As early as eight o'clock the grand entrance gateway to the Kokomo fair
ground was thronged with vehicles of almost every kind; horsemen,
pedestrians, dogs and dust were borne forward together in clouds that
boiled and swayed and tumbled. Noise seemed to be the chief purpose of
every one and the one certain result of every thing in the crowd.
This had been advertised as the merriest day that might ever befall the
quiet, honest folk of the rural regions circumjacent to Kokomo, and it
is even hinted that aristocratic dames and business plethoric men of the
town itself had caught somewhat of the excitement spread abroad by the
announcement in the county papers, and by huge bills posted in
conspicuous places, touching Le Papillon and his monster balloon, which
balloon and which Le Papillon were pictured to the life, on the said
posters, in the act of sailing over the sun, and under the picture, in
remarkably distinct letters, "No humbug! go to the fair!"
Dozier's minstrel troupe was dancing and singing attendance on this
agricultural exhibition, too, and somebody's whirling pavilion, a
shooting gallery, a monkey show, the glass works, and what not of
tempting promises of entertainments, "amusing and instructive."
Until eleven o'clock the entrance gateway to the fair ground was
crowded. Farm wagons trundled in, drawn by sleek, well fed plough nags,
and stowed full of smiling folk, old and young, male and female, from
the out townships; buggies with youths and maidens, the sparkle of
breastpins and flutter of ribbons; spring wagons full of students and
hard bats from town; carriages brimming with laces, flounces, over
skirts, fancy kid gloves, funny little hats and less bonnets, all
fermented into languid ebullition by mild-eyed ladies; omnibuses that
bore fleshy gentlemen, who wore linen dusters and silk hats and smoked
fine cigars; and jammed in among all these were boys on skittish colts,
old fellows on flea-bit gray mares, with now and then a reckless
stripling on a mule. Occasionally a dog got kicked or run over, giving
the assistance of his howls and yelps to the general din, and over all
the dust hung heavily in a yellow cloud, shot through with the lightning
of burnished trappings and echoing with the hoarse thunder of the
trampling, shouting rumbling multitude. Indeed, that hot aguish autumn
day let fall its sunshine on the heads and blew its feverish breath
through the rifts of the greatest and liveliest mass of people ever
assembled in Howard county.
Inside the extensive enclosure the multitude divided itself into
streams, ponds, eddies, refluent currents and noisy whirlpools of
people. Some rare attraction was everywhere.
Early in the day the eyes of certain of the rustic misses followed
admiringly the forms of Jack Trout and Bill Powell, handsome young
fellows dressed in homespun clothes, who, arm in arm, strolled leisurely
across the grounds, looking sharply about for some proper place to begin
the expenditure of what few dimes they had each been able to hoard up
against this gala day. They had not long to hunt. On every hand the
"hawkers hawked their wares."
Rising and falling, tender-toned, deftly managed, a voice rang out
across the crowd pleading with those who had long desired a good
investment for their money, and begging them to be sure and not let slip
this last golden opportunity.
"Only a half a dollah! Come right along this way now! Here's the great
golden scheme by which thousands have amassed untold fortunes! Here's
your only and last chance to get two ounces of first class candy, with
the probability of five dollars in gold coin, all for the small sum of
half a dollah! And the cry is--still they come!"
The speaker was such a man as one often observes in a first class
railway car, with a stout valise beside him containing samples, dressed
with remarkable care, and ever on the alert to make one's acquaintance.
He stood on top of a small table or tripod, holding in his hand a green
pasteboard package just taken from a box at his feet.
"Only a half a dollah and a fortune in your grasp! Here's the gold! Roll
right this way and run your pockets over!"
Drifting round with the tide of impulsive pleasure seekers into which
they happened to fall, Jack Trout and Bill Powell floated past a bevy of
lasses, the prettiest of whom was Minny Hart, a girl whose healthy,
vivid beauty was fast luring Jack on to the rock of matrimonial
proposals.
"Jimminy, but ain't she a little sweety!" exclaimed the latter, pinching
Bill's arm as they passed, and glancing lovingly at Minny.
"You're tellin' the truth and talkin' it smooth," replied Bill, bowing
to the girls with the swagger peculiar to a rustic who imagines he has
turned a fine period. And with fluttering hearts the boys passed on.
"Roll on ye torrents! Only a half a dollah! Right this way if you want
to become a bloated aristocrat in less than no time! Five dollahs in
gold for only a half a dollah! And whose the next lucky man?"
Blown by the fickle, gusty breath of luck, our two young friends were
finally wafted to the feet of this oily vendor of prize packages, and
they there lodged, becalmed in breathless interest, to await their turn,
each full of faith in the yellow star of his fortune--a gold coin of the
value of five dollars. They stood attentively watching the results of
other men's investments, feeling their fingers tingle when now and then
some lucky fellow drew the coveted prize. Five dollars is a mighty
temptation to a poor country boy in Indiana. That sum will buy oceans of
fun at a fair where almost any "sight" is to be seen for the "small sum
of twenty-five cents!"
Without stopping to take into consideration the possible, or rather, the
probable result of such a venture, Bill Powell handed up his half
dollar to the prize man, thus risking the major part of all the money he
had, and stood trembling with excitement while the fellow broke open the
chosen package. Was it significant of anything that a blue jay fluttered
for a moment right over the crier's head just at the point of his
detaching some glittering object from the contents of the box?
"Here you are, my friend; luck's a fortune!" yelled the man, as he held
the gold coin high above his head, shaking it in full view of all eyes
in the multitude. "Here you are! which 'd you rather have, the gold or
five and a half in greenbacks?"
"Hand me in the rag chips--gold don't feel good to my fingers," answered
Bill Powell, swaggering again and grasping the currency with a hand that
shook with eagerness.
Jack Trout stood by, clutching in his feverish palm a two-dollar bill.
His face was pale, his lips set, his muscles rigid. He hesitated to
trust in the star of his destiny. He stood eyeing the bridge of Lodi,
the dykes of Arcole. Would he risk all on a bold venture? His right
shoulder began to twitch convulsively.
"Still it rolls, and who's the next lucky man? Don't all speak at once!
Who wants five dollahs in gold and two ounces of delicious candy, all
for the small sum of half a dollah?"
Jack made a mighty effort and passed up his two dollar bill.
"Bravely done; select your packages!" cried the vendor. Jack tremblingly
pointed them out. Very carelessly and quietly the fellow opened them,
and with a ludicrous grimace remarked--
"Eight ounces of mighty sweet candy, but nary a prize! Better luck next
time! Only a half a dollah! And who's the next lucky man?"
A yell of laughter from the crowd greeted this occurrence, and Jack
floated back on the recoiling waves of his chagrin till he was hidden in
the dense concourse, and the uppermost thought in his mind found
forcible expression in the three monosyllables: "Hang the luck!"
It is quite probable that of all the unfortunate adventurers that day
singed in the yellow fire of that expert gambler's gold, Jack recognized
himself as the most terribly burned. Putting his hands into his empty
pockets, he sauntered dolefully about, scarcely able to look straight
into the face of such friends as he chanced to meet. He acted as if
hunting for something lost on the ground. Poor fellow, it was a real
relief to him when some one treated him to a glass of lemonade, and,
indeed, so much were his feelings relieved by the cool potation, that
when, soon after, he met Minny Hart, he was actually smiling.
"O, Jack!" cried the pretty girl, "I'm so glad to see you just now, for
I do want to go into the minstrel show _so bad_!" She shot a glance of
coquettish tenderness right into Jack's heart. For a single moment he
was blessed, but on feeling for his money and recalling the luckless
result of his late venture, he felt a chill creep up his back, and a
lump of the size of his fist jump up into his throat. Here was a bad
affair for him. He stood for a single point of time staring into the
face of his despair, then, acting on the only plan he could think of to
escape from the predicament, he said:
"Wait a bit, Minny, I've got to go jist down here a piece to see a
feller. I'll be back d'rectly. You stay right here and when I come back
I'll trot you in."
So speaking, as if in a great hurry, and sweating cold drops, with a
ghastly smile flickering on his face, the young man slipped away into
the crowd.
Minny failed to notice his confusion, and so called after him cheerily:
"Well, hurry, Jack, for I'm most dead to see the show!"
What could Trout do? He spun round and round in that vast flood of
people like a fish with but one eye. He rushed here, he darted there,
and ever and anon, as a lost man returns upon his starting point, he
came in sight of sweet Minny Hart patiently waiting for his return. Then
he would spring back into the crowd like a deer leaping back into a
thicket at sight of a hunter. Penniless at the fair, with Minny Hart
waiting for him to take her into the show! Few persons can realize how
keenly he now felt the loss of his money. He ought, no doubt, to have
told the lass at once just how financial matters stood; but nothing was
more remote from his mind than doing anything of the kind. He was too
vain.
"Tell 'er I 'ain't got no money! No, sir-ee!" he muttered. "But what
_am_ I to do? Bust the luck! Hang the luck! Rot the luck!"
He hurried hither and thither, intent on nothing and taking no heed of
the course he pursued. His cheeks were livid and his eyes had in them
that painful, worried, wistful look so often seen in the eyes of men
going home from ruin on Wall street.
Meantime that sea of persons surged this way and that, flecked with a
foam of ribbons and dancing bubbles of hats, now flowing slowly through
the exhibition rooms a tide of critics, now breaking into groups and
scattered throngs of babblers, anon uniting to roar round some novel
engine suddenly set to work, or to break on the barrier of the trolling
ring into a spray of cravats and a mist of flounces. Swimming round in
this turbulent tide like a crazy flounder with but one fin, Jack finally
found himself hard by the pavilion of the minstrels. He could hear
somewhat of the side-splitting jokes, with the laughs that followed, the
tinkle of banjo accompaniments and the mellow cadences of plantation
songs, the rattle of castanets and the tattoo of the jig dancers' feet.
A thirst like the thirst of fever took hold of him.
"Come straight along gentlemen and ladies! This celebrated troupe is now
performing and twenty-five cents pays the bill! Only a quawtah of a
dollah!" bawled the fat crier from his lofty perch. "That's right, my
young man, take the young lady in! She's sure to love you better; walk
right along!"
"Her lip am sweet as sugah,
Her eye am bright as wine,
Dat yaller little boogah
Her name am Emiline!"
sung by four fine voices, came bubbling from within. The music thrilled
Jack to the bone, and he felt once more for his money. Not a cent. This
was bad.
"You're the lad for me," continued the fat man on the high seat; "take
your nice little sweetheart right in and let her see the fun. Walk right
in!"
Jack looked to see who it was, and a pang shot through his heart and
settled in the very marrow of his bones; for lo! arm in arm, Bill Powell
and Minny Hart passed under the pavilion into the full glory of the
show!
"O cut me up for fish bait
An' feed me to de swine,
Don't care where I goes to
So I has Emiline!"
sang the minstrel chorus.
"Dast him, he's got me!" muttered Jack as Bill and Minny disappeared
within. He turned away, sick at heart, and this was far from the first
throe of jealousy he had suffered on Bill's account. Indeed it had given
him no little uneasiness lately to see how sweetly Minny sometimes
smiled on young Powell.
"Yes, sir," Jack continued to mutter to himself, "yes, sir, he's got me!
He's about three lengths ahead o' me, as these hoss fellers says, an' I
don't know but what I'm distanced. Blow the blasted luck!"
Heartily tired of the fair, burning with rage, and jealousy, and
despair, but still vaguely hoping against hope for some better luck from
some visionary source, Jack strolled about, chewing the bitter cud of
his feelings, his hands up to his elbows in his trowser pockets and his
soul up to its ears in the flood of discontent. He puckered his mouth
into whistling position, but it refused to whistle. He felt as if he had
a corn cob crossways in his throat. The wind blew his new hat off and a
mule kicked the top out of the crown.
"Only a half a dollah! Who's the next lucky man?" cried the prize
package fellow. "I'm now going to sell a new sort of packages, each of
which, beside the usual amount of choice candy, contains a piece of
jewelry of pure gold! Who takes the first chance for only a half a
dollah?"
"'Ere's your mule!" answered Bill Powell, as with Minny still clinging
to his arm, he pushed through the crowd and handed up the money.
"Bravely done!" shouted the crier; "see what a beautiful locket and
chain! Luck's a fortune! And who's the next to invest? Come right along
and don't be afraid of a little risk! Only a half a dollah!"
Jack saw Bill put the glittering chain round Minny's neck and fasten the
locket in her belt; saw the eyes of the sweet girl gleam proudly,
gratefully; saw black spots dancing before his own eyes; saw Bill
swagger and toss his head. He turned dizzily away, whispering savagely,
"Dern 'im!"
Just here let me say that such an expression is not a profane one. I
once saw a preacher kick at a little dog that got in his way on the
sidewalk. The minister's foot missed the little dog and hit an iron
fence, and the little dog bit the minister's other leg and jumped
through the fence. The minister performed a _pas de zephyr_ and very
distinctly said "Dern 'im!" Wherefore I don't think it can be anything
more than a mere puff of fretfulness.
After this Jack was for some time standing near the entrance to the
"glass-works," a place where transparent steam engines and wonderful
fountains were on exhibition. He felt a grim delight in tantalizing
himself with looking at the pictures of these things and wishing he had
money enough to pay the entrance fee. He saw persons pass in eagerly
and come out calm and satisfied--men with their wives and children,
young men with girls on their arms, prominent among whom were Bill and
Minny, and one dapper sportsman even bought a ticket for his setter,
and, patting the brute on the head, took him in.
"Onery nor a dog!" hissed Jack, shambling off, and once more taking a
long deep dive under the surface of the crowd. A ground swell cast him
again near the vender of prize packages.
"Only a half a dollah!" he yelled; "come where fortune smiles, and cares
and poverty take flight, for only a half a dollah!"
"Jist fifty cents more'n I've got about my clothes!" replied Jack, and
the bystanders, taking this for great wit, joined in a roar of laughter,
while with a grim smile the desperate youth passed on till he found
himself near the toe mark of a shooting gallery, where for five cents
one might have two shots with an air gun. He stood there for a time
watching a number of persons try their marksmanship. It was small joy to
know that he was a fine off-hand shot, so long as he had not a nickel in
his pocket, but still he stood there wishing he might try his hand.
"Cl'ar the track here! Let this 'ere lady take a shoot!" cried a
familiar voice; and a way was opened for Bill Powell and Minny Hart. The
little maiden was placed at the toe mark and a gun given to her. She
handled the weapon like one used to it. She raised it, shut one eye,
took deliberate aim and fired.
"Centre!" roared the marker, as to the sound of a bell the funny little
puppet leaped up and grinned above the target. Every body standing near
laughed and some of the boys cheered vociferously. Minny looked sweeter
than ever. Jack Trout felt famished. He begged a chew of tobacco of a
stranger, and, grinding the weed furiously, walked off to where the
yellow pavilion with its painted air-boats was whirling its cargoes of
happy boys and girls round and round for the "Small sum of ten cents." A
long, lean, red-headed fellow in one of the boats was paying for a ride
of limitless length by scraping on a miserable fiddle. To Jack this
seemed small labor for so much fun. How he envied the fiddler as he flew
round, trailing his tunes behind him!
"Wo'erp there! Stop yer old merchine! We'll take a ride ef ye don't
keer!"
The pavilion was stopped, a boat lowered for Bill Powell and Minny Hart,
who got in side by side, and the fiddler struck up the tune of
"Black-eyed Susie." Jack watched that happy couple go round and round,
till, by the increased velocity, their two faces melted into one, which
was neither Bill's nor Minny's--it was Luck's!
"He's got one outo me," muttered Jack; "I've got no money, can't fiddle
for a ride, nor nothin', and I don't keer a ding what becomes o' me,
nohow!"
With these words Jack wended his way to a remote part of the fair
ground, where, under gay awnings, the sutlers had spread their tempting
variety of cakes, pies, fruits, nuts and loaves. Here were persons of
all ages and sizes--men, women and children--eating at well supplied
tables. The sight was a fascinating one, and, though seeing others eat
did not in the least appease his own hunger, Jack stood for a long time
watching the departure of pies and the steady lessening of huge pyramids
of sweet cakes. He particularly noticed one little table that had on its
centre a huge peach pie, which table was yet unoccupied. While he was
actually thinking over the plan of eating the pie and trusting to his
legs to bear him beyond the reach of a dun, Bill and Minny sat down by
the table and proceeded to discuss the delicious, red-hearted heap of
pastry. At this point Bill caught Jack's eye:
"Come here, Jack," said he; "this pie's more'n we can eat, come and help
us."
"Yes, come along, Jack," put in Minny in her sweetest way; "I want to
tell you what a lot of fun we've had, and more than that, I want to know
why you didn't come back and take me into the show!"
"I ain't hungry," muttered Jack, "and besides I've got to go see a
feller."
He turned away almost choking.
"Bill's got me. 'Taint no use talkin', I'm played out for good. I'm a
trumped Jack!"
He smiled a sort of flinty smile at his poor wit, and shuffled aimlessly
along through the densest clots of the crowd.
And it so continued to happen, that wherever Jack happened to stop for
any considerable length of time he was sure to see Bill and Minny
enjoying some rare treat, or disappearing in or emerging from some place
of amusement.
At last, driven to desperation, he determined on trying to borrow a
dollar from his father. He immediately set about to find the old
gentleman; a task of no little difficulty in such a crowd. It was Jack's
forlorn hope, and it had a gloomy outlook; for old 'Squire Trout was
thought by competent judges to be the stingiest man in the county. But
hoping for the best, Jack hunted him here, there and everywhere, till at
length he met a friend who said he had seen the 'Squire in the act of
leaving the fair ground for home just a few minutes before.
Taking no heed of what folks might say, Jack, on receiving this
intelligence, darted across the ground, out at the gate and down the
road at a speed worthy of success; but alas! his hopes were doomed to
wilt. At the first turn of the road he met a man who informed him that
he had passed 'Squire Trout some three miles out on his way home, which
home was full nine miles distant!
Panting, crestfallen, defeated, done for, poor Jack slowly plodded back
to the fair ground gate, little dreaming of the new trouble that awaited
him there.
"Ticket!" said a gruff voice as he was about to pass in. He recoiled,
amazed at his own stupidity, as he recollected that he had not thought
to get a check as he went out! He tried to explain, but it was no go.
"You needn't try that game on me," said the gatekeeper. "So just plank
down your money or stay outside."
Then Jack got furious, but the gatekeeper remarked that he had
frequently "hearn it thunder afore this!"
Jack smiled like a corpse and turned away. Going a short distance down
the road he climbed up and sat down on top of the fence of a late mown
clover field. Then he took out his jack-knife and began to whittle a
splinter plucked from a rail. His face was gloomy, his eyes lustreless.
Finally he stretched himself, hungry, jealous, envious, hateful, on top
of the fence with his head between the crossed stakes. His face thus
upturned to heaven, he watched two crows drift over, high up in the
torrid reaches of autumn air, hot as summer, even hotter, and allowed
his lips free privilege to anathematize his luck. For a long time he lay
thus, dimly conscious of the blue bird's song and the water-like ripple
of the grass in the fence corners. "Minny, Minny Hart, Minny!" sang the
meadow larks, and the burden of the grasshopper's ditty was----"Only a
half a dollah!"
All at once there arose from the fair ground a mighty chorus of yells,
that went echoing off across the country to the bluffs of Wild-cat Creek
and died far off in the woods toward Greentown. Jack did not raise his
head, but lay there in a sort of morose stupor, knowing well that
whatever the sport might be, he had no hand in it.
"Let 'em rip!" he muttered, "Bill's got me!"
Presently the wagons and other vehicles began to leave the ground, from
one of which he caught the sound of a sweet, familiar voice. He looked
just in time to get a glimpse of Mr. Hart's wagon, and in it, side by
side, Bill Powell and Minny! A cloud of yellow dust soon hid them, and
turning away his head, happening to glance upward, Jack saw, just
disappearing in a thin white cloud, the golden disc of Le Papillon's
balloon!
He immediately descended from his perch and began plodding his way home,
muttering as he did so----
"Dast the luck! Ding the prize package feller! Doggone Bill Powell!
Blame the old b'loon! Dern everybody!"
It was long after nightfall when he reached his father's gate. Hungry,
weak, foot-sore, collapsed, he leaned his chin on the top rail of the
gate and stood there for a moment while the starlight fell around him,
sifted through the dusky foliage of the old beech trees, and from the
far dim caverns of the night a voice smote on his ear, crying out
tenderly, mockingly, persuasively----
"Only a half a dollah!"
And Jack slipped to his room and went supperless to bed, often during
the night muttering, through the interstices of his sleep----"Bill's got
me!"