"HEY, RUBE!"
"From bad to worse," said the Man With the Iron Jaw.
"Correct, Marco," assented Billy Blow dejectedly.
It was three weeks after the start of the southern tour of the circus.
Marco, the clown, Midget, Miss Stella Starr, Andy and about a dozen
others were seated or strolling around the performers' tent about the
middle of the afternoon.
Every face in the crowd looked anxious--some disheartened and desperate.
Bad luck attended the southern trip of the show. They had reached
Montgomery in the midst of a terrific rain storm. Two animal cars had
been derailed and wrecked on the route.
Three days later a wind storm nearly tore the main top to tatters. Some
of the performers fell sick, due to the change of climate. Others
foresaw trouble, and joined other shows in the north.
The season started out badly and kept it up. The attendance as they left
the big cities was disastrously light.
They had to cut out one or two towns here and there, on account of bad
roads and accidents. Now the show had reached Lacon, and after more
trouble found itself stalled.
To be "stalled," Andy had learned was to be very nearly stranded. No
salaries had been paid for a full fortnight. Some of the performers had
gotten out executions against the show.
Aside from this, on account of the absence of many attractions
advertised in the show bills, disappointed audiences were showing an
ugly spirit.
The show was tied up by local creditors, who would not allow it to leave
town until their bills were paid.
To make matters worse, Sim Dewey, the treasurer of the show, had run
away with eleven thousand dollars two days before.
This comprised the active capital of the show. Not a trace of the
whereabouts of the mean thief had been discovered.
All these facts were known to the performers, and over the same they
were brooding that dismal rainy afternoon, awaiting the coming of
the manager.
"Here he is," spoke an eager voice, and Mr. Scripps bustled into the
tent.
He rubbed his hands briskly and smiled at everybody, but Andy saw that
this was all put on. Lines of care and anxiety showed about the plucky
manager's eyes and lips.
"Well, my friends," he spoke at once. "We've arrived at a decision."
"Good," commented Marco. "Let's have it."
"I have had a talk with the lawyers who hold the executions against the
show, I have suggested four nights and two matinees at half-price,
papering four counties liberally. We'll announce only the attractions we
really have, so there can be no kicking. What is taken in the treasurer
is to hand over to the sheriff. He is to pay fifty per cent on claims
against us. The balance, minus expenses, is to go for salaries. I should
say that we can pay each performer a full half salary. There's the
situation, friends. What do you say?"
"Satisfactory," nodded Marco.
"Billy Blow?"
"I've got pretty heavy expenses, with a wife in the hospital," said the
clown in a subdued tone, "but I'll try and make half salary do."
"Miss Starr?"
The kind-hearted equestrienne smiled brightly.
"Take care of the others first, Mr. Scripps," she said. "While I have
these, we won't exactly starve."
Miss Stella Starr shook the glittering diamond pendants in her pretty
pink ears.
"Thank you," bowed the manager, choking up a trifle. "Andy Wildwood?"
"I'm a mere speck in the show," said Andy, "but I'll stick if there
isn't a cent of salary. It's the last ditch for my good, true friends,
Mr. Scripps."
The manager turned aside to hide his emotion.
"Friends," he resumed an instant later, "you break me all up with this
kind of talk. You're a royal, good lot. I've wired Mr. Harding that he
must help us out. Stick to your posts, and no one shall lose a dollar."
There was not a dissent to his proposition as he completed calling the
list of performers. Andy's action shamed some into coming into the
arrangements. The manager's words encouraged others. While some few
answered grudgingly, the compact was made unanimous.
"There's a crowd of hard roughs trying to make trouble," concluded Mr.
Scripps. "Leave that to the tent men. Give the best show you know how,
try and please the crowds, and I guess we'll win out."
Every act went excellently at the evening performance up to about the
middle of the programme.
Andy did his level best. He won an encore by a trick somersault old
Benares had taught him.
Billy Blow was at his funniest. He had the audience in fine, good humor.
Little Midget over-exerted himself to follow in his father's lead.
Marco was a pronounced success. Miss Stella Starr made one of her horses
dance a graceful round to the tune of "Dixie," and the audience
went wild.
Andy, in street dress, came into the canvas passageway near the
orchestra as the trick elephants were led into the ring. The manager
nodded to him. Andy saw that he was pleased the way things were going.
For all that, he observed that Mr. Scripps kept his eye pretty closely
on a rough crowd occupying seats near the entrance.
They seemed to be of a general group. They talked loudly and passed all
kinds of comments on the various acts.
Finally one of their number shied a carrot into the ring, striking the
elephant trainer.
The latter caught his cue instantly at a word from the ringmaster. He
picked up the vegetable, made a profound bow to the sender, juggled it
cleverly with his training wand, one-two-three, and turned the tables
completely as the smart baby elephant caught it on the fly.
Cat calls rang out derisively from a lot of boys, directed at the group
of rowdies from the midst of whom the carrot had been thrown.
Then a man arose unsteadily from that mob and stumbled over the ring
ropes.
The ringmaster, his face very stern and very white, stepped forward to
intercept him.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"Man insulted me. Going to lick him," hiccoughed the rowdy, his eyes
fixed on the elephant trainer.
"Leave the ring," ordered the ringmaster.
"Me? Guess not! Will I, boys?" he demanded of his special crowd of
cronies.
"No, no! Go on! Have it out!"
A good many timid ones arose from their seats. The ringmaster scented
trouble.
Stepping squarely up to the drunken loafer, his hand shot out in a flash
and caught the fellow squarely under the jaw. He knocked him five feet
across the ropes, where he landed like a clod of earth in a heap.
Instantly there was an uproar. The orchestra stopped playing. The
manager ran forward and put up his hand.
"We will have order here at any cost," he shouted. "Officer," to the
guard at the entrance, "call the police."
With wild yells some fifty of the group from which the drunken rowdy had
come sprang from the benches. They jumped over the ropes, crowding into
the ring and making for the manager.
Half-a-dozen ring men ran forward to repel them. Fists brandished, and
cudgels, too. The circus men went down among flying heels.
Then arose a cry, heard for the first time by the excited Andy--never
later recalled without a thrill as he realized from that experience its
terrific portent.
"_Hey, Rube_!"
It was the world-wide rallying cry of the circus folk--the call in
distress for speedy, reliant help.
As if by magic the echoes took up the call. Andy heard them respond from
the farthest haunts of the circus grounds.
From under the benches, through the main entrance, under the loose side
flaps, a rallying army sprang into being.
Stake men, wagon men, cooks, hostlers, candy butchers, came flying from
every direction.
Every one of them had found a weapon--a stake. Like skilled soldiers
they grouped, and bore down on the intruders like an avalanche.
Women were shrieking, fainting on the benches, children were crying. The
audience was in a wild turmoil. Some benches broke down. The scene was
one of riotous confusion.
Suddenly a shot rang out. Then Andy had a final sight of crashing clubs
and mad, bleeding faces, as some one pulled the centre-light rope. The
big chandelier came down with a crash, precipitating the tent in
semi-darkness.
So excited was Andy, that, grasping a stake, he was about to dash into
the midst of the conflict. The manager pushed him back.
"Get out of this," he ordered quickly. "Look to the women and children.
Our men will see to it that those low loafers get all they came for."
"Wildwood," spoke Marco rushing up to Andy just here, "they have cut the
guy ropes of the performers' tent. I must get to my family. Look out for
Miss Starr. Here she is."