WHEREIN THEY MEET THE WILD MAN OF THE TARTARY STEPPES
They were talking it over. It was after five o’clock and they were
sitting in the deserted dressing tent, to which Dan, as was his
privilege as a member of “America’s Greatest Circus and Hippodrome,”
had invited them. Barry was curled up in Dan’s lap. Jerry had taken
himself away to his duties.
“I knew I could do it,” Dan was explaining. “When Jerry told about it
I just made up my mind that if the money didn’t come I’d go to Murray
and ask for the place. And I did. He didn’t think I was quite right in
my mind at first, but I asked him to let me show what I could do, and
finally he agreed. Then”--Dan grinned reminiscently--“then I borrowed
two dollars and a half from him, half the pay for one performance----”
“Gosh! Did he only give you five dollars for doing that?” asked Tom.
“Well, I wanted more, but he said he’d only paid Donello five, so I
gave in. Then I had some lunch in the village, found you fellows, gave
you that two dollars, and went to the tent. They had got the ladder and
tank filled up, and I got into my tights. Jerry went with me to see
fair play. He didn’t want me to try it, Jerry didn’t, but I shut him up
and made him promise not to tell you fellows.”
“Lucky you did,” grunted Bob.
“That’s what I thought,” laughed Dan. “But, pshaw, it wasn’t any stunt!
Just a straight drop; and there wasn’t any possibility of missing the
tank.”
“But supposing you had?” asked Nelson quietly. Dan turned and looked at
him a second.
“Well, then I’d got considerably messed up, I guess,” he answered
soberly. “Well, I tried a dive from about twenty feet up first; the
platform is adjustable, you see; and it went all right. Then I went
clear up and tried it from the top. And that went all right too. It
seemed a long ways down at first, and I wondered whether the tank
would stay there until I got to it. But it did. Then I did it again
and tried a somersault. Murray was tickled to death. ‘You stay with
us,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be making big money in a year or two.’ Then I
thought to myself, what’s the use in doing only one flop when there’s
lots of time for two? I asked Murray, but he didn’t like it at first.
Said Donello was considered one of the best in the business and he was
always satisfied with one turn. But I made up my mind to try it, and I
did. It was dead easy. Murray wanted to hug me. Then he wanted me to
sign a contract for six months and went up on his price; offered me two
hundred dollars a month for two performances daily.”
“Gee!” gasped Tom.
“Well, that’s what I thought,” answered Dan with a laugh. “And I had to
think a long while before I got up courage to say no. But that wasn’t
the last of it. He’s after me yet. Maybe he’ll get me after all.”
“Not if I know it!” said Nelson indignantly. “I’d send for your dad the
first thing. Nice stunts for a chap who’s just out of bed from typhoid
fever!”
“Just out of bed, your granny! Well, anyway, I’ve agreed to do it again
to-night.”
“You have!”
“Yep.”
“Oh, cut it out,” said Bob. “We’ve got money enough. Besides, maybe
your dad’s telegram is at the office by this time.”
“I know, but I can’t go back on my promise, and I promised to perform
twice.”
“Well, don’t you go and try to improve on it,” begged Nelson. “Don’t
try to put in three somersaults instead of two.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Dan, grinning, “that’s an idea! I hadn’t thought
of that!”
“Shut up!” begged Nelson. “If you try that trick you’ll be Done-ello
for sure.”
“Instead of _Dan_ello,” added Tom.
“Wasn’t it great about Barry?” asked Nelson. “He was on my lap and I
didn’t know what he was up to until he was kiting across lots with his
leash dangling after him. Did you hear the crowd laugh? Barry made the
hit of the performance.”
“Well, how about supper? Suppose you fellows come with me. I’m to eat
with the push here, and I guess Murray’ll let you come along if I agree
to pay for you.”
“That’s dandy!” said Tom. “We’ll eat with Zul-Zul and the Wild Man!”
“You’d better look out, Tommy,” Bob advised. “Maybe he’ll eat you,
you’re so fat and rosy.”
So Dan disappeared for a moment, and presently returned with the news
that Murray had given him permission to take the others to supper as
his guests.
“He’s mighty nice to you, isn’t he?” asked Nelson sarcastically.
That supper was one of the ever-remembered features of the trip. Jerry
found places for them at one end of the long table, and they looked
about them with frank curiosity. Overhead naphtha torches flared,
throwing deep shadows on the pine boards that formed the table. The
sides of the tent were up here and there, and from without came the
sound of the crickets, the voices of Mr. Foley and his companion at the
stoves, and the scrape and clash of pans and utensils. Inside, the air
became hot and heavy under the shallow curve of canvas, the tin plates
and cups glimmered, the steam drifted up from the hot viands, and the
noise was at first deafening.
This was the first table, Jerry informed them, and accommodated the
performers and the “staff,” the “staff” being the management. The
canvasmen, drivers, animal men, and the other hands ate later at a
second table. Across from the Four sat the ringmaster, between a
pleasant-faced and rather elderly woman and a thin youth with pale
cheeks whom Nelson recognized as the leader of the “family” of trick
skaters. He wondered who the woman was, and would have been wondering
yet, doubtless, had not his neighbor, a good-natured little Irishman,
come to his assistance.
“You’re frinds of the laddie that did the jomp?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Nelson. “We four are together. We’re taking a walking
trip along the island.”
“Is thot so? Well, I didn’t see the jomp myself, but I heard the boys
talkin’ about it. ’Twas a pretty lape, they said.”
“Yes; but I was awfully scared. I was afraid he’d miss the tank.”
“I suppose so. Is he goin’ to shtay wid the show?”
“Oh, no; he only joined for to-day.” Nelson told briefly of the robbery
and their subsequent adventures, and the little Irishman chuckled
enjoyably.
“Sure, ’tis the plucky lad he is. But he’s right, the circus be’s no
place for a gintleman.”
“Do you belong?” asked Nelson innocently. Then he blushed and stammered
until the Irishman laughed his embarrassment away.
“Sure, there’s no offinse, me boy. I’m no gintleman. Yes, I belongs to
the show. Now, what would you think I was, sir?”
Nelson studied him a moment and shook his head.
“Are you--are you a clown?”
“Faith, no,” chuckled the other, “’tis not as bad as thot. Was you in
the side show? No? Well, you’d have seen me there if you’d been. They
call me ‘Boris,’ bedad! ’Tis a disgraceful, onchristian name, but it’s
money in me pocket.”
“Boris? Why, I thought Boris was the--the----”
“The Wild Mon of the Tar-_tary_ Shteppes? Thot’s me, me lad. Raw mate’s
me shpecialty and I shpake no word of any known language.”
Nelson glanced at the Wild Man’s plate, well filled with steak and
potatoes, and laughed. The Wild Man joined him.
“’Tis a faker I am. Me name’s Thomas Cronan an’ I was born in the wilds
of County Clare, which is the grane garden spot of ould Ireland. Sure,
we’re all fakers in the side show. Mrs. Wheet over there is ‘Princess
Zoe’ and does thricks with three ould shnakes thot’s had the shtingers
yanked out of them. She’s a lady, too, me boy, if iver there was one.”
Nelson, to his surprise, discovered that “Princess Zoe” was the
nice-looking elderly lady at the ringmaster’s right.
“An’ further along there,” continued his informant, “is ‘Zul-Zul,’
which her name is Maude Harris. She used to be an equistreen--rode the
horses, you know--till she had a fall and hurted her back. Thin she
blached her hair and now they call her an al-bin-o, which is an ungodly
name to my mind.”
“She--she sings, doesn’t she?” asked Nelson, observing the young lady
in question.
“Same as onybody sings, me boy, no more an’ no less.”
“Oh,” said Nelson. “And do you--like being a Wild Man?”
“I do an’ I don’t,” responded the other judicially. “’Tis asy money,
but the life’s confinin’. I’m thinkin’ I had the best of it when I was
drivin’ the tent wagon. Thot’s what I used to do. Come an’ see me this
avenin’, an’ bring your frinds. Tell Billy Conly, the feller outside, I
said he was to let you in.”
“Thanks,” answered Nelson. “And I’ll bring some raw meat with me.”
“Sure,” answered the Wild Man, laughing as he arose from the table,
“it’s kind of you, me boy, but I could ate no more to-night. We’re
shmall aters on the Tar-_tary_ Shteppes.”
After supper Nelson and Dan walked to the telegraph office, and this
time found the money awaiting them. There was also a telegram from Mr.
Speede.
“Away when your message came,” it read. “Have sent fifty. Sorry for
delay. Try and write oftener and send address.”
“I guess they’re worrying about us having the money swiped,” said
Dan. “I’ll write to-morrow. There ought to be some letters for us at
Bahogue. Supposing we walk on there to-night after the show? It’s only
about four miles and it’ll be fairly light, I guess. Wait.” He turned
back to the operator. “What’s a good hotel at Bahogue?” he asked.
“There’s the Seaview and the Bahogue House. They’re both good, I guess.”
“Seaview sounds good to me,” said Dan. “Is there an office at Bahogue?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Give me a blank.”
“Reserve two rooms for me to-night,” wrote Dan. “Will arrive about
midnight. D. H. F. Speede.”
“Will you get that off for me, please?” he asked.
They paid for the message, thanked the operator, said good night, and
went back to the circus, Barry, off his leash for the moment, cutting
all sorts of wild capers. Later the Four paid a visit to the side
show. The performance in the main tent had begun, and they had the
place almost to themselves. The Wild Man of the Tartary Steppes was
seated in a chair on a platform. He was dressed in yellow tights with
a strip of leopard skin about his hips and a string of bones about his
neck. A formidable club rested against his knees. On his head was a wig
of loose and long black hair, and his face was painted with black and
red stripes. He was not attractive, but nevertheless the picture on the
canvas outside was a base libel. He tipped Nelson a portentous wink,
jabbered something at him, and made signs with his hands which Nelson
translated as demands for raw meat. There were a few people wandering
about the tent, and so Nelson and the others waited until they had gone
before approaching the wild man. Then,
“Well, boys,” said Mr. Cronan, “how are ye the avenin’?”
“Fine,” answered Nelson. “I’ve brought my friends in to see you.
They’ve never seen a Wild Man before.”
“Think of thot!” sighed Mr. Cronan. “Sure where was they edicated?”
“Are you going to eat any raw meat this evening?” asked Tom with a grin.
“Have you ony wid you?”
Tom had to acknowledge that he hadn’t.
“There it is, then,” sighed Mr. Cronan again. “How am I to ate it if I
haven’t got it? ’Tis onreasonable you are, me lad.”
There were several photographs of the Wild Man lying along the edge of
the platform, and Nelson picked one up and looked at it.
“Ain’t thot a beautiful thing?” asked Mr. Cronan. “Does it do me
justice, do you think? Put it in your pocket, me boy, an’ show it to
your frinds when you git home. Tell ’em ’tis the picter of a Wild Mon
what chased ye down on Long Island.”
“I’d like to have it,” laughed Nelson, “but I’d rather pay you for it.”
“You pays nothin’,” answered Mr. Cronan firmly. “Put it in your pocket,
like I say, wid me compliments. Howld on! Give it me a minute.” The
Wild Man found a stump of a pencil in a hidden pocket, inverted the
photograph on his knee, stuck his tongue in his cheek, and laboriously
wrote. “There, ’tis much more valuable now.”
Nelson accepted it and thanked him. On the back was written in letters
half an inch high: “Your frand, Thomas Cronan, the wild man.” They were
formally introduced to the Snake Charmer, the Albino Patti, and the
Fortune Teller; also to a sad-looking little man in a suit of misfit
clothes whose duty it was to lecture about the attractions. Presently
they said good-by to Mr. Cronan and went out to the ticket booth. Dan
tried to pay for three reserved seats for his companions, but the
ticket seller refused to accept any money.
“Go ahead in,” he said smilingly, pushing the tickets and the money
toward them. “This is on the show.”
So they thanked him, presented their tickets, and were shown to seats,
Dan, however, leaving them to go to the dressing tent and taking Barry
with him. There was not so great a crowd as in the afternoon, but for
all that the big tent was comfortably filled. They had grown to know
a number of the performers by sight now, and the evening performance
proved more interesting for that reason. Dan’s fame had spread, and
when, near the end of the performance, he appeared at the foot of the
ladder, quite a salvo of applause greeted him.
“Look at Barry!” exclaimed Tom.
Dan had brought the terrier in with him, and now, when he began to
mount the ladder, Barry started after him. The audience laughed and
clapped. Barry managed three rounds of the ladder by hooking his paws
over them and dragging his body up, but that was as high as he could
get. Three times he made the attempt and three times he tumbled off.
Then he gave it up, barked once, and stood watching his master. As
before, the tent became stilled, Dan’s voice came down eerily from
the platform, the drums rolled, the ringmaster cracked his whip and
shouted his shrill “_In mid-air!_” the dropping pink figure revolved
twice, and the water splashed from the tank. Then, as the applause
broke out, Dan’s wet head appeared, and Barry leaped frantically toward
it. Fighting the terrier off, Dan scrambled from the tank with the
assistance of two of the red-coated men, and, grabbing Barry in his
arms, disappeared toward the dressing tent.
Afterwards they sought and found Jerry. The mess tent was gone, the
wagon packed, and that department was all ready for the road.
“Where do you go next, Jerry?” Bob asked.
“Ridgefield,” answered Jerry. “It’s about forty miles. We travel all
night.”
“Don’t you ever go by railroad?” asked Nelson.
“Not when we can help it. It costs more, you see. Some of the
performers take the train, though.”
“Well, good-by, Jerry. Take care of yourself; and I’ll write to you
soon. Where is it you’re going to work?”
“Mr. Osgood’s farm,” answered Jerry. “It’s about two miles from
Barrington.”
“And you’ll be there in October?”
“Before, I guess,” answered Jerry. “There ain’t much money in this, an’
since I seen you fellows again----”
He hesitated. Then,
“I kind of got more anxious to make that money,” he finished. “I guess
I’ll leave the show about the twentieth.”
“Well, good luck, Jerry. We’ll see you again, I guess; anyway, I’ll
write to you, because I think I’ll have some news for you.”
“What--what sort of news?” asked Jerry anxiously.
“Well, good news; I can’t tell you any more now. Good-by.”
They all shook hands, and then Jerry, as though loath to part from
them, walked out to the road with them and called a final good-by from
there.
“Did you get your money from the circus folks?” asked Tom of Dan, as,
with packs once more on their backs, they strode off toward the village.
“You bet. But, say, fellows, I had an awful time getting away. Murray
made all sorts of offers, and finally I promised him that if I ever
changed my mind I’d let him know right away.”
“It was a crazy business,” observed Bob.
“But it found us our dinners,” said Tom philosophically.
“You can always be sure of Tommy’s point of view,” laughed Nelson.
It was a clear, calm night, and walking was a pleasure. They were
all well rested, and the four miles intervening between Millford and
Bahogue were soon covered. A few minutes before they reached the hotel
the ocean sprang into view, and they heard the beat of the waves on the
beach.
“Sounds good to me,” sighed Bob. “Who’s for a bath in the morning?”
Evidently all were, even Barry, who, excited by the chorus of assent,
barked loudly. They found the Seaview House without difficulty,
assaulted the office gong until a sleepy porter appeared, wrote their
names on the register--Dan signing as “Signor Danello”--and were shown
to their rooms.
“Gee!” sighed Dan a few minutes later as he pulled the covers down and
rolled under them. “A real bed again! This thing of sleeping nigh to
nature is all very fine, Nel, but--the downy couch for mine every time!
Good night!”