JACK AT THE CIRCUS
Ferd drove the wagon up to one of the buildings where a low, broad
platform opened into a room with a concrete floor, about which stood
many milk cans. In one corner was a big tank, partly filled with milk.
Jack was interested in what followed. Greeting with a cheery “good
morning” the man in charge, Fred proceeded to lift out his cans of milk
to the platform of a scale.
“Do you weigh the milk?” asked Jack. “I thought it went by measure.”
“We weigh it here,” answered the man. “That’s the way they do at most
dairies and cheese factories.”
Ferd was given a ticket showing how much milk he had delivered, and
then turning his wagon about, he drove to a pump that stood on a
sort of elevated tank, with a trough extending from it to a height
convenient for the vehicle.
“What you going to do now?” asked Jack.
“Pump up some sour milk for th’ pigs,” replied Ferd. “After that I’ll
take you to th’ foreman of the cheese factory.”
He stepped up to the pump and began to work the handle.
“Jest hold that trough over one of th’ cans, will ye?” he asked Jack.
Our hero did as directed, and, as the country lad pumped, a stream of
curdled milk flowed into the cans that had just been emptied.
“This is what’s left after they take out th’ cream, or use th’ milk for
cheese,” explained Ford. “It’s fine fer pigs. Ours love it, an’ I take
some home every trip.”
He filled two cans with the refuse part of the milk, and then, driving
his horse out of the way of any other farmers who might want to get
some of the sour milk for their pigs, for it was given away by the
dairy, Ferd invited Jack to accompany him.
“I hope you git a job,” he remarked, in friendly tones.
“So do I,” replied Jack. “But if I don’t get one here I may land a
place somewhere else,” for he had a certain plan in his mind, though he
did not want to speak about it.
“Hey, Si,” called Ferd to a good-natured looking man, who stood in the
doorway of another low building. “How be ye?”
“Pritty tol’able. How’s yerself?”
“Fine. I got up early t’ go t’ th’ circus. Here’s a friend of mine.
Can’t ye give him a job turnin’ cheeses?” For cheeses have to be turned
around quite often to “ripen” properly, and it is quite a task in a
dairy where they make hundreds of them.
“Waal, now, if you’d come yist’day I could ’a’ done it,” replied Silas
Martin, who was foreman of the cheese department. “But we put a feller
on last night, an’ there ain’t no place now.”
“Is there any other opening here?” asked Jack, speaking for himself.
“I don’t believe there is,” replied the foreman. “I’d be glad to give
you a place if I had one, but I can’t. Do you like cheese?” he asked.
“I’m quite fond of it,” answered Jack.
“Come in and I’ll give you some that’s nice and mild,” went on Mr.
Martin. “Want t’ take some home, Ferd? Your daddy likes it. It’s full
cream, and it’s just right.”
“Sure,” replied Jack’s new friend.
The two boys went into the cheese room, which smelled quite appetizing.
The foreman gave them each large portions of cheese, wrapped in paper.
“This will help out on my meals,” thought Jack.
“Wait a minute,” called Mr. Martin, as the boys were about to leave.
“There’s suthin’ that allers goes with cheese. Can ye guess what it
is?” he asked.
“Crackers?” replied our hero questioningly.
“Crackers is one thing, an’ apple pie’s another. My wife put me up
a lunch this mornin’ an’ I guess she thought I must have a terrible
appetite. I’ve got more’n I want.”
He went to a closet and came back with some crisp crackers, and two
large pieces of pie, which he insisted that the boys take.
“I’ve got twice as much left as I kin eat,” he said.
Jack accepted his portion with many thanks, and Ferd put his in one of
his big pockets. When he got outside he said to Jack:
“Say, I ain’t got no use fer this. I had a hearty breakfast, and I’ll
have a bully dinner before I go to th’ circus. Take this.”
He handed over his cheese, pie, and crackers.
“Sure you don’t want it?” asked Jack.
“Sure not. It might come in handy fer you if ye--if ye ain’t got no
money.”
“Well, I certainly haven’t any money, and I’ll take this very gladly,
if you don’t want it.”
“Naw. I don’t want it. Say, if ye’ll come back with me I’ll see that ye
git a good dinner.”
“I’m ever so much obliged to you,” replied Jack. “But I think I’ll go
on. If I thought I could get a job at your farm I’d go with you, but I
know nothing about milking or work about cows and horses. I think I’ll
travel on. But I want to thank you for what you’ve done for me.”
“Aw, that’s all right,” responded Ferd. “I wish I could ’a’ helped ye
find th’ satchel thet fell in th’ creek.”
“So do I, but I guess it’s gone.”
Bidding good-by to the kind and hospitable farm lad, Jack, who had
inquired the shortest way to Mulford, set out for that town, carrying
the food supplies which had so unexpectedly been given him.
“Luck is beginning to turn my way,” he thought. “When I get to where
the circus is I’m going to try and get a job there.”
It was quite a tramp to Mulford, and it was noon when Jack came in
sight of the town, which lay in a sheltered valley. He could see the
white tents of the circus, gay with many colored flags, and his heart
beat faster, as does that of every boy when he nears the scene where
one of the canvas-sheltered shows hold forth.
Though it was early, there was quite a crowd about, watching the men
erect some of the smaller tents, arranging the wagons, or cooking the
dinner for the performers and helpers.
“Guess I’ll eat my lunch, and then look about,” decided Jack. The
crackers, cheese, and pie tasted most excellent, and when he had taken
a long drink from a spring, which served to supply the circus, he felt
in shape to look about for a job.
He strolled over to where a gang of men were putting up a tent.
Something seemed to be going wrong, and the man in charge was out of
patience.
“What’s the matter with you gazaboos?” he asked tartly. “You pull on
the wrong rope every time. Here, haul on the other one, I tell you!
What’s the matter with you? Do you want this tent to get up to-day or
some time next week? Yank on that other rope, I tell you! Good land!
You’re worse than a lot of monkeys! Pull on that short rope!” he fairly
yelled.
The particular man at whom he was directing his remarks did not appear
to understand. He pulled on a long rope, instead of a short one,
and the tent, which was nearly up, was about to fall down. Jack saw
what was wanted. He sprang forward, and, just in time to save the
big stretch of canvas from collapsing, he hauled on the proper rope,
pulling it into place.
“That’s what I wanted,” said the man in charge. “It’s a pity you
fellers wouldn’t take lessons off that lad. He don’t need a tent-stake
hammer to have sense knocked into his head. Hold that rope a minute,
sonny, and I’ll come over there and fasten it. I never see such a lot
of dumb idiots in all my born days!”
Jack held the rope until the man took it from him, and fastened it
properly.
“I’m much obliged to you,” he said gratefully to our hero. “Only for
you the whole blamed business would have been on the ground.”
“You’re welcome,” answered Jack. Then a sudden idea came to him. “You
don’t want any more helpers, do you?” he asked.
“Well, I do need a couple of hands,” was the rather unexpected answer.
“If you want to stick around, and help out, I’ll give you a couple of
tickets to the show.”
“I’ll do it,” replied Jack, for he had a further scheme he wanted to
try and this just fitted in with it.
“All right,” spoke the man in charge of the tents. “Come with me. I’ll
find something for you to do.”
Jack was soon engaged in helping put up other tents, in carrying
gasoline torches here and there, filling them, and getting ready for
the night performance, though the afternoon one had not yet been held.
Several times the man who had engaged him came around to see how he was
getting on.
“You’re all right, kid,” he said heartily. “You’ll do. I wish I had a
few more like you. Here, just take this note over to the ticket wagon.
Tell the man Ike Landon, the boss canvasman, sent you. He’ll give you
a couple of good seats. I guess you can knock off now. We’re in pretty
good shape.”
He scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to Jack, who
took it over to the ticket wagon. It was drawing close to the time for
the performance, and there was quite a throng in front of the gaudily
painted vehicle.
As Jack was working his way through the press to the window, he heard a
familiar voice ask:
“Waal, are ye goin’ to th’ show? Thought ye didn’t have no money.”
“Why, Ferd,” exclaimed Jack, recognizing his friend of the milk wagon.
“I’m glad to see you,” he went on. “Have you bought your ticket yet?”
“Nope, but I’m goin’ to.”
“Wait a minute, then. I can get two, and I’ll give you one.”
“Two? How ye goin’ to git two?”
“I’ll show you.”
By this time Jack had managed to reach the window. He handed in the
note, saying:
“Ike Landon, the boss canvasman, sent me with that.”
“It’s all right,” replied the ticket man, as he glanced at the piece of
paper. “Here are a couple of reserved seats.”
“Say, ye’re a peach!” exclaimed Ferd admiringly, when Jack gave him
one of the pasteboard slips. “How’d ye do it?”
“Oh, I pulled the right rope in time,” replied Jack, as he and his new
friend went inside the tent, where the band was playing a lively air.