BILLY WHISKERS DECIDES
Billy awakened from a troubled sleep with doubts and misgivings in his
mind. If the day hadn’t been fine with everything and everybody looking
bright and cheerful, the chances are that he would have then and there
dismissed all thought of the Circus and spent the balance of his days
in happy though humdrum existence at Cloverleaf Farm. In that case this
story would never have been told.
It so happened that Mrs. Treat, the mother of Tom, Dick and Harry,
wanted some things that morning, and so, after breakfast, told Tom, who
was the eldest of the three, to wash his face and hands _clean_, put on
his shoes and stockings, and make himself neat and tidy generally, for
she wanted him to go to The Corners to “transact some business” for her.
What she really wanted was a spool of thread, a dozen clothes-pins,
some blueing and two yards of cheese cloth--just common “errands” as
everybody can see. But Mrs. Treat knew how to manage boys and she was
alive to the fact that her son Thomas had rather “transact business”
than “do errands.” Even so, he made it a condition of his cheerful
going that Harry and Dick be allowed to accompany him, the latter in
his new express wagon drawn by Billy Whiskers.
“You may all go,” said Mrs. Treat, “but be very careful, and don’t
stay too long. Keep a close eye on Billy Whiskers. We all love Billy,
and he is certainly the handsomest goat in the county, but you mustn’t
forget that we are not as well acquainted with his early history as I
wish we were. I have never been able to dismiss the feeling that there
are things in his past that are not to his credit. So you want to watch
out.”
The boys promised, though they did not for one minute believe that
Billy Whiskers had not always been the friendly, quiet, peaceable goat
that he now appeared. Mrs. Treat, however, was wiser and spoke truer
than she knew, as this story will show a little later, though she need
not have given herself any anxiety on the present occasion for little
Dick and his new, red wagon. Dick was the dearest, brown-eyed little
chap in the world and everybody loved him, Billy Whiskers included, who
wouldn’t for anything have any harm or hurt come to his little master
when under his care.
Although they had been through breakfast by seven o’clock, or a little
later, it was nine before the Treat boys were ready to start to The
Corners.
[Illustration: THE PROCESSION FINALLY MOVED OFF.]
Billy looked very scrumptious in his silver-plated harness, newly
polished, especially after he was hitched to the new wagon, marked
in gilt letters on the sides “Overland Limited,” with Master Dick in
the seat, reins in hand, but no whip for Billy Whiskers had early given
them to understand that a whip was worse than useless where he was
concerned.
[Illustration]
The procession finally moved off with Tom on one side of Billy and
Harry on the other.
“We’ll have to keep this up,” whispered Harry, “until we get out of
mother’s sight, and then we can go as we please.” Harry was always
called a “queer child.”
At The Corners Billy Whiskers saw for himself the wonderful bill
posters that Tom had told Jack Wright about.
The boys spent as much time as they dared looking at them, which gave
Billy a good chance to carefully examine the marvelous sights.
As all my readers know how circus billboards look and how much they
make one want to go to the show, they will not be surprised that Billy
Whiskers quite forgot the warning of old Mr. Coon and again decided
that he must see for himself these wonderful animals and astonishing
performances that the reading at the bottom said were but faintly
portrayed by the pictures above.
When Billy reached home, having brought little Dick and his wagon
safely through, he lay down to think over once more the Circus, the
difficulties in the way and the fun it promised.
All of a sudden he bethought him of his old friend and
fellow-traveller, Terrence Bull Pup, who, he now remembered, was living
in Springfield where the Circus was to hold forth. Although Billy had
not answered Terrence’s last letter, having made up his mind to cut
loose from his reckless friends when he came to Cloverleaf to live, he
nevertheless now decided to write to him, telling of his intention to
come to the Circus and ask his advice about a place to stay.
“Of course,” thought Billy, “he’ll ask me to come and stop with him.”
So he wrote and sent in the animal fashion and language the following
well-worded and friendly letter.
Cloverleaf Farm, June 10th, 1908.
Terrence Bull Pup, Esq.,
Maiden Lane, Springfield, Ohio.
My Dear Friend Terry:--
Although it has been a long time since you have heard from me, I am
still your true friend and now welcome the prospect of renewing our
old-time acquaintance with the utmost pleasure.
You will be glad to hear that I am well and happy, with a good home,
plenty to eat and surrounded by many friends. I am no longer the sort
of goat you used to know, having turned over a new leaf on coming here
to live. I have given up fighting almost altogether, very rarely steal
things to eat or rob pantries or clothes-lines now, do but little
butting, and, in short, live a peaceable and respectable life, and try
to be a good example to all my friends and neighbors. I never expected
to do anything different but I am hearing so much about the Circus
that is coming to Springfield, and the billboards that I saw at The
Corners this forenoon make it appear so attractive that I have decided
to take it in, and so write to you, my old friend, to ask if it will
be quite convenient for you to have me for a guest at the time. I not
only want to see you, but feel that your greater familiarity with the
ways of the world at present will be of the greatest help to me in
keeping out of danger and in seeing all the wonderful sights to best
advantage.
I trust that this letter finds you well and as handsome as ever.
A prompt reply will be appreciated by
Faithfully your friend,
Billy Whiskers.
“That’s a good letter,” said Billy Whiskers, as he read it over before
posting. “It will bring an invitation all right or I miss my guess. He
can’t resist that reference to his good looks. Terry always was vain.
As near as I can make out, he considers his pug nose very cute and
attractive and those bow legs of his as models of grace.”
When Terrence Bull Pup received Billy Whiskers’ letter he was of two
minds, both pleased and mad.
At first he was inclined to accept Billy’s words of friendship and
flattery as the true expressions of his warm heart, and write him a
reply with a cordial invitation to come to Springfield at once, stay
for a few days and be his guest at the Circus.
On reading the letter a second time, it occurred to him that Billy
Whiskers might be trying to make use of him and that all his soft
remarks about true friendship and his good looks were just so much bait
with which to catch what he wanted.
He remembered that in the old days Billy Whiskers was in the habit of
thus working his friends, and he also recalled the fact that his last
letter, in which he had suggested joining Billy in his new home at
Cloverleaf Farm, had never been answered, a neglect on the part of
Billy that cut deep and rankled whenever he thought of it.
More than that, Terrence did not like and had no sympathy with this
talk about turning over a new leaf. Terrence Bull Pup knew well that
HE had turned over no new leaves. In fact, if the truth must be told,
he was now known all up and down Maiden Lane, the street on which he
lived, as “the terror.”
[Illustration]
“No,” he said, after looking at the matter from all sides, “I’ll not
be taken in by sly old Billy this time. If he imagines he can fool me
by his flattery and true friendship dodge he’ll find himself greatly
mistaken. Anyhow, his letter gives me a chance to give him a piece of
my mind straight, and I’ll just do it, too.”
So he wrote as follows:
Springfield, June 12th, 1908.
Dear Bill:
Your letter just received. I can’t say that I was very pleased to get
it. If you had answered my last letter I might feel different.
Of course, if you come to the city to attend the Circus, I shan’t run
you off when you knock at my door. But my advice to you is to keep
away. You are altogether too good now to go to circuses, though I well
remember the time when you were not good enough. This talk of yours
about turning over new leaves don’t go with the writer of this letter
one bit. I knew you too well of old, but even if you think you are
better than you used to be, you had best take no chances of a relapse,
but stay where you are, which is the advice of
Your one-time friend,
Terry B. P.
“Well,” said Billy, as he finished reading this letter, “if that ain’t
the very worst! I must have rubbed his fur the wrong way. He always was
the meanest dog I ever knew. This settles it--I’ll never associate with
him again.”
While Billy talked big, he had a sneaking feeling all the time that
for once Terrence Bull Pup had the best of him. His conscience was not
altogether clear about not having answered his letter.
“At any rate,” he wound up, “I’ll go to that old Circus now if I never
do another thing. I may have a chance to show that dog a trick or two
yet. I’ll start day after tomorrow.”