A FULL-FLEDGED ACROBAT
The circus manager sat in a chair at the edge of a little sawdust ring
that had been marked out for the occasion. The ringmaster stood near
him, in charge of the ceremonies.
"Now, then, my friends," observed this individual in a sharp, snappy
way, "you people want a chance to get on as performers. That's good. We
are always looking for fresh talent. Show your paces. Who's first?"
A big, loutish fellow with an ungainly walk stepped forward. He was
wrapped up in a tarpaulin. As he let it drop it was like a
transformation scene.
It seemed that some of the mischievous candy peddlers had got hold of
him. They had induced him to appear for trial in costume.
He wore a pair of tights three sizes too small for him. They had
powdered his hair with fine sawdust and daubed his face with chalk and
dyes. They had stuffed out his stockings until his calves resembled
sticks of knotted wood.
The manager nearly fell over in his chair with repressed laughter. The
audience was one vast chuckle.
"Well, sir," spoke up the ringmaster, with difficulty keeping a straight
face, "what can you do?"
"I'd like to be a clown," grinned the victim.
"A clown, sir. Good. Let's see you act."
The fellow capered into the ring. One stocking came down, letting out a
quart of sawdust. One tight split up to the knee as he made a jig step
that brought the tears to the eyes of Billy Blow, who, with his boy, had
come to witness the show.
Then the fellow sang a funny song. It was funny. His voice was cracked,
his delivery dolorous. He began to shuffle at the end of it.
"Faster, faster, sir!" cried the ringmaster, snapping his whip across
the bare limb exposed. "Faster, I tell you!"
"Ouch!" yelled the aspirant.
"Come, sir, faster. I say faster, faster, faster! Purely ring practice,
my friend. We do this to all the clowns, you know."
With the pitiless accuracy of a bullwhacker the ringmaster pursued his
victim. The whip-lash landed squarely every time, biting like a hornet.
The aspirant was now on the run.
"Stop! Don't! Help!" he roared. "I don't want to be a clown!" and with a
bellow he ran out of the tent, followed by the hooting candy peddlers.
"Well, who are you?" demanded the ringmaster of two colored boys who
stepped forward.
"Double trapeze act, sir," said one of them.
"Oh, here you are. Let's see what you can do."
The ringmaster set free the temporary trapeze rigging.
These aspirants did quite well, singly. When they doubled, however,
there was trouble.
The one swinging from the hands of the other lost his grip. He caught
out wildly, grabbed at the shirt sleeve of his partner to save himself.
This tightened the garment at the neck. Then it gave way, buttons and
all. Both tumbled to the ground. They began upbraiding one another, came
to blows, and the ringmaster sent them about their business, saying the
show could not encourage prize fighters.
The programme continued. There was an ambitious lad who was quite a
wonder at turning rapid cartwheels. Another did some creditable pole
balancing. One old man wanted to serve as a magician. All had a chance,
but their merit was not distinguished enough to warrant their
engagement.
Most of the crowd filed out when the last of the amateurs had done his
"stunt." Benares then stepped up to the ringmaster and beckoned to Andy.
At his direction Andy threw off his coat and hat, and old Benares led
the horse Andy had noticed into the main tent. It was a steady-paced,
slow-going steed. The ringmaster got it started around the ring.
"Do your best now, Wildwood," whispered Marco, who with the clown and
the manager had followed into the main tent.
Andy was on his mettle. He made a run, took a leap and landed on the
platform on the horse's back just as he had done a hundred times back
at Fairview.
"Very good," nodded the ringmaster, as Andy rode around the ring,
posing, several times.
"Try the spring plank next," suggested the manager.
The single and double somersault were Andy's specialty. The apparatus
was superb. He was not quite perfect, but old Benares patted him on the
shoulder after several efforts, with the words:
"Fine--vary fine."
Andy did some creditable twisting on the trapeze, the manager and the
ringmaster conversing together, meantime.
"Report to me in the morning," said the latter to Andy at last.
Marco followed the manager as he left the tent. He came back with a
pleased expression of face.
"It's all right, lad," he reported. "You're in the ring group as a sub.
He tried to chisel me down, but I insisted on fair pay, and it's ten
dollars a week for you."
Andy was delighted. That amount seemed a small fortune to him. No danger
now of not being able to pay back to Graham the borrowed five dollars
and his other Fairview debts.
Benares took him in hand after the others had left. He gave him a great
many training suggestions. He led him into the regular practicing tent
and showed him "the mecanique." This was a device with a wooden arm from
which hung an elastic rope. Harnessed in this, a performer could attempt
all kinds of contortions without scoring a fall.
Benares also showed Andy how to make effective standing somersaults by
"the tuck trick," This was to grasp both legs tightly half-way between
the knees and ankles, pressing them close together. At the same time the
acrobat was to put the muscles of the shoulders and back in full play.
The combined muscular force acted like a balance-weight of a wheel, and
enabled that neat, finished somersault which always brought down
the house.
"You ought to try the slack wire, too, when you get a chance," advised
Benares. "We'll try you on the high trapeze in the triple act, some
time. Glad you're in the profession, Wildwood, and we'll all give you a
lift when we can."
Andy felt that he had found some of the best friends in the world, and
was a full-fledged acrobat at last as he left the circus tent.