A FRIEND IN NEED.
At this important moment of his life the boy had but one idea. He was
running away--going to leave that life of hardship, of starvation and
beatings behind. He thought of nothing else.
He did not go far before he became aware that somebody was following
him. Was it Bambo, Maul, or both of them? In terror he endeavored to
increase his speed. But he was too exhausted, and lagged at every
step.
“My young friend, don’t be alarmed,” came presently to his ears. “I
am your friend and will not hurt you. It was I who threw the stone
which smote the Philistine on his brow. Slacken your fast pace, and
let us interview one another.”
At this curious call, the boy stopped short. As a matter of fact, he
was nearly ready to drop. He staggered to the rail fence and leaned
heavily upon it for support. The circus turnout had been left a good
quarter of a mile behind.
Following the strange call there emerged from the darkness the form
of a tall and angular man, wearing a long, black frock coat and a
battered silk hat. His feet were incased in patent leather shoes,
almost worn to the uppers, and altogether his appearance was to the
last degree shabby genteel.
“Are you the--the man that threw the stone?” gasped the boy.
“I am the individual, my son,” was the response, delivered in a
voice of unusual profoundness. “It was a lucky stroke to your aid,
was it not? Your enemy fell, and I doubt if he is yet aware of what
happened.”
“I hope, sir, you didn’t kill him,” faltered the boy.
“Assuredly not. I calculated the distance with precision, and he is
merely stunned--I made certain of that ere I undertook to follow you.”
There was a moment of silence, followed by a flash of lightning and a
loud peal of thunder. The man looked around and espied a barn not a
great distance from the road.
“Come with me to yonder shelter,” he said, kindly, taking the boy’s
hand. “It will not be long ere the circus people come this way, and I
presume you wish to avoid them.”
“Yes! yes! let me get away! I never want to see any of them again,”
was the quick answer.
“Then come, let me assist you over the fence.”
But this was not necessary. The boy leaned back, gave a nimble twist,
and was on the other side quick as a flash.
“Ah, I perceive you are an acrobat,” said the tall man, as he climbed
over the rails in clumsy but rapid fashion. “Did you perform in the
circus?”
“Yes, sir.”
No more was said just then. Side by side the two crossed the field
and approached the barn. A small, rear door was unlocked, and they
went inside.
“A goodly shelter,” observed the tall man. “I wish I had struck it
previously. But had I done so, I would not have met you, so it is
better as it is. I see no house near, so most likely we shall be free
from interruption.”
He struck a match, and, lighting a bit of candle he took from his
coat-tail pocket, surveyed the interior of the structure. The barn
was evidently not in use, for it contained nothing but a small pile
of old straw.
“I imagine this will serve our purpose admirably,” he went on. “Let
us take off our coats and rest on the straw. I would keep the candle
burning, but it would not last long, and we may find it useful later
on. Besides, there is danger of a conflagration.”
And so speaking, he snuffed the tallow, leaving himself and the boy
in total darkness.
While the light lasted, the pair so strangely thrown together had
surveyed each other curiously. Both apparently were satisfied.
“I cannot offer you a card,” went on the tall man, as he spread
out his coat where it might have a chance to dry. “But my name is
Longfellow Wadsworth, and I am an elocutionist, and at times, when
the chance offers, a tragedian. Usually I ride about in my own
private car or stage, but through a series of very unfortunate and
distressing occurrences, I am now compelled to journey on foot,
seeking an audience wherever conditions favor. May I ask your name,
my son?”
“Neka, sir.”
“Neka? Rather--ah--short and odd. What is the rest of it?”
“That is all there is to it, sir.”
“It is your--ah--circus name, perhaps?”
“It’s the only name I have, sir. They used to call me Ned when I was
a small boy, but that’s past long ago.”
“And you do not look to be over fourteen.” Longfellow Wadsworth
seemed to grow thoughtful. “Are your folks traveling with the show?”
“I haven’t any folks.”
“I thought so--by the way that brute of a driver attacked you. He
should be placed under arrest.”
“That was Daniel Bambo, the owner of the circus. He says he is my
regular guardian, but I don’t believe it, for old Jerry Brown, the
clown, before he died, said Bambo had no real claim on me.”
“Really, Neka, your story interests me. So this Bambo claims to own
you, so to speak? How long has he claimed this, and where did he
obtain you?”
“I have been with him four years. Before that time I lived with an
old woman in Cleveland, named Susan Gilderoy. Her husband was a stage
juggler, and he trained me to do a number of tricks.”
“I see. Are these folks still living?”
“No, sir. Leon Gilderoy was killed on the railroad, and his wife
never got over the shock. She went into a faint, and died three days
after. Then Daniel Bambo, who was a relative of Mrs. Gilderoy, came
along and took charge of everything, including myself.”
“And you have been traveling with his circus ever since?”
“I have been traveling with him, yes, sir. But the first two years
we were on the variety stage. He is also a juggler and conjurer, and
we did a turn, together with old Jerry Brown, as the Bambo Family
from Australia.”
“How long has this Jerry Brown been dead?”
“Two years. After he died, Daniel Bambo left the stage and started
his circus. Then I was taught to ride as well as to juggle and
do tricks, and I was also billed as Neka, King of Fire, in which
character I pretend to wash my hands in burning oil and to eat pieces
of burning paper.”
“Ah, yes, I have heard of those tricks. You have an interesting
history.” Longfellow Wadsworth paused as a rattle of thunder passed
over. “Now you have run away, what do you propose to do?”
“I don’t know,” was Neka’s blank reply. “I ran away on the jump, as
the saying is.”
“With your ability, you can undoubtedly make a fair living in some
circus or variety company, but you will need somebody to aid you, or
you will be fleeced by the sharpers in the profession. If you wish, I
will be your friend. It is true I am poor, but----”
“I haven’t a cent,” laughed the boy.
He thought it queer himself that he could laugh at such a time.
“Then we are on an equal footing, so far as finances go. But I was
going to remark, I will stand by you, Neka. Who knows but what we may
strike positions in the same company? And I will endeavor to defend
you against the wiles of that circus brute----”
Longfellow Wadsworth got no further. A cry from the field, not far
from the barn, interrupted him.
“Stop the wagon out there!” came in the voice of Daniel Bambo. “I am
going to see if he came to this barn and hid.”