THE WRECK
Billy Whiskers was now fairly launched on his career in the big show
that made him more famous than ever before. From the lordly way he
ruled the monkeys he was soon everywhere known as “King Billy,” though
he never liked that proud title as well as plain Billy Whiskers.
It was not long before the billboards were covered with life-size
pictures of himself and his troupe. When he gazed for the first time in
his life, but a short time since, at those wonderful show pictures at
The Corners, he little dreamed that he would ever have such an honor.
The Circus manager was quick to see what a drawing card Billy was and
of course made the very most of it by advertising him far and wide.
On the whole, he liked his new life. The grand parade, on pleasant
mornings, was always a delightful experience.
Looking his very best, he rode on the back of Jumbo, the great
elephant, (Billy and he were soon the best of friends), at the head
of the procession, while his monkey band, who were always imitating
his example when they possibly could, rode on the backs of the other
elephants. How the crowds shouted and cheered and laughed as they moved
by! It was all music in Billy’s ears, and it seemed to him that he
could never tire of it.
[Illustration]
The afternoon and evening performances furnished two more opportunities
each day for Billy and the monkeys to show themselves to vast and
always admiring audiences.
[Illustration: HE RODE ON THE BACK OF JUMBO, THE GREAT ELEPHANT.]
The manager of the Circus was never better pleased than at his great
luck at having secured such an attraction. It was proving, as he
had foretold, the best-paying season in all the long and successful
history of the great Show. For this reason, as one can easily see,
he made things as pleasant as he possibly could for Billy. Both he
and the monkeys were furnished all the time with the things that they
liked best to eat, and nothing was left undone that could add to their
comfort and enjoyment.
The Circusman felt in his bones that King Billy was a very independent
person who might at any time, if things did not go to suit him, kick
out of the traces and there was no telling what might happen then. The
monkeys, without him to lead them, would not be worth their salt as
actors. There had been convincing proof of this one day when Billy was
so sick that he could not lead them into the ring on account of having
eaten too much ice cream with chocolate dressing the night before.
The audience was so disappointed that there came near being a riot and
a great many demanded their money back.
After that great pains were taken with Billy’s diet, and his health was
most carefully guarded.
Mike and Jim continued to have the care of Billy. After their first
experience in trying to kidnap him, described in the last chapter, they
never attempted anything of the sort again. As a matter of fact they
soon became very much attached to their charges and took a great deal
of pride in seeing that they always looked their best, both when they
were on parade and when they entered the ring.
A rival circus sent two desperate characters to try and poison Billy
because he was drawing all the money and their business was very bad
in consequence. Mike caught these two fellows putting paris green in
Billy’s salad one night. With the help of Jim he held them both until
assistance came and the would-be murderers were turned over to the
police.
When the manager heard of this he complimented the keepers on their
watchfulness and doubled their pay. Billy was grateful to them too. He
forgave the attempt they had made to steal him, and after that they
were always good friends.
During the summer the big Circus visited the large cities and towns of
most of the western states, going as far west as Denver, Colorado. It
then turned eastward once more, and Billy began to feel that he was
homeward bound. This made him very happy, for he had not forgotten
or ceased to love his old friends at Cloverleaf Farm. While he liked
the excitement, high living and luxury of his present life and had
become very good friends both with his keepers and with many of the
wild animals in the cages whose hard lot he was always trying to make
pleasanter, still they were never to him quite like home folks.
There was nobody who took the place of little Dick. He knew by this
time that he could never again make so dear a friend. Then there were
old Bob, Abbie (the black cat), the bay colt and other horses, Big
Red, the fierce bull, and his wives, and--for spice and variety--the
thievish old Coon down in the big chestnut, not forgetting Polly
Parrot, sharp and snappish though she certainly was. Billy was
beginning to think of them all more and more often, and the wish to see
them and be with them again was growing greater day by day.
While spending a Sunday in St. Louis late in September, he addressed a
letter to his friend Bob at Cloverleaf Farm.
As it presents very clearly his frame of mind at this time, and throws
many sidelights on his circus life, it is here given in full.
St. Louis, Mo., Sept. 27, 1908.
Dear Bob and Other Home Friends:--
I hope that you have not been thinking that because I ran away to see
the Circus at Springfield without saying good-bye to every one of you
I do not care for you. If so, you were never more mistaken in your
lives. It cost me a great deal of pain to do as I did. You little know
how much real grief I felt the evening before I started when I went
around and called on you all. I did not forget how you had taken me
in and befriended me when I was poor and hungry and sick and lame and
alone, nor was I then nor shall I ever be unmindful of or ungrateful
for your great kindness at that time. No, dear Bob and all the rest of
you, you made a friend of Billy Whiskers then who will be true to you
as long as he lives.
Nor must you think that because I have not written to you before this
summer that my new business and friends have driven you out of my mind
for even a little while. How often I think of you all, and every day I
wish more and more that I was with you once again.
As you have no doubt heard, it has been a great time for me. I wish
you could see what I have to do every day. You would be proud then
that Billy Whiskers is one of your acquaintances. They tell me that I
am famous and I judge that such is the case from the way the crowds
cheer every time they see me.
Don’t think that I have become vain and conceited when I tell you
that I was never looking so handsome and distinguished as now. Owing
doubtless to the great quantity of rich food that I eat daily I have
put on more flesh, which improves my figure. Both my hair and beard
are longer, whiter and silkier than ever before, while my horns and
hoofs are manicured daily.
I try not to be proud and stuck up and never lose a chance of doing a
kindness for the wretched wild animals that are shut up in their cages
month after month. Just think how dreadful their lives must be. I
wish I could tell you all about them but I haven’t time now. Wait till
I am home again, then I shall have many strange tales to tell about
the lions, and tigers, and wolves, and bears, and all the rest. Some
of them are so ferocious that even now the sound of their deep voices
makes me tremble.
Speaking of home reminds me that the time is not now far distant when
I shall be with you once more. Only the thought of it makes me very
happy.
There is just one thing that keeps bothering me. I do not know how I
am ever to get away from the monkeys who have chosen me their leader
and declare that they will never leave me and that I shall never leave
them. While my success in the show business is very largely due to
them and I can have no doubt of their fondness for me, I may say to
you--but you must never tell it--that I have never been able to like
them very much. I do not forget the dreadful fright they gave me at
first (it’s a long story and I can’t stop to tell it now) and I just
expect they would treat me in the same way again if they suspected
that I thought of leaving them. They are certainly the worst looking
creatures I ever saw, and some of their manners are little short of
disgusting. I shall have to be very sly when the time comes.
This letter is already too long though I haven’t told you half of what
I want to.
I hope that little Dick and the boys are well and that the chestnut
pony has not entirely taken my place in their hearts.
With best love to all,
Sincerely yours,
Billy Whiskers.
P. S.--Keep your eyes peeled and you will see me some bright morning
before long.
From St. Louis, where Billy Whiskers wrote to his home friends, the big
show moved steadily eastward; by the latter part of October it was once
more in Ohio and not so very far from Farmersville, near which, you
will remember, Cloverleaf Farm is located.
On the night of the thirtieth, when the show train was running between
Hamilton and Zanesville, a head-end collision took place which threw
most of the cars containing the animals off the track and down an
embankment, piling them up one on the other in the utmost confusion.
The frightened and tortured beasts, as well as their keepers, made the
most fearful outcry that was ever heard.
For a long time the people who came to the rescue were afraid to
approach the wreck lest a lion or a tiger or some other man-eating
animal might find his cage burst open and make his escape, killing and
devouring everybody that came in his way.
Fortunately Billy Whiskers and the monkeys were not killed or badly
injured, though terribly shaken up and frightened almost to death.
As soon as Billy collected his wits and began to look about, he
discovered that not only was the car in which he was riding smashed
open, but that the jar and up-set had shaken the pin fastening the door
of the big monkey cage out of place so that it was easy for him to get
out.
“Now is my time,” he quickly decided. “I can’t do any good here, and
while this racket keeps up I can get away. The monkeys are too scared
and dazed to see what I am up to, and they will not think of following
me now anyway. As good luck will have it, I am not very far from
Cloverleaf Farm, and I know I can find my way there.”
So he stole out of the overturned cage and car, picked his way as
noiselessly and quickly as he could through the ruins, and started on
a dead run for the protecting cover of a wood lot which he discovered
not far off. It was not so dark but that he could make out its faint
outline.
All unknown to Billy, there followed behind him a silent procession of
dim and quiet figures, twelve in number. They were the monkeys pursuing
their leader.
When he reached the wood, Billy stopped to rest and to take stock of
his plight, whereabouts and plans.
Like shadows, the monkeys quickly gathered in a circle around him.
“Now, Billy Whiskers,” began old Blue Nose in his most dreaded tone,
“will you please explain to me and my family what you mean by skipping
out with no word to any of your band? While we may never have told you
in so many words, you know very well what sort of punishment we reserve
for a deserter. Speak!”
Although Billy was startled and had great difficulty in finding his
voice, he was sharp enough to know that his fate now depended on
lulling the suspicions of the monkeys. So he said:
“Colonel Mandrill, Tittlebat Titmouse and all the rest of you, I was
never so glad in my life to see anyone as I am you now. I observe
that you have all escaped that frightful wreck unhurt. After the
collision, I was so shaken to pieces and frightened, while the din was
so ear-splitting, without thinking a thing what I was doing, I started
and ran. As you have seen, I stopped just as soon as I came to a safe
place. Before now, if you hadn’t have come, I should be on my way back
to hunt for you.”
“I hope I may be forgiven for that tale,” added Billy under his breath.
The older monkeys whispered together for a short time, evidently trying
to decide whether or not this plausible story was to be believed.
Although it was manifest that there was a difference of opinion, the
majority were in favor of accepting the explanation as true and this
decision was quickly made known, to Billy’s great relief.
“I’ve just been thinking,” then said Billy, “that we will never have a
better chance to escape than now. We are not a great many miles from my
dear old home at Cloverleaf Farm which I have told you about so often.
I think I can find the way. If we are agreed to the plan, I will try
and lead you there.”
This proposal led to another consultation, and while not very
enthusiastic about it, the monkeys shortly said that they would go.
As no time was to be lost, they started north at once, keeping in the
shadow of the woods.
“A nice time I’ll have introducing this crumby looking crowd to my
friends at Cloverleaf,” mused Billy. “I wonder what the Coon will say,”
and the very thought made him laugh.