CIRCUS TALK
Andy knew that the circus actor's vehement statement was an
exaggeration, still there was no doubting the fact that he was intensely
pleased and grateful.
"I found those things in the handkerchief over near the dressing tent,"
explained Andy.
"I must have dropped them there, or they got kicked out under the flap
in hustling the baggage around," cried the man. "Here, kid."
The speaker made a motion towards his side, as if reaching for a vest
pocket.
"I forgot," he laughed. "I have my ring togs on. Come along, I'll borrow
some coin for you."
"Oh, no," demurred Andy, "I don't want any pay."
"Don't?" propounded the man in astonishment. "I want to do something for
you. I'm the Man with the Iron Jaw, and that hard rubber device is what
I hold in my mouth when I go up the rope, see?"
"And that rabbit's foot?" insinuated Andy, guessing.
"Hoodoo. Don't grin, kid. If you were in the profession you'd understand
that a fellow values a charm that has carried him safe over Fridays,
thirteenths, rotten trapezes and cyclones. We're a superstitious bunch,
you know, and I'm no wiser than the rest. Why see here, of course you
want to see the show, don't you?"
"I just do," admitted Andy with alacrity--"if it can be arranged."
"Come with me."
"Yes, sir."
Andy readily followed after his gymnastic acquaintance. A word at the
door flap of the performers' tent admitted them without challenge.
Andy took a keen, interested look around. Near two stands holding silver
starred boxes was a performer in costume, evidently the conjurer of the
show. Beyond him, seated daintily on a large white horse, was a pretty
woman of about thirty, waiting her call to the ring.
A great-muscled fellow sat on a stool surrounded by enormous balls and
dumb bells--the "Strong Man" of the circus.
A trick elephant was being fed by its keeper at once side of the tent.
Nearby was a young man dressed as a jockey, holding the chains leading
to the collars of a dozen performing dogs.
Andy had a good memory. He knew from her resemblance to the posters he
had seen, that the lady on the white horse was Miss Stella Starr, "the
dashing equestrienne."
She seemed to be on good terms with everybody, particularly with Andy's
new acquaintance.
"Who is your friend, Marco?" she asked, as the man passed by her.
He explained, with a great many excited gestures. Then he beckoned to
Andy as the equestrienne smiled pleasantly at him.
"You bunk right there, kid," said Marco, stowing Andy behind a pile of
seat planks that lined the side of the canvassed passageway joining the
performers' tent with the main one.
Andy promptly climbed up on top of the heap of boards. The curtain that
separated the two circus compartments was festooned at one side. Just
beyond was the orchestra. Andy could look over their heads and past
them, with a perfect view of the performing ring.
He gave himself up so completely to the enjoyment of the grand privilege
accorded him, that for one engrossing, bewildering hour he seemed in a
dreamland of rare delight.
Everything went smoothly and neatly. The various acts were new, and
cleverly performed.
When it came to Stella Starr's turn, Andy witnessed a second exhibition
of the superstitious folly of these strange circus folk.
The equestrienne sharply halted the man who led her horse forward for a
dash into the ring.
"Back him--instantly," she called out. "Right foot first over the dead
line. I wouldn't start on a left foot _entree_ for the whole day's
proceeds."
The imperious mandate was obeyed, and Andy raptly witnessed some
bareback riding that made his heart quicken and his eyes flash with
pleasure and admiration.
Miss Stella Starr had two acts. When she retired from the ring, kissing
her little hands prettily to the applauding audience, the manager turned
her horse again facing the curtain in the canvassed passageway.
The equestrienne sank gracefully to a rest on the flank of the big white
horse, patting him affectionately, while some hands began rolling great
tubs into the ring.
These were to form a pyramid, up one side of which and down the other
the white horse was to pass.
Suddenly, as Andy's interest was divided between the ring and the
equestrienne, a sharp crack rang out. It was accompanied by a swishing,
ominous, tearing sound.
An uneasy murmur swayed the audience. The manager ran out into the ring,
swiftly glanced at the centre pole, and drawing a whistle from his
pocket gave three piercing blasts.
"It's a wind storm," Andy heard some one remark.
A second gust swayed the centre pole. The great spreads of canvas bulged
and flapped. The audience arose in their seats.
Andy saw the manager seize a great megaphone near the band stand. He
shouted:
"Preserve order. There is no danger. Keep your seats. It is only a
passing gust of wind. Play! play!" he shouted frantically to the band.
"Take care!" shouted the man, Marco, with a look through the outside
flap, "she's coming again!"
A sudden tumult fell on the air. Shrieks, yells, a great babel arose
from the audience. The centre pole creaked and swayed dangerously. Then,
with a sharp rip the canvas roof over Andy's head was wrenched from
place and went sailing up into the air.
A heavy wooden cross-piece running between two supports had been torn
loose at one end. The rope securing it whipped about and struck Andy
in the face.
He dodged, and was about to leap to the ground, when a sharp cry from
Stella Starr announced a new peril.
The free end of the heavy cross piece was descending with the force of a
driven sledge hammer. She was directly within range. Andy saw her
danger, jumped erect, grabbed at the rope whipping about, and pulled it
towards himself.
As the equestrienne shrank to the neck of the trembling horse upon which
she sat, the timber just grazed her spangled hair. It struck the ground
and tore loose above. Its other end hit the pile of seat planks with
a crash.
Andy felt them topple. He tried to steady himself, to jump aside. He was
caught in the tumble and went headlong to the sawdust, the planks
falling on top of him.