BILLY BLOW, CLOWN
Billy Blow, the clown, woke up just as the wagon reached the tent site
at Clifton. It was nearly midnight.
His sleep did not seem to have refreshed him much. He got down from the
vehicle like a man half-awake, and as if the effort hurt him. He had to
shake himself to get the stiffness out of his limbs.
"Dis vos dot poy I told you aboud, Billy," said the musician.
"Oh, yes, yes," answered the clown in a preoccupied way, with a quick
look at Andy. "I'll take him under my wing until Marco comes along. This
way, kid. I've some baggage to look after. Then we'll bunk."
Andy bade Hans Snitzellbaum adieu with reluctance. He liked the
bluff-hearted old German with his fatherly ways.
"Goot py for dot bresent times," said the fat musician. "Vhen I sees you
mit dose tumblers, I gives some big bang-bang, boom-boom, hey?"
"I hope you will," responded Andy with a cheery laugh.
He followed Billy Blow. The latter finally found the wagon he was after.
He bundled its contents about and got a small wooden box and a big
wicker trunk to one side.
"Wish you'd mind these till I see if I can't make quick sleeping
quarters," Blow said to Andy.
"Yes, sir, I'll be glad to," answered Andy willingly, and the clown
hurried off in his usual nervous fashion.
Andy was kept keenly awake for the ensuing hour. It did not seem to be
night at all. The scene about him was one of constant activity.
Andy caught a glimpse of real circus life. Its details filled him with
wonderment, admiration and keen interest.
The scene was one of constantly increasing hustle and bustle. There was
infinite variety and excitement in the occasion. For all that, there was
a system, precision and progress in all that was done that
fascinated Andy.
The boy was witnessing the building of a great city in itself within the
space of half-a-dozen hours.
The caravan wound in, section by section. The wagons moved to set places
as if doing so automatically, discharged their cumbersome loads,
and retired.
First came the baggage train, then the stake and chain wagons, the side
shows, paraphernalia, and the menagerie cages.
The circus area proper had been all marked out, the ring graded,
sawdust-strewn, and straw scattered to absorb dampness.
The blacksmiths' wagons, cooks' caravan and the minor tents all removed
to the far rear. The naphtha torches were set every twenty feet apart to
illuminate proceedings. Workers were hauling on the ground great
hogsheads of water. Near the dining tents half-a-hundred table cloths
were already hanging out on wire clothes lines to dry.
Some men were washing small tents with paraffin to season them against
the weather. Finally the great forty-horse team lumbered up with its
mighty load. The boss canvasman with half-a-hundred assistants began the
construction of "the main top," or performing tent, holding fifteen
thousand people.
Andy, absorbed in every maneuver displayed, was completely lost in the
deepest interest when a voice at his side aroused him.
"Tired waiting?" asked Billy Blow.
"Oh, no," answered Andy, "I could watch this forever, I think."
"It would soon get stale," declared the clown, with a faint smile. "Give
us a hand, partner--one at a time, and we'll get my togs and ourselves
under cover."
Andy took one handle of the box, the clown the other. They carried it to
the door of one of twenty small tents near the cook's quarters. They
brought the wicker trunk also, and then carried box and trunk inside
the tent.
Andy looked about it curiously. A candle burned on a bench. Beyond it
was a mattress. Near one side, and boxed in by platform sections as if
to keep off draughts, was a second smaller mattress.
On a stool near it sat a thin-faced, lady-like woman. She was smiling
down at a little boy lying huddled up in shawls and a comforter.
"This is my boy, Wildwood," spoke Billy Blow. "New hand, Midge--if he
makes good."
The little fellow nodded in a grave, mature way at Andy. According to
his size, he resembled a child of four. That was why they called him
Midget. Andy learned later that he was ten years old. He had an act with
the circus, going around the ring perched on the shoulders of a
bare-back rider. He also sometimes had a part with "the Tom Thumb
acrobats," doing some clever hoop-jumping with a trick Shetland pony.
He seemed to be just recovering from a fit of sickness. His face,
prematurely old, was pinched and colorless.
"Our Columbine in the Humpty Dumpty afterpiece," was the way the clown
introduced the lady. "I don't know how to thank you for all your
trouble, Miss Nellis."
"Don't mention it, Billy," responded the woman. "Any of us would fight
for it to help you or the kid, wouldn't we, Midge?"
"I don't know why," answered the lad in a weary way. "I ain't much good
any more."
"Now hear that ungrateful boy!" rallied Miss Nellis. "Billy, the doctor
says his whole trouble was poisoned canned stuff, bad water and a cold.
He's broken the fever. Here's some medicine. Every hour a spoonful until
gone, and doctor says he'll be fit as ever in a day or two."
"That's good," said the clown, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. "I
wish I could afford the hotel for the lad, instead of this
rough-and-tumble shack life, but my wife's hospital bills drain me
pretty well."
"Never mind. Better times coming, Billy. Don't you get disheartened,"
cheered the little woman. "Remember now, don't miss that medicine."
Miss Nellis went away. Andy heard poor Billy sigh as he adjusted the
larger mattress.
"There's your bunk," he said to Andy. "Marco will see you early in the
morning."
Andy took off his coat and shoes and lay down on the rude bed. He
watched Midget tracing the outlines of a picture with his white finger
in a book Miss Nellis had brought him.
Andy saw the clown go over to a stool and place a homely, old-fashioned
watch and a spoon and medicine bottle Miss Nellis had given him upon it.
Then Blow came back to the big mattress and sat down on it. He bent his
face in his hands in a tired way. Every minute he would sway with
sleepiness, start up, and try to keep awake.
"The man is half-dead for the want of sleep, worn out with all his
worries," thought Andy. "Mr. Blow," he said aloud, sitting up, "I can't
sleep a wink. This is all so new to me. I'll just disturb you rustling
about here. Please let me attend to the little fellow, won't you, and
you take a good sound snooze? Come, it will do you lots of good."
"No, no," began the clown weakly.
"Please," persisted Andy. "Honest, I can't close my eyes. Now don't you
have a care. I'll give Midget his medicine to the second."
Andy felt a glow of real pleasure and satisfaction as the clown lay
down. He was asleep in two minutes. Andy went over to the stool.
"I'm going to be your nurse," he told Midget. "Suppose you sleep, too."
"I can't," answered the little fellow. "I've been asleep all day. Wish I
had another book, I've looked this one through a hundred times."
"I could tell you some stories," Andy suggested. "Good ones."
"Will you, say, will you?" pleaded the clown's boy eagerly.
"You bet--and famous ones."
Andy kept his promise. He ransacked his mind for the brightest stories
he had ever read. Never was there a more interested listener. Andy
talked in a low voice so as not to disturb the clown.
Midget seemed most to like the real stories of his own village life that
Andy finally drifted into.
"That's what I'd like," he said, after Andy had told of some boyish
adventures back at Fairview.
"Oh, I'm so tired of moving on--all the time moving on!"
"Strange," thought Andy, "and that's just the kind of a life I'm trying
to get into."
Midget became so animated that Andy finally got him to tell some stories
about circus life. All that, however, was "shop talk" to the little
performer, but Andy learned considerable from the keen-witted little
fellow, who appeared to know as much about the ins and outs of show life
as some veteran of the ring.
He enlightened his auditor greatly in the line of real circus slang.
Andy learned that in show vernacular clowns were "joys," and other
performers "kinkers." A pocket book was a "leather," a hat a "lid," a
ticket a "fake," an elephant a "bull." Lemonade was "juice," eyes were
"lamps," candy peddlers were "butchers," and the various tents "tops,"
as, for instance: "main top," "cook top," and the side shows were
"kid tops."
Finally little Midge went to sleep. Andy woke him up each hour till
daybreak to take his medicine. After the last dose Andy went outside to
stretch his limbs and get a mouthful of fresh air.
He saw men still tirelessly working here and there. Some were housing
the live stock, some unpacking seat stands, some fixing the banners on
the main tent.
Andy did not go far from the clown's tent. It was fairly dawn. Happening
to glance towards the chandelier wagon he came to a dead stand-still,
and stared.
"Hello!" said Andy with animation. "There's that Jim Tapp, and the man
with him--yes, it's the fellow, Murdock, I saw with Daley in the old
hay barn."
As he stood gazing Tapp caught sight of him. He started violently and
spoke some quick words to his companion, pointing towards Andy.
"That's the man who cut the trapeze," murmured Andy. "I'll rouse the
clown and tell him. He's a dangerous man to have lurking around."
"Hey! hey!" called out Tapp at just that moment.
Both he and his companion started running towards Andy. There was that
in their bearing that warned Andy they meant him no good. Andy did
not pause.
"Stop, I tell you!" shouted the man, Murdock.
Andy made a bee-line for the clown's tent. As he neared it he glanced
back over his shoulder.
Tapp was still putting after him. His companion had stooped to pick up
an iron tent stake from the ground.
This he let drive with full force. It took Andy squarely between the
shoulders, and he dropped like a shot.