing to speak of. It will be all right by morning. I'm just a little lame now. Where were you--what show were you with last year?" "The Ringlings." "The Ringlings?" marveled Phil. "Why, I shouldn't think you would want to leave a big show like that for a little one such as this?" "It's the price, my dear boy. I get more money here, and I'm a star here. In the big shows one is just a little part of a big organization. There's nothing like the small shows for comfort and good fellowship. Don't you think so?" "I don't know," admitted Phil. "This is the only show I have ever been with. I 'joined out' last season--" "Only last season? Well, well! I must say you have made pretty rapid progress for one who has been out less than a year." "I have made a lot of blunders," laughed Phil. "But I'm learning. I wish, though, that I could do a bareback act one quarter as well as you do. I should be very proud if I could." "Have you ever tried it?" "No." "Why don't you learn, then? You'd pick it up quickly." "For the reason that I have never had an opportunity--I've had no one to teach me." "Then you shall do so now. Your teacher is before you." "You--you mean that you will teach me?" "Of course. What did you think I meant?" "I--I wasn't sure. That will be splendid." "I saw your elephant act. You are a very finished performer-- a natural born showman. If you stay in the business long enough you will make a great reputation for yourself." "I don't want to be a performer all my life. I am going to own a show some of these days," announced the boy confidently. "Oh, you are, are you?" laughed Dimples. "Well, if you say so, I most surely believe you. You have the right sort of pluck to get anything you set your heart on. Now if my boy only--" "Your boy?" "Yes. Didn't you know that I am a married woman?" "Oh my, I thought you were a young girl," exclaimed Phil. "Thank you; that was a very pretty compliment. But, alas, I am no longer young. I have a son almost as old as you are. He is with his father, performing at the Crystal Palace in London. I expect to join them over there after my season closes here." "Is it possible?" "Yes, and as my own boy is so far away I shall have to be a sort of mother to you this season. You have no mother, have you?" "No. My mother is dead," answered the lad in a low voice, lowering his eyes. "I thought as much. Mothers don't like to have their boys join a circus; but, if they knew what a strict, wholesome life a circus performer has to lead, they would not be so set against the circus. Don't you think, taking it all in all, that we are a pretty good sort?" smiled Dimples. "I wish everyone were as good as circus folks," the boy made answer so earnestly as to bring a pleased smile to the face of his companion. "You shall have a lesson today for that, if you wish." "Do I?" "Then run along and get on your togs. As soon as the performance is over we will get out my ring horse and put in an hour's work." "Thank you, thank you!" glowed Phil as Mrs. Robinson rolled up her work. "I'll be out in a few moments." Full of pleasurable anticipation, Phil ran to the dressing tent and began rummaging in his trunk for his working tights. These he quickly donned and hurried back to the paddock. There he found Dimples with her ring horse, petting the broad-backed beast while he nibbled at the grass. "Waiting, you see?" she smiled up at Forrest. "Yes. But the performance isn't finished yet, is it?" "No. The hippodrome races are just going on. Come over to this side of the paddock, where we shall be out of the way, and I'll teach you a few first principles." "What do you want me to do first?" "Put your foot in my hand and I will give you a lift." The lad did as directed and sprang lightly to the back of the gray. "Move over on the horse's hip. There. Sit over just as far as you can without slipping off. You saw how I did it this afternoon?" "Yes--oh, here I go!" Phil slid from the sloping side of the ring horse, landing in a heap, to the accompaniment of a rippling laugh from Dimples. "I guess I'm not much of a bareback rider," grinned the lad, picking himself up. "How do you manage to stay on it in that position?" "I don't know. It is just practice. You will catch the trick of it very soon." "I'm not so sure of that." "There! Now, take hold of the rein and stand up. Don't be afraid--" "I'm not. Don't worry about my being afraid." "I didn't mean it that way. Move back further. It is not good to stand in the middle of your horse's back all the time. Besides throwing too much weight on the back, you are liable to tickle the animal there and make him nervous. The best work is done by standing over the horse's hip. That's it. Tread on the balls of your feet." But Phil suddenly went sprawling, landing on the ground again, at which both laughed merrily. Very shortly after that the show in the big top came to a close. The concert was now going on, at the end nearest the menagerie tent, so Phil and Dimples took the ring at the other end of the tent, where they resumed their practice. After a short time Phil found himself able to stand erect with more confidence. Now, his instructor, with a snap of her little whip, started the gray to walking slowly about the ring, Phil holding tightly to the bridle rein to steady himself. "Begin moving about now. Tread softly and lightly. That's it. You've caught it already." "Why not put a pad on the horse's back, as I've seen some performers do?" he questioned. "No. I don't want you to begin that way. Start without a pad, and you never will have to unlearn what you get. That's my advice. I'm going to set him at a gallop now. Stand straight and lean back a little." The ring horse moved off at a slow, methodical gallop. Phil promptly fell off, landing outside the ring, from where he picked himself up rather crestfallen. "Never mind. You'll learn. You are doing splendidly," encouraged Dimples, assisting him to mount again. "There's the press agent, Mr. Dexter, watching you. Now do your prettiest. Do you know him?" "No; I have not met him. He's the fellow that Teddy says blows up his words with a bicycle pump." "That's fine. I shall have to tell him that. Remember, you always want to keep good friends with the press agent. He's the man who makes or unmakes you after you have passed the eagle eyes of the proprietor," Dimples laughed. "From what I hear I guess you stand pretty high with Mr. Sparling." "I try to do what is right--do the best I know how." She nodded, clucking to the gray and Phil stopped talking at once, for he was fully occupied in sticking to the horse, over whose back he sprawled every now and then in the most ridiculous of positions. But, before the afternoon's practice had ended, the lad had made distinct progress. He found himself able to stand erect, by the aid of the bridle rein, and to keep his position fairly well while the animal took a slow gallop. He had not yet quite gotten over the dizziness caused by the constant traveling about in a circle in the narrow ring, but Dimples assured him that, after a few more turns, this would wear off entirely. After finishing the practice, Dimples led her horse back to the horse tent, promising Phil that they should meet the next afternoon. Phil had no more than changed to his street clothes before he received a summons to go to Mr. Sparling in his private tent. "I wonder what's wrong now?" muttered the lad. "But, I think I know. It's about that row we had this morning out on the lot. I shouldn't be surprised if I got fined for that." With a certain nervousness, Phil hurried out around the dressing tent, and skirting the two big tents, sought out Mr. Sparling in his office. CHAPTER XI SUMMONED BEFORE THE MANAGER The lad was not far wrong in his surmise. That Mr. Sparling was angry was apparent at the first glance. He eyed Phil from head to foot, a fierce scowl wrinkling his face and forehead. "Well, sir, what have you been up to this afternoon?" "Practicing in the ring since the afternoon performance closed." "H-m-m-m! And this forenoon?" "Not much of anything in the way of work." "Have any trouble with any of the men?" "Yes, sir." "Who?" "A man by the name of Larry, and another whom they call Bad Eye." "Humph! I suppose you know it's a bad breach of discipline in a show to have any mixups, don't you?" "I do. I make no apologies, except that I was acting wholly in self defense. All the same, I do not expect any favoritism. I am willing to take my punishment, whatever it may be," replied the lad steadily. There was the merest suspicion of a twinkle in the eyes of the showman. "Tell me what you did." "I punched Larry, tripped his friend, and--well, I don't exactly know all that did happen," answered Phil without a change of expression. "Knock them down?" "I--I guess so." "H-m-m. I suppose you know both those fellows are pretty bad medicine, don't you?" "I may have heard something of the sort." "Larry has quite a reputation as a fighter." "Yes, sir." "And you knocked him out?" "Something like that," answered Phil meekly. "Show me how you did it?" demanded Mr. Sparling, rising and standing before the culprit. "It was like this, you see," began Phil, exhibiting a sudden interest in the inquiry. "I was chased by the two men. Suddenly I stopped and let the fellow, Larry, fall over me. During the scrimmage I tripped Bad Eye. I didn't hit anyone until Larry crowded me so I had to do so in order to save myself, or else run away." "Why didn't you run, young man?" "I--I didn't like to do that, you know." Mr. Sparling nodded his head. "How did you hit him?" "He made a pass at me like this," and the lad lifted Mr. Sparling's hand over his shoulder. "I came up under his guard with a short arm jolt like this." "Well, what next?" "That was about all there was to it. The others came out, about that time, and I ducked in under the big top." To Phil's surprise Mr. Sparling broke out into a roar of laughter. In a moment he grew sober and stern again. "Be good enough to tell me what led up to this assault. What happened before that brought on the row? I can depend upon you to give me the facts. I can't say as much for all the others." Phil did as the showman requested, beginning with the ducking of Teddy by the men when the show was leaving Germantown, and ending with Teddy's having emptied a pail of muddy water over Larry's red head that morning. He had only just finished his narration of the difficulty, when who should appear at the entrance to the office tent but Larry himself. He was followed, a few paces behind, by Bad Eye. Mr. Sparling's stern, judicial eyes were fixed upon them. He demanded to hear from them their version of the affair, which Larry related, leaving out all mention of his having ducked Teddy. His story agreed in the main details with what Phil already had said, excepting that Larry's recital threw the blame on Teddy and Phil. Mr. Sparling took a book from his desk, making a memorandum therein. "Is that all, sir?" questioned Larry. "Not quite. If I hear of any further infraction of the rules of this show on the part of either of you two, you close right then. Understand?" "Yes." "That's not all; I'll have you both jailed for assault. As it is, I'll fine you both a week's pay. Now get out of here!" Larry hesitated, flashed a malignant glance at Phil Forrest; then, turning on his heel, he left the tent. "Don't you think you had better fine me, too, sir?" asked Phil. "What for?" "Because I shall have to do it again some of these days." "What do you mean?" "That fellow is going to be even with me at the very first opportunity." Mr. Sparling eyed the lad for a moment. "I guess you will be able to give a good account of yourself if he tries to do anything of the sort. Let me say right here, though you need not tell your friend so that I think Teddy did just right, and I am glad you gave Larry a good drubbing. But, of course, we can't encourage this sort of thing with the show. It has to be put down with an iron hand." "I understand, sir." "Mind, I don't expect you to be a coward." "I hope not. My father used to teach me not to be. He frequently said, 'Phil, keep out of trouble, but if you get into it, don't sneak out.' " "That's the talk," roared Mr. Sparling, smiting his desk with a mighty fist. "You run along, now, and give your young friend some advice about what he may expect if he gets into any more difficulty." "I have done that already." "Good! Tell it to him again as coming from me. He's going to make a good showman, though he came near putting this outfit out of business with the fool mule this afternoon. I would cut the act out, but for the fact that it is a scream from start to finish. Feeling all right?" "Yes, thank you. I am perfectly able to go on in the ring act tonight, if you think best." "Wait until tomorrow; wait until tomorrow. You'll be all the better for it." The cook tent was open, as Phil observed. The red flag was flying from the center pole of the tent, indicating that supper was being served. In a short time the tent would come down and be on its way in the flying squadron to the next stand. The show was now less than a day out, but many things had happened. Not a moment had been without its interest or excitement, and Phil realized that as he walked toward the cook tent. He found Teddy there, satisfying his appetite, or rather exerting himself in that direction, for Teddy's appetite was a thing never wholly satisfied. After supper Phil took the boy aside and delivered Mr. Sparling's message. Teddy looked properly serious, but it is doubtful if the warning sank very deep into his mind, for the next minute he was turning handsprings on the lot. "Know what I'm going to do, Phil?" he glowed. "There's no telling what you will do, from one minute to the next, Teddy," replied Phil. "Going to practice up and see if I can't get in the leaping act." "That's a good idea. When do you begin taking lessons?" "Taking 'em now." "From Mr. Miaco?" "Yes. I did a turn off the springboard this afternoon with the 'mechanic on,' " meaning the harness used to instruct beginners in the art of tumbling. "How did you make out?" "Fine! I'd have broken my neck if it hadn't been for the harness." Phil laughed heartily. "I should say you did do finely. But you don't expect to be able to jump over ten elephants and horses the way the others do?" "They don't all do it. Some of 'em leap until they get half a dozen elephants in line, then they stand off and watch the real artists finish the act. I can do that part of it now. But I tell you I'm going to be a leaper, Phil." "Good for you! That's the way to talk. Keep out of trouble, work hard, don't talk too much, and you'll beat me yet," declared Phil. "And say!" "What?" "Be careful with that mule act tonight. You know Mr. Sparling will be in there watching you. It wouldn't take much more trouble to cause him to cut that act out of the programme, and then you might not be drawing so much salary. Fifty dollars a week is pretty nice for each of us. If we don't get swelled heads, but behave ourselves, we'll have a nice little pile of money by the time the season closes." "Yes," agreed Teddy. "I guess that's so; but we'll be losing a lot of fun." "I don't agree with you," laughed Phil. The lads strolled into the menagerie tent on their way through to the dressing tent. The gasoline men were busy lighting their lamps and hauling them on center and quarter pole, while the menagerie attendants were turning the tongues of the cages about so that the horses could be hitched on promptly after the show in the big top began. Some of the animals were munching hay, others of the caged beasts were lying with their noses poked through between the bars of their cages, blinking drowsily. "I'd hate to be him," announced Teddy with a comprehensive wave of the hand as they passed the giraffe, which stood silent in his roped enclosure, his head far up in the shadows. "Why?" "For two reasons. Keeper tells me he can't make a sound. Doesn't bray, nor whinny, nor growl, nor bark, nor-- can't do anything. I'd rather be a lion or a tiger or something like that. If I couldn't do anything else, then, I could stand off and growl at folks." Phil nodded and smiled. "And what's your other reason for being glad you are not a giraffe?" "Because--because--because when you had a sore throat think what a lot of neck you'd have to gargle!" Phil laughed outright, and as the giraffe lowered its head and peered down into their faces, he thought, for the moment, that he could see the animal grin. After this they continued on to the dressing tent, where they remained until time for the evening performance. This passed off without incident, Teddy and his mule doing nothing more sensational than kicking a rent in the ringmaster's coat. After the show was over, and the tents had begun to come down, Phil announced his intention of going downtown for a lunch. "This fresh air makes me hungry. You see, I am not used to it yet," he explained in an apologetic tone. "You do not have to go down for a lunch, unless you want to," the bandmaster informed him. "Why, is there a lunch place on the grounds?" "No. We have an accommodation car on our section." "What kind of car is that?" "Lunch car. You can't get a heavy meal there, but you will find a nice satisfying lunch. The boss has it served at cost. He doesn't make any money out of the deal. You'll find it on our section." "Good! Come along Teddy." "Will I? That's where I'll spend my money," nodded Teddy, starting away at a jog trot. "And your nights too, if they would let you," laughed Phil, following his companion at a more leisurely gait. As they crossed the lot they passed "Red" Larry, as he had now been nicknamed by the showmen. Larry pretended not to see the boys, but there was an ugly scowl on his face that told Phil he did, and after the lads had gone on a piece Phil turned, casting a careless look back where the torches were flaring and men working and shouting. "Red" Larry was not working now. He was facing the boys, shaking a clenched fist at them. "I am afraid we haven't heard the last of our friend, Larry," said Phil. "Who's afraid?" growled Teddy. "Neither of us. But all the same we had better keep an eye on him while we are in his vicinity. We don't want to get into any more trouble--at least not, if we can possibly avoid it." "Not till Mr. Sparling forgets about today? Is that it?" "I guess it is," grinned Phil. "He might take it seriously?" "He already has done that. So be careful." Teddy nodded. But the lads had not yet heard the last of "Red" Larry. CHAPTER XII THE HUMAN FOOTBALL "Ever try clowning, young man?" asked the Iron-Jawed Man. Teddy Tucker shook his head. "Why don't you?" "Nobody ever asked me." "Then you had better ask the boss to let you try it. Tell him you want to be a clown and that we will take you in and put you through your paces until you are able to go it alone." The show had been on the road for nearly two weeks now, and every department was working like a piece of well-oiled machinery. The usual number of minor disasters had befallen the outfit during the first week, but now everything was system and method. The animals had become used to the constant moving, and to the crowds and the noise, so that their growls of complaint were few. In that time Teddy and Phil had been going through their act on the flying rings daily, having shown great improvement since they closed with the show the previous fall. Their winter's work had proved of great benefit, and Mr. Sparling had complimented them several times lately. Teddy was now devoting all his spare time to learning to somersault and do the leaping act from the springboard. He could, by this time, turn a somersault from the board, though his landing was less certain. Any part of his anatomy was liable to sustain the impact of his fall, but he fell in so many ludicrous positions that the other performers let it go at that, for it furnished them much amusement. However, Teddy's unpopularity in the dressing tent had been apparent ever since he and the educated mule had made their sensational entry into that sacred domain, practically wrecking the place. Teddy and his pet had come near doing the same thing twice since, and the performers were beginning to believe there was method in Tucker's madness. It had come to the point where the performers refused to remain in the dressing tent while Teddy and the mule were abroad, unless men with pike poles were stationed outside to ward off the educated mule when he came in from the ring. But Teddy didn't care. The lad was interested in the suggestion of the Iron-Jawed Man. Had he known that the suggestion had been made after secret conference of certain of the performers, Tucker might have felt differently about it. There was something in the air, but the Circus Boy did not know it. "What kind of clown act would you advise me to get up?" he asked. "Oh, you don't have to get it up. We'll do that for you. In fact, there is one act that most all clowns start with, and it will do as well as anything else for you. You see, you have to get used to being funny, or you'll forget yourself, and then you're of no further use as a clown." "Yes, I know; but what is the act?" "What do you say, fellows--don't you think the human football would fit him from the sawdust up?" "Just the thing," answered the performers thus appealed to. Mr. Miaco, the head clown, was bending over his trunk, his sides shaking with laughter, but Teddy did not happen to observe him, nor had he noticed that the head clown had had no part in the conversation. "The human football?" questioned Teddy dubiously. "Yes." "What's that?" "Oh, you dress up in funny makeup so you look like a huge ball." "But what do I do after I have become a football?" "Oh, you roll around in the arena, falling all over yourself and everybody who happens to get in your way; you bounce up and down and make all sorts of funny--" "Oh, I know," cried Teddy enthusiastically. "I saw a fellow do that in a show once. He would fall on the ground on his back, then bounce up into the air several feet." "You've hit it," replied a clown dryly. "I remember how all the people laughed and shouted. I'll bet I'd make a hit doing that." "You would!" shouted the performers in chorus. The show was playing in Batavia, New York, on a rainy night, with rather a small house expected, so no better time could have been chosen for Teddy's first appearance as a clown. "Had I better speak to Mr. Sparling about it?" "Well, what do you think, fellows?" "Oh, no, no! The old man won't care. If you make them laugh, he'll be tickled half to death." "What do you say? Is it a go, Tucker?" "Well, I'll think about it." Teddy strolled out in the paddock, where he walked up and down a few times in the rain. But the more he thought about the proposition, the more enthusiastic he grew. He could see himself the center of attraction, and he could almost hear the howls of delight of the multitude. "They'll be surprised. But I don't believe I had better go on without first speaking to Mr. Sparling. He might discharge me. He's had his eye on me ever since the mule tore up the dressing tent. But I won't tell Phil. I'll just give him a surprise. How he'll laugh when he sees me and finds out who I am." Thus deciding, the lad ran through the tents out to the front door, where he asked for Mr. Sparling, knowing that by this time the owner's tent had been taken down and packed for shipment, even if it were not already under way on the flying squadron. He learned that Mr. Sparling was somewhere in the menagerie tent. Hurrying back there, Teddy soon came upon the object of his search. At that moment he was standing in front of the cage of Wallace, the biggest lion in captivity, gazing at that shaggy beast thoughtfully. "Mr. Sparling," called Teddy. The showman turned, shooting a sharp glance at the flushed face of the Circus Boy. "Well, what's wrong?" "Nothing is wrong, sir." "Come to kick about feed in the cook tent?" "Oh, no, no, sir! Nothing like that. I've come to ask a favor of you." "Humph! I thought as much. Well, what is it?" "I--I think I'd like to be a clown, sir." "A clown?" asked the showman, with elevated eyebrows. "Yes, sir." Mr. Sparling laughed heartily. "Why, you're that already. You are a clown, though you may not know it. You've been a clown ever since you wore long dresses, I'll wager." "But I want to be a real one," urged Teddy. "What kind of clown?" "I thought I'd like to be a human football." This time Mr. Sparling glanced at the boy in genuine surprise. "A human football?" "Yes, sir." "What put that idea into your head?" "Some of the fellows suggested it." "Ah! I thought so," twinkled Mr. Sparling. "Who, may I ask?" "Well, I guess most all of them did." "I know, but who suggested it first?" "I think the Iron-Jawed Man was the first to say that I ought to be a clown. He thought I would make a great hit." "No doubt, no doubt," snapped the showman in a tone that led Teddy to believe he was angry about something. "May I?" Mr. Sparling reflected a moment, raised his eyes and gazed at the dripping roof of the menagerie tent. "When is this first appearance to be made, if I may ask?" "Oh, tonight. The fellows said it would be a good time, as there would not be a very big house." "Oh, they did, eh? Well, go ahead. But remember you do it at your own risk." "Thank you." Teddy was off for the dressing room on a run. "I'm It," he cried, bursting in upon them. "Get the suit," commanded a voice. "He's It." Somebody hurried to the property room, returning with a full rubber suit, helmet and all. As yet it was merely a bundle. They bade Teddy get into it, all hands crowding about him, offering suggestions and lending their assistance. "My, I didn't know I was so popular here," thought the lad, pleased with these unusual attentions. "They must think I'm the real thing. I'll show them I am, too." "Get the pump," directed the Iron-Jawed Man. A bicycle pump was quickly produced, and, opening a valve, one of the performers began pumping air into the suit. "Here, what are you doing?" demanded Teddy. "Blowing you up--" "Here, I don't want to be blown up." "With a bicycle pump," added the performer, grinning through the powder and grease paint on his face. "Say, you ought to use that on the press agent!" The performers howled at this sally. Teddy began to swell out of all proportion to his natural size, as the bicycle pump inflated his costume. In a few moments he had grown so large that he could not see his own feet, while the hood about his head left only a small portion of his face visible. "Monster!" hissed a clown, shaking a fist in Teddy's face. "I guess I am. I'd make a hit as the Fattest Boy on Earth in this rig, wouldn't I? I'll bet the Living Skeleton will be jealous when he sees me." "There, I guess he's pumped up," announced the operator of the bicycle pump. "Try it and see," suggested a voice. "All right." Teddy got a resounding blow that flattened him on the ground. But before he could raise his voice in protest he had bounded to his feet, and someone caught him, preventing his going right on over the other way. The performers howled with delight. "He'll do. He'll do," they shouted. "Don't you do that again," warned the boy, a little dazed. The time was at hand for the clowns to make their own grand entry. "Come on, that's our cue!" shouted one, as the band struck up a new tune. "I--I can't run. I'm too fat." "We'll help you." And they did. With a clown on either side of him, Teddy was rushed through the silk curtains and out past the bandstand, his feet scarcely touching the ground. Part of the time the clowns were half dragging him, and at other times carrying him. At first the audience did not catch the significance of it. Straight for ring No. 1 Tucker's associates rushed him. But just as they reached the ring they let go of him. Of course Teddy fell over the wooden ring curbing, and went rolling and bouncing into the center of the sawdust arena. Phil had made his change in the menagerie tent after finishing his elephant act, and was just entering the big top as Teddy made his sensational entrance. He caught sight of his companion at once. "Who's that?" he asked of Mr. Sparling, who was standing at the entrance with a broad grin on his face. "That, my dear Phil, is your very good friend, Mr. Teddy Tucker." "Teddy? You don't mean it?" "Yes; he has decided to be a clown, and I guess he is on the way. The people are kicking on the seats and howling." "I should judge, from appearances, that the other clowns were getting even more entertainment out of his act than is the audience." "It certainly looks that way. But let them go. It will do Master Teddy a whole lot of good." A clown jumped to the ring curbing and made a speech about the wonderful human football, announcing at the same time that the championship game was about to be played. Then they began to play in earnest. Some had slapsticks, others light barrel staves, and with these they began to belabor the human football, each blow being so loud that it could be heard all over the tent. Of course the blows did not hurt Teddy at all, but the bouncing and buffeting that he got aroused his anger. One clown would pick the lad up and throw him to a companion, who, in turn, would drop him. Then the audience would yell with delight as the ball bounced to an upright position again. This the clowns kept up until Teddy did not know whether he were standing on his feet or his head. The perspiration was rolling down his face, getting into his eyes and blinding him. "Quit it!" he howled. "Maybe you'll ride the educated mule through the dressing tent again?" jeered a clown. "Bring the mule out and let him knock the wind out of the rubber man!" suggested another. "How do you like being a clown?" This and other taunts were shouted at the rubber man, Teddy meanwhile expressing himself with unusual vehemence. Mr. Sparling had in the meantime sent a message back to the paddock. He was holding his sides with laughter, while Phil himself was leaning against a quarter pole shouting with merriment. Suddenly there came the sound of a clanging gong, interspersed with shouts from the far end of the tent. The spectators quickly glanced in that direction, and they saw coming at a rapid rate the little patrol wagon drawn by four diminutive ponies, the outfit so familiar to the boys who attend the circus. The clowns were surprised when they observed it, knowing that the patrol was not scheduled to enter at this time. Their surprise was even greater when the wagon dashed up and stopped where they were playing their game of football. Three mock policemen leaped out and rushed into the thick of the mock game. As they did so they hurled the clowns right and left, standing some of them on their heads and beating them with their clubs, which, in this instance, proved to be slapsticks, that made a great racket. This was a part of the act that the clowns had not arranged. It was a little joke that the owner of the show was playing on them. Quick to seize an opportunity to make a hit, Sparling had ordered out the show patrol, and the audience, catching the significance of it, shouted, swinging their hats and handkerchiefs. The three policemen, after laying the clowns low, grabbed the helpless human football by the heels, dragging him to the wagon and dumping him in. They dropped the human football in so heavily that it bounced out again and hit the ground. The next time, as they threw Teddy in, one of the officers sat on him to hold him. The gong set up an excited clanging, and the ponies began racing around the arena the long way, and took the stretch to the paddock at a terrific speed, with the howls of the multitude sounding in their ears. Reaching the dressing tent, the mock policemen let the air out of the rubber ball, whereat Teddy sat down heavily in a pail of water. The performers danced around Tucker, singing an improvised song about the human football. Gradually the angry scowl on the face of the Circus Boy relaxed into a broad grin. "How do you like being a clown now?" jeered the Iron-Jawed Man. "Yes; how does it feel to be a football?" questioned another. "I guess you got even with me that time," answered Teddy good-naturedly. "But say, that's easy compared with riding the educated mule." CHAPTER XIII DUCKED BY AN ELEPHANT The great white billows of the Sparling Combined Shows were moving steadily across the continent. The receipts had exceeded Mr. Sparling's most sanguine expectations, and he was in great good humor. Only one unpleasant incident had happened and that occurred at Franklin, Indiana. Phil and Teddy, while on their way to their car after the performance late at night, had been set upon by two men and quite severely beaten, though both lads had given a good account of themselves and finally driven off their assailants. They did not report their experience to Mr. Sparling until the next morning, having gone directly to their car and put themselves to bed after having been fixed up with plasters and bandages by some of their companions. The next morning neither lad was particularly attractive to look at. However, bearing the taunts of the show people good-naturedly, they started for the cook tent just as they were in the habit of doing every day. But Mr. Sparling had seen them as they passed his car on their way. "Now, I wonder what those boys have been up to?" he scowled, watching their receding forms thoughtfully. "I'll find out." And he did. He summoned the lads to his office in the tent soon after breakfast. "I expected you would send for us," grinned Phil, as he walked in with Teddy. "What about it? You are both sights!" "Grease paint and powder will cover it up, I guess, Mr. Sparling." "I'll hear how it happened." "I can't tell you much about it," said Phil. "We were on our way to the car when a couple of men suddenly jumped out from a fence corner and went at us hammer and tongs. That's when we got these beauty spots. If we had seen the fellows coming we might not have been hit at all." "Wait a minute; where did this occur?" demanded the showman. "Just outside the lot at Franklin. It was very dark there, and, as you know, the sky was overcast." "Did you know the men--had you ever seen them before?" "I couldn't say as to that." "No, sir; we couldn't say," added Teddy, nodding. Mr. Sparling turned a cold eye upon Tucker. "I haven't asked for remarks from you, young man. When I do you may answer." Teddy subsided for the moment. "But, had it been anyone you knew, you must have recognized their voices." "They didn't say a word. Just pitched into us savagely. I think they might have done us serious injury had we not defended ourselves pretty well." "It occurs to me that you were rather roughly handled as it was," said the showman, with a suspicion of a grin on his face. "Doctor fixed you up, I suppose?" "Oh, no; it wasn't so bad as that." "Have you any suspicion--do you think it was any of the show people?" demanded Mr. Sparling, eyeing Phil penetratingly. "I don't know. Here is a button I got from the coat of one of the men. That may serve to identify him if he is one of our men. I haven't had a chance to look around this morning." The showman quickly stretched forth his hand for the button, which he examined curiously. "And here's a collar, too," chuckled Teddy. "A collar? Where did you get that, young man?" "Oh, I just yanked it off the other fellow. Guess it hasn't been to the laundry this season." Mr. Sparling leaned back and laughed heartily. "Between you, you boys will be the ruination of me. You take my mind off business so that I don't know what I'm about half of the time. But I can't get along without you. I'll look into this matter," he went on more gravely. "Tell the boss canvasman to send Larry and Bad Eye to me." "Yes, sir." The lads delivered the message. Mr. Sparling's eyes twinkled as these two worthies sneaked into his tent, each with a hangdog expression on his face. "Red" Larry had a black eye, while Bad Eye's nose appeared to have listed to one side. The showman glanced at Larry's coat, then at the button in his own hand. He nodded understandingly. Bad Eye was collarless. "Here's a button that I think you lost off your coat last night, Larry," smiled Mr. Sparling sweetly. "And, Bad Eye, here's your collar. Better send it to the washerwoman." The men were speechless for the moment. "Go to the boss, both of you, and get your time. Then I want you to clear out of here." "Wha--what--we ain't done nothing," protested Larry. "And you had better not. If I see you about the circus lot again this season, I'll have you both in the nearest jail quicker than you can say 'scat!' Understand? Get out of here!" The showman half rose from his chair, glaring angrily at them. His good-nature had suddenly left him, and the canvasmen, knowing what they might expect from the wrathful showman, stood not upon the order of their going. They ran. Larry had left some of his belongings behind a cage in the menagerie tent, and he headed directly for that place to get it out and foot it for the village before Mr. Sparling should discover him on the grounds. In going after his bundle Larry was obliged to pass the elephant station, where the elephants were taking their morning baths, throwing water over their backs from tubs that had been placed before them. A pail full of water had been left near old Emperor's tub by the keeper, because the tub would hold no more. Emperor apparently had not observed it, nor did he seem to see the red-headed canvasman striding his way. Mr. Kennedy, the keeper, was at the far end of the line sweeping off the baby elephant with a broom, while Phil and Teddy were sitting on a pile of straw back of Emperor discussing their experience the previous evening. "There's Red," said Teddy, pointing. "Yes, and he seems to be in a great hurry about something. I'll bet Mr. Sparling has discharged him. I'm sorry. I hate to see anybody lose his job, but I guess Red deserves it if anybody does. He's one of the fellows that attacked us
Back to Full Books |