POLLY AND THE MONKEY CAUSE TROUBLE
About the middle of the next morning the animals were discussing their
next move and telling one another what they had heard their trainers
and caretakers say of the places they were going and which animals were
going to Duluth and which to Bismarck, when a scream rent the air and
Polly began scolding and squeaking in her loudest and most angry voice.
The lion roared out: “Can’t you be still and stop your squeaks for a
few minutes at least? You chatter, chatter an endless chain of nonsense
all day long and just when one is about to catch a little nap without
being bothered by people sticking their canes and umbrellas into one’s
sides, you have to squeak as if you were being killed.”
“Oh, don’t talk to me, you old grouch! You need not think you are the
_only_ one that can make a noise in this circus! I guess you let out
an ear splitting roar whenever _you_ wish without asking permission or
thinking if _you_ will disturb any afternoon naps!” and Polly gave
another of her discordant squeaks and flew up onto a trapeze that was
hanging from the top of the tent.
“I guess you would squeak too if you had had a handful of feathers
pulled out of your tail by a monkey,” said the old maid camel.
“Oh! that is it, is it? The monkey is at his old tricks plaguing his
enemy, the parrot,” replied the lion.
Here the conversation was interrupted by squeaks and more squeaks,
followed by the loud chattering of a monkey. Every animal in its cage
and those tied in the ring looked up to where Polly and the monkey were
having a terrible fight high on the trapeze. First Polly would be seen
swinging from the under side by her bill, then the monkey. Then they
would both sit on the bar and fight each other. Polly would peck with
her bill and strike out with her claws while the monkey would slap her
and grab out a handful of feathers.
At last Polly had a chance to spread her wings and fly from the trapeze
into the passageway that led from this tent into another where the
performers’ dressing-rooms were. The monkey could not fly but he could
do something almost as well. He could swing and jump, so he set the
trapeze to swinging out farther and farther, then jumped and caught
hold of a long rope that swung to the ground. This he caught and
nimbly climbed down it. Once down, he ran into the passageway after
Polly. Polly, turning, saw him coming as she was walking slowly along
thinking she was rid of the monkey for a while at least. But when she
saw him, her fright returned and with a squeak she spread her wings and
flew until she saw an opening into one of the private dressing-rooms.
Through this she flew and lit on the first thing she saw which, sad to
relate, happened to be the golden head of the peroxide blonde bareback
rider, who was in the act of bleaching her hair. She had the bottle
raised over her head to pour some on her hair when Polly lit just where
she was going to pour the liquid. Being so startled, she did not know
what she was doing and poured the liquid just the same. It went all
over Polly and slowly turned her green feathers to a bright golden
color.
[Illustration]
Then seeing the monkey and being deathly afraid of them, the circus
girl threw the bottle at him and the rest of its contents spilled over
the monkey, making him also a bright gold color.
On seeing this, Polly ha-ha’d with laughter but it was cut short
when, happening to look down, she saw her own body slowly turning the
same yellow the monkey’s was. On perceiving this she began to squeak
and cry, “Murder, murder!” while the frightened circus girl called
“Help, help!” and the monkey squealed as loudly as he could to add
to the confusion. Of course all the racket brought the circus people
running to the tent to see who was being mistreated. Nor did their
cries attract only the circus people, but the outside spectators and
policemen as well. The people stopped to listen and stare while the
policemen made a run for the tent.
When the monkey saw the first policeman coming down the passageway
with club upraised, he ran toward the screaming circus girl and
tried to hide under her dress. This of course made her cry “Help!
Murder!” louder than ever and she kicked so hard she upset the chair
she was sitting on. When the policeman appeared in the door she was
lying on the floor under the overturned chair, still screaming. The
police thought someone must have knocked her down with the chair and,
perceiving no one in the room, took it for granted they must have made
their escape by crawling under the tent, so he too crawled under.
At that moment he saw a man running away from the tent as fast as
he could, so he called to the crowd, “Stop him! Stop him!” But too
late--the man had cleared the crowd and was by this time running with
long strides and arm raised like a professional runner.
Seeing this, the policeman took a long breath and started after the
man, determined to overtake him if it took all day. He had run several
blocks and was about winded and ready to drop when the man dodged
into a yard, and went up the front steps, and into a house, slamming
the door behind him without even turning around to see how near the
policeman was on his trail.
When the policeman arrived at the house he tried the door but of course
it was locked. He pounded on it with his club, calling out at the same
time: “Open the door if you don’t want me to break it down!” He had
raised his club to give it another fearful whack when it opened in a
hurry and in the doorway stood a tall, dignified man dressed in the
long black coat of a clergyman, who said in a low, impressive voice:
“My good man, why all this racket? Why did you not ring the bell
instead of pounding on my door?”
“Stand aside and let me pass or I will have you arrested for harboring
thieves!”
As he said this a voice from the head of the stair said: “What is the
trouble, father?”
“There he is now, the murderer!”
“Murderer! What do you mean by calling my son a murderer?”
The policeman did not reply but attempted to push by the clergyman with
a rough hand.
“Here, you minion of the law, use a little respect to my old father
or I’ll chuck you out on the sidewalk,” and coming down the stairs, a
young man added: “Here I am! Now tell us what this murder business is
you are talking about.”
“Well, as I was on me beat just about to pass the circus, I heard
cries of ‘Help! Help! Murder! Murder!’ and I ran in to see who was
being murdered when I came to a room with a woman lying on the floor
screaming murder. She had been knocked over with a chair and seeing the
sides of her tent moving, I thought the murderer had just escaped by
crawling under the tent. So I ducked under too and, sure enough, what
should I see but this man here running for dear life. I called to the
crowd to stop him but he ran so fast and pushed them off so when they
tried to catch him that I know he was the man that had done the deed.
So come on back wid me to the tent and see if your victim is dead or
only scared. For it is you in the coop if she is dead.”
At the end of this harangue the young man laughed so he had to hold his
hands to his sides, while his father and the policeman stood by and
looked at him.
“Come in and sit down, officer, while I spoil all your circumstantial
evidence.”
“Not so fast now, young man! You can tell me right here what ye have to
tell. I’m not at all tired and can stand a little longer.”
“Well, you see it is this way. I am a professional runner and I usually
run stripped to the waist with the regular running togs on, but to-day
I thought I would run in my ordinary clothes to see if it made much
difference whether one was dressed for it or just in ordinary clothes.
I left a crowd of fellows on the college steps so if you want proof
that I am not the man you are looking for, I’ll go back with you to the
college and you can talk to them or, better yet, step inside and call
up the college and they will tell you I was there when this supposed
murder took place.”
“Not on your life will I telephone, for while I am doing it you will
slip away.”
“Not at all! You may handcuff me while you telephone.” This he did and
on telephoning to the college received an answer that cleared the young
man entirely.
“Now, officer, just to show you there is no ill feeling, join me in a
glass of sarsaparilla, for I am terribly thirsty after my run and I
know you must be.”
“Thank you very much. I will,” and the two shook hands to show there
was no ill feeling.
On his way back to the police station, the policeman stopped at the
circus to see if the murderer had been caught or if there had been no
murder after all, but just a cry of murder. He found the lady giving a
last pat to her elaborately dressed peroxide-colored hair and laughing
at a little monkey in a cage and a gold colored parrot with a green
tail sitting on a perch on one side of her tent, while the parrot was
saying in a singsong voice: “Never again! Never again!” But the monkey
sat all crouched up in one corner.
“Oh, officer, is that you? Did you find the man that murdered me?”
“I sure did and he is the gamest young man I ever tried to arrest on
the false accusation of a crazy-headed girl!”
“Get right out of here! How dare you call me crazy-headed?”
“Because that is what ye are! You scream ‘Help! Help! Murder! Murder!’
and disturb the peace.”
On hearing this Polly began to cry: “Help! Help! Murder! Murder!”
“Shut up, will ye, ye evil-eyed bird, or I will drown you!”
“Shut up! Shut up! Hear him! Hear him!” squeaked Polly, at which the
policeman beat a hasty retreat to the music of the circus lady’s
laughter and Polly’s screeches.