it was in the graftin’ days,” he continued, as he wiped the dust off
his patent leathers with a horse plume. “We turned the season them days
with a bunch of money that was all our own, and nobody kickin’. I was
out with a little graftin’ show that had more gamblin’ on one lot than a
county fair, an’, say, I wasn’t takin’ no chances with them grafters an’
tinhorns! I knowed the countries would buy their tickets before they went
at the games, an’ say, I wasn’t overlookin’ my bit.
“Me an’ the fixer stood pat. He travelled three days ahead, an’ had it
all squared with the Mayor of the burg and the police so the games could
go on an’ no kick. Well, he would get hold of a smart lookin’ constable,
take him aroun’ back of the courthouse and give him a talk. The constable
likes it bein’ taken into the confidence of a showman, an’ lets ev’rybody
see it, ’cause he’s proud.
“Well, the fixer sez, ‘You’re a smart lookin’ young man; you do me a turn
when the show comes, an’ if the Boss likes you, he may take you along for
Chief Detective!’
“Say, that hits the Reub so hard, that Chief Detective talk, and for
three days he’s seein’ visions of hisself flashin’ his tin all along
the line. Well, he reports to me, and I gives him instructions and a
ten-dollar bill, with promise of a five after the show if he does his
work. I posts him in front of the window, and has him fixed to butt in
when there’s any kick, an’ say, ‘No arguments; keep movin’, gentlemen!’
“An’ he does it good, and I throws the short change, an’ with the band a
goin’ in the tent and the crowd crazy to get at the games, I picks out a
little bag of coin before the tinhorns lands on the roll. An’ me helper,
who was a bit of a mechanic, he takes the sill of the window in the wagon
and tilts it with the slant to the inside. A guy comes along and throws
up a dollar bill, and says give me one. With one hand I throw down the
ticket, an’ with the other throw up two quarters, or a quarter two tens
and a five. They hit the glass, an’ say, with that slant some of it was
sure to come back, an’ Mr. Man is in too big a hurry for the Big Show
to notice, an’ the constable, who’s to get the five, keeps ’em movin’.
At night the constable says he wants to have a private conversation an’
takes me off.
“‘Look a here,’ sez he, ‘that agent ahead of the circus sez if I could do
the work I might be made chief detective.’
“Not a word, keep quiet, says I. You’ll spoil it.
“The constable don’t just get next, but it soun’s good. ‘See that man
over there?’ sez I. Constable looks aroun’ an’ sees the big boy that
allus stood by the gate an’ who wasn’t no more of an officer than me.
“Well, sez I, that man has been watchin’ you. He’s Mr. Pinkerton himself,
and as soon as he makes out his official report to Superintendent Byrnes
you gets the job. He thanks me an’ I give him the fivespot. He goes home
an’ tells ev’rybody for the names I spring was so good he didn’t see
through the con. But, of course, I’ve got to give the fixer a bit. An’
say, that’s the trouble with graftin’. You’ve got to fix too many people
to keep from gettin’ a holler. But none of it now. I stick to what I
says, that ev’ry hand that comes up to the window is a hand ag’in’ you,
and will do you if it can. You’re goin’ to get short change, all right,
but don’t do no old-fashioned graftin’. I tell you there’s only one way
to get it honest, an’ if the band is playin’ while you’re sellin’, it
will keep your line movin’ at the window, an’ it’s a poor evenin’ you
can’t pick up fifteen at least that was left and nobody hurt. Of course,
I calls them back--but I never could holler loud.”
The Ticket Man took out a solid gold watch, with a stop movement, and his
initials in diamonds on the back.
“Well, guess I better get at it,” and he left and went to the ticket
wagon, where on the inside he sat on a little stool with the tickets in
one hand and the change on the other side.
Then the hands began to come up and he was at work again.
THE CONCERT MANAGER TELLS THE BOYS AN ELEPHANT YARN.
The concert manager looked like a corn doctor who had dressed up to go
to the City Hall for his license. He always wore a long black coat, and
when a healthy ray of sunshine hit it square in the back it threw off a
glare like a locomotive reflector. He had a smooth face, wore his hair
long, and it was his proudest boast that once down in Texarkana he had
been asked if he was William Jennings Bryan. As the question was put by a
swarthy Democrat who wanted to buy “sumthin’,” he said he was, and they
both liquored up the rest of the afternoon, and no discoveries.
The Concert Manager had sifted the English language down to about nine
five-syllable words, and the rest of his talk was only ordinary. His
voice was his big hit. He could stand on the elevated stage between Ring
One and Ring Two, and no matter what was going on hit every ear drum
with his gag about “directly after the performance,” “you need not leave
your seats,” and that “the gentlemanly ushers would soon pass along
selling tickets.” His voice got him all of the announcing, and he had a
shape that always cast him for some big guy with fake whiskers when they
were doing anything spectacular for the entree.
He loved to address the multitude. Let the gang sit down on the ring
bank for a chat before the night show, and it was he to cut in with a
talk--something he knew all about and which had the rest of the boys
winging before he hit the end of the first chapter. He had more different
kinds of talk than any man in the outfit, and he always yearned to be
handing it out. In the winter he ran a hall show with a company that
would take a fall out of anything from “Hamlet” to a melodrama with three
big effects and a wholesale killing in each act. The gang was telling
hard luck stories when he came across the track, and he was ready with
one at the first cue.
“‘Say, boys,’ he said with one of those back platform gestures, ‘I’ll
tell you the star hard luck story--say, the best, and no appeal. Me, a
long time ago playing the little towns in Ohio with a merry-go-round.
Think of it, yes, but don’t laugh, for it was a good game in them days
and I was turnin’ coin. We put up on a lot for four days for a county
fair, an’ business is so good that I stops sleepin’ back of the tent an’
goes to the inn. Well, say, the barkeeper of that tavern was a pass fiend
for fair, an’ he keeps strikin’ me for free rides on the wooden horses. I
laughs him off, but he keeps at it. So one day I gets mad an’ throws him
hard. He looks at me over the black bottle an’ sez: ‘Say, you give a free
ride ev’ry time they gets the brass ring, don’t ye?’
“I says ‘yes,’ an’ he shuts up like a law abider, an’ that ends it. But
what do you suppose that glass rubber does? Say, he comes out to the
lot with his gang, an’ while he wasn’t lookin’ he pours a hole bottle
of gildin’ fluid into the ring slide, an’ say, everybody on the lot was
gettin’ gold rings an’ ridin’ free all night. It hit me so hard I had
to fold up and to the wagons an’ do the sneak without settlin’ me last
payment on the privilege to the fair folks.”
This seemed to please the ring bank crowd and the Concert Manager was
full of loose gab. Finally the talk drifted to animals, and then to
elephants, and up speaks the Concert Manager.
“I never comes through the animal tent and sees the elephant herd,” he
says, “but it has me rememberin’ sumthin’ that happens when I’m with the
John Robinson show doin’ the talkin’ from the ring an’ makin’ me extra
with a couple of blackface turns, a singin’ act an’ a knockabout after
the Big Show.
“Say, for real heart them elephants has got all humanity beat to a
standstill. Seems to me that the worst weakness that is in the breast of
man is the feelin’ that pulls him away from another man when they ought
to be stickin’ together. Say, it ain’t many a man that remembers a good
turn, and kind acts is forgotten as quick as money that’s owin’. But
them big boys with the trunks, say, they ain’t forgettin’ nothin’. Youse
can do a good turn for a man an’ he’ll throw you the next day, but the
elephant ain’t forgettin’ the one what has done him sumthin’ good, be he
man or beast.
“Well, in them days we was carryin’ six big fellows, an’ part of my game
was to let their backs out to the storekeepers for banners. I’d lay it
out with some drygoods dealer that was enterprisin’ enough to do some
real sensational advertisin’. Then we’d have the banners painted, swing
’em over the backs, an’ Mr. Mann has a good showin’ when we makes the
parade down the street. I was payin’ the trainer a little extry to see
that the banners got on, and, say, that boy for liquor was the original
reservoir. It seems that the money I’m givin’ him allus buys a drink. He
keeps it up right along an’ gits many a warnin’. There wasn’t a guy with
the outfit that could handle the beasts like he could, an’ the Boss was
allus afeerd sumthin’ would happen.
“And it did by and by. The trainer don’t pay attention to the warnin’,
and one matinee he queers the act. He gets his elephants all mixed up
in his ring, an’ there comes near bein’ a breakaway but for a lot of
spearin’. The Boss sees it all, an’ he gets the trainer out without any
talk. The boys gets the elephants back to their stable, but ev’ry one is
looking for trouble.
“Well, say, the Big Show is started an’ about halfway through when the
Boss Canvasman is ready to strike the animal tent an’ make for the cars.
The horses is put to the dens, an’ they is all soon on the road, with the
walkin’ stock followin’. Then the boys gets to the elephants an’ tries
to start ’em, but not a one will move. They gives them the spear, but
not a move. They gets to hollerin’ an’ more spearin’, but they might as
well tried to move mountains. The Boss come in, an’ he tries it, but no
go. They moves a lot of hay down the lot, thinkin’ it will make ’em look
for another feedin’, but no go. Then one of the trainers what had been
helpin’ the head trainer stan’s out an’ calls ’em by name. They flaps
their big ears, but not a move. It’s time for the section to be pullin’
out, an’ we all hands is up against it.
“Well, I sez to myself, here’s your chance to be smart an’ redeem it all
for Jed,--the trainer what was fired for drinkin’. I hustles over to the
tavern an’ finds Jed puttin’ away the juice like he was loadin’ a train.
I gives him a long talk an’ tells him about the elephants. He calls ’em
his darlings an’ wants to buy more drink. I begs him to come over an’
help us out, but he’s sore on the Boss an’ won’t make a move. After
awhile I gets him to thinkin’, an’ he sez he’ll do it. Jed was pretty
full an’ was staggerin’, but I gets him to the lot where ev’ry animal man
in the outfit is a spearin’ them beasts, while the Boss is cussin’, an’
the whole town roostin’ on the sidewalk an’ givin’ us the laugh. I gets
Jed in an’ right in front of the Boss.
“The Boss is still sore, and sez, ‘Take that loafer away.’
“‘Wait,’ sez I.
“Then afore there could be any argument Jed staggers out in front of the
herd, and, leaning heavy-like on the bale of hay, begins callin’:
“‘King,’ he yells.
“The biggest bull in the herd lifts his ear, then holds up his trunk an’
gives a shriek that scares the crowd white.
“‘Stop that spearin’!’ sez Jed, an’ every animal man gits out of the way.
“‘King!’ yells Jed again, an’ with that he walks over an’ touches the
elephant on the trunk. The big bull wheels around and starts away.
“‘Sam, Dick, Boss, Frank!’ keeps yellin’ Jed, an’ the whole herd is
turnin’ an’ takin’ the road to the depot.
“The crowd on the lot is cheerin’, an’ the animal men walk along by the
beasts, but there’s no more spearin’. Jed jes’ leans against the hay an’
keeps callin’. He finishes, an’ as the last elephant comes along he loops
down with his trunk, an’ pickin’ Jed up sits him on his trunk an’ walks
away proud like jes, as he does in Ring Three at the finish of the act.
“Say, the Boss is almost wild about it, an’ the whole town follows the
herd to the train. The Boss had Jed put in the sleeper, but Jed won’t
have it, and crawls out to sleep in the elephant car, where he was most
at home.
“Say, that’s what I call havin’ a heart. Them elephants knew that voice.
Jed had been leadin’ ’em up hill and down hill, from sea to sea, an’ they
wasn’t goin’ to have it any other way.”
“Well, did they take him back for good?” asked the Saw Dust Spreader.
“Take him back,” said the Concert Manager. “Well, I should say, an’ the
Boss gives him a gold watch with elephant engravin’ on it, with a fancy
band with some wordin’ about bein’ a faithful servant.
“An’, say, Jed was sober after that durin’ the season, but when we got
into quarters the tavern for Jed all the time.”