THE SAWDUST RING
The audience felt the usual circus thrill as they took their places on
the narrow board seats; the tent that always gives a twilight dimness
to the inside of a circus arena was not in evidence, there being no
canvas large enough to borrow for that purpose, but the ground was
thickly sprinkled with sawdust for the performers’ circle.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” began Uncle Ben, as he walked to the center of
the ring. “The first number on our programme will be the Great Circus
Parade in which all members of the Side Shows and the regular circus
will take part. The music is furnished by the Little Citizens’ Brass
Band. Kindly refrain from making remarks during the exhibition.”
The moment Uncle Ben concluded his short speech, Mr. Richards sprang
up and said: “I surmise that we may make as many remarks as we like
_before_ the exhibition, so I wish to know who elected you Master of
Ceremonies?”
The audience laughed and some clapped their hands at the question asked
Uncle Ben. But he was equal to it.
“Not ‘Master of Ceremonies,’ my dear sir, but simply the ‘Ring
Master,’” replied Uncle Ben, with a low bow.
“Then I take objection to being made to sit here and see a Ring Master
without the customary long waxed mustachios and high silk hat--to say
nothing of the lack of a swallow-tail coat and silver-handled whip!”
Of course everyone knew it was all in fun, so they laughed because
Uncle Ben had no retort ready. After a moment’s hesitation, however, he
said:
“I have been given authority to maintain order, and if I hear
any further objections from one who came to see this show on a
_complimentary_ ticket, I will forcibly expel him from the premises.”
The threatening tones and the scowl on the Ring Master’s face caused a
great chorus of laughter from the audience, and from those performers
who knew that Uncle Ben and his dear friend Mr. Richards were trying to
get the best of each other in the fun-argument.
But the blare of horns coming from back of the canvas curtain
interrupted any further attacks, so the Ring Master retired to attend
to the order of march.
A drum-major led the band. He was dressed in a high bearskin hat
with gold tassels draped in front of it. His blue uniform was also
elaborately trimmed with tinsel and gold ornaments that reminded
everyone of Christmas Tree trimmings. In fact that is just what they
were!
The Brass Band followed and blew its instruments so lustily that no
attention was paid to time or notes. Noise, and plenty of it, was what
every member was eager to accomplish.
After the band, the freaks and wild animals followed, but the Numidian
lion had thrown back its head-piece and the boy’s hot face peeping out
looked very strange as it surmounted the shaggy lion rug.
After the side-show members came the regular circus performers--bareback
riders, acrobats, pugilists, etcetera.
Every Little Citizen in camp wished to be in the Grand Parade and
everyone had some odd bit of decoration to distinguish his or her
connection with so illustrious a company.
Some of the little girls had gathered great quantities of daisies and
buttercups and other wild flowers, and had sewed them all over their
camp dresses. Many of the little boys, too small to take part in the
acting, were costumed in foliage-covered clothes or in fancy paper
suits.
The parade over, the troupe sought refuge back of the canvas curtain
to await the call of each performer. The selected “pieces” of the
Brass Band now took their seats in front of the canvas and showed the
audience what a volume of sound six members of the band could send
forth.
“Our first number will be a clog dance. This is the public début
of our famous Little Citizen Dancer, so I wish all present to take
particular notice of his accomplishment,” announced the Ring Master,
who now appeared with the drum-major’s bearskin upon his head, and the
drum-major’s tinsel-decorated baton for a stick.
Uproarious applause followed the announcement, but it was never known
whether the clapping was for the hat and stick or for the début of the
clog-dancer.
The visitors were sincerely interested in the dancing and felt
gratified that one of the Little Citizens should have been found with
such ability--it became apparent that something might be made of the
boy.
Following the clog-dancer, came Maggie to sing her songs. Miss Martin
had had the piano moved from the Refectory to the ring, and now played
the accompaniment while the little girl sang her favorite songs taught
her by the Settlement Worker of the East Side.
As the pure tones of the “Prince of Peace,” then the inspired words and
air of “Our America” were heard, the audience showed more than ordinary
interest. The little singer was encored again and again and she smiled
happily as she stepped to the Ring again and sang her other favorites.
The visitors whispered together at the wonderful genius discovered in
their midst, and again Maggie was encored to sing yet one more song.
This last one was “Love’s Lullaby,” and was Maggie’s solace in times of
trouble.
The applause given Maggie was a great encouragement to the other
performers, so the orator of the camp, the elocutionist, and many other
talented Little Citizens, found their efforts welcomed by the audience.
When the “Stars” had concluded their parts, Uncle Ben announced that
the thrillers would take place.
“Miss Goldie Silverheels will now show her superb bareback riding,”
said he, with a bow.
Immediately after this introduction, Miss Goldie rode in on Farmer
Jones’ young horse. The steed was gorgeous in his colored trappings,
and Miss Goldie was in the seventh heaven of delight, for she had on a
tarletan dress all beflounced, and a wreath of flowers in her hair.
The horse, Bob, moved sedately about the sawdust ring, and it took some
urging from his rider to coax him into a gallop.
The bareback rider was fearless and daring in her tricks and showed an
unusual understanding of horses and the way to control them.
“Do you know what that girl can become? A wonderful instructor in a
Riding Academy,” remarked one lady to another, as Miss Goldie rode out
of the ring with applause sounding acceptably in her ears.
“Yes, but I should hate to have her become a circus actor, don’t you
know,” replied the lady.
“That’s just why she should be taken in hand at once, to train her
for something worthy before a third-rate circus troupe discovers her
courage and ability.”
“Make a note of it and refer the matter to Mr. Talmage,” advised the
lady, and it was written down on a small pad.
“We have a most remarkable treat in store, now, for our New York
friends. You have never seen anything better at a dog show, nor at a
Circus or Hippodrome,” called Uncle Ben.
“This is Crummie, the dog-hero that saved one of our Little Citizens
from drowning a short time ago,” he added.
At mention of his name, Crummie ran out into the Ring. But what a
different-looking Crummie from the dirty, matted-wool dog that won the
medal for bravery the day of the picnic!
Uncle Ben had superintended the task of clipping him, so that he
presented a distinctly aristocratic appearance. His main body had been
shaven, leaving tawny patches of wool on ankles, neck and head. The
tail, too, had a thick bunch of wool on its end and a ring of wool
about the base. The long hair on his forehead was tied in a knot with a
fancy ribbon.
“Crummie, salute the ladies!” said Uncle Ben.
The dog faced the audience and bowed politely to them. A general laugh
rewarded him. Then Uncle Ben said:
“Now, Crummie, call for your master to take charge.”
The dog turned and looked at the Band and barked again and again, but
no result followed.
“Crummie, go over and escort your master to the Ring.”
Then the dog ran directly to Bill and pulled at his feet. Bill
laughingly arose, and the dog immediately took hold of his hand with
his teeth and led him out. This brought a loud clapping from the
visitors.
Then Bill put Crummie through his letter-writing trick, through his
prayers, his dancing on hind legs, his lately acquired trick of playing
fireman (taught him by the Fire Brigade) and the other things he
could do. The audience thoroughly appreciated it all and thought the
performance was over when they saw Crummie run back of the curtain.
But he soon returned rolling a small drum before him. He left it just
before his master and ran away again. This time he returned with the
two drum sticks in his mouth. He held them until Bill took them from
him, and Uncle Ben said:
“Crummie has just joined the Brass Band and has only been taking
lessons in playing the drum for a week. If he does not keep good time,
or hold the sticks according to the book, you must overlook the fact.”
Bill placed a drum-stick in the dog’s mouth and Crummie sat upon his
haunches before the drum and began to rat-tat rat-tat-tat! rat-tat,
rat-tat-tat! r-r-r-at-tat-tat! r-r-r-tat-tat! Er-r-r-r-r-rat!
er-r-r-r-r-tat! er-r-r-r-r-rat-tattat-tattoo.
This syncopated playing he kept up until Bill laughingly clapped his
hands, then Crummie dropped the stick and pranced about his master,
showing how thoroughly he enjoyed music. The clapping was prolonged
until the audience found Crummie had still another form of music to
render for them.
This time, Bill attached the cymbal to Crummie’s tail and tied a small
hammer to one paw. The other paw had a string tied to it, and this
string pulled a lever that sounded a whistle. Then the dog was given
the drum-stick again, and the signal for music was sounded by his
master.
This time, Crummie thumped the cymbals with his tail, while striking
the glass-cylinders with the hammer fastened on his left paw. The
string was jerked irregularly to sound the whistle, but the drum fared
badly, as the dog was so intent on the other three instruments that he
forgot to beat with the stick held between his teeth, except at rare
intervals. But the sagacity shown by the animal won tremendous applause
from the audience, so that both master and dog felt amply repaid for
the tedious hours of practice.
“Now we have a scene between two Roman Gladiators in the open arena.
This will end our performance, but the guests are all invited to the
Refectory, where the Little Citizens wish to serve refreshments to
them.”
After some arguing back of the canvas curtain, the visitors
were amused to see a Roman chariot appear. Bob and Dobbin were
hitched tandem to a two-wheeled dump-cart. But the cart had been
white-washed--wheels and body, and festooned with wild flowers until
it presented a gala appearance. The two horses balked at pulling the
familiar cart _à la tandem_ and Bob wished to precede Dobbin, and the
latter wished to stop to investigate a sweet-smelling bunch of clover
right in his pathway to glory.
Therefore, the two Gladiators who stood in the cart endeavoring to coax
their steeds to more speed, felt abashed at the laughter accorded their
entrance into the arena.
But once the imperfectly-matched horses had drawn the cart to its goal,
the two athletic-looking boys jumped lightly out and posed in attitudes
approved in boxing rings.
This last number was wildly applauded by the men present, but the
ladies said they could see nothing entertaining in boxing! The bout
being ended, the two contestants shook hands and looked about for
the chariot which was to carry them back to the dressing room. The
attention of all present was thus attracted to the cart and horses,
and a general laugh echoed over the field.
Dobbin being unaccustomed to the wreaths of wild clover blossoms and
daisies hung about his neck and farm-harness, had managed to pull
part of his decoration around to one side and stood calmly chewing
it up. Bob on the other hand, had so resented being hitched to an
old-fashioned nag as Dobbin was that he had twisted and backed and
pulled until the not-too-secure tandem-harness hastily contrived of
rope and bits of strap, broke and left him to gambol away to the fresh
green grass growing on the banks of the brook.
So the exit of the Romans was made on their own pedals and Farmer Jones
was sent to capture his two steeds and cart.