IN A STORM
Once more the parade started, and it completed the circuit without
further accident. To the delight of every one, the rain ceased, and the
sun came out to dry off dripping tents, and drive away the moisture
from the soaked ground.
“We’ll have a fine crowd out this afternoon and to-night, I think,”
said Sam. “This is always a good town to show in.”
Events proved that he was right, and when it came time for the
afternoon performance the big tent was taxed to its capacity to hold
the throng gathered. All the performers seemed to have new vim and
vigor with the advent of better weather, and the acts went off with a
snap that had been absent during the wet spell.
“Now, Jack, show ’em what you can do,” advised Sam Kyle, as it came the
turn of the clowns to enter the ring. “Make a good flight.”
Jack excelled himself, for he had added a new turn to his stunt, and
this was the first time he tried it. This was to take with him, in a
cage concealed on top of the muslin bag, a tame rooster that belonged
to one of the clowns, who had temporarily given up using it, as he had
a new act.
Chanticleer was put in a cage, and the sides of it were covered with
white muslin, arranged on a frame work so that they would fall down
when a spring was released, revealing the rooster on top of the
airship. Until the sides fell down, however, it merely looked like a
small square box on top of the distended muslin bag. Jack could bring
the rooster into view by pulling on a cord.
Jack’s act was getting to be quite complicated. In addition to jumping
off a high platform, he had to operate the wings of his machine with
his feet, and just as he reached the ground he had to pull a cord that
shot off a blank cartridge and allowed the balloon to seemingly fall
apart, yank another that displayed the two United States flags, and now
there was a third one, that would release the rooster.
The bird had been trained to fly, flap its wings and crow as soon as
the sides of its cage fell, and Jack counted on making quite a hit this
time.
He succeeded. Everything went off well, from the time he jumped with
his apparatus off the tower platform until he shot off the cartridge,
unfurling the flags and revealing the rooster, who added not a little
to the novelty of the act by crowing most vigorously.
“Ha! Hum! Not so bad! Not so bad! Not half bad!” was all Mr. Paine
said, when he saw Jack’s latest performance; but the young clown knew
that was the highest praise the manager ever bestowed.
“If it goes off as well to-night as it did this afternoon, you’ll get
two dollars more a week,” went on Mr. Paine. “I like my clowns to think
up new things. It’s a wonder some of you fellows wouldn’t put a little
more ginger into your work,” the manager continued to Jack’s fellow
workers. “Some of you are all right, but unless the rest of you wake
up, you’ll be looking for other jobs soon.”
He walked away, and several of the clowns murmured among themselves.
The majority, however, knew they were all right, for they were
continually improving their acts.
“This is what comes of letting a fresh young kid get in among older
performers,” said Ted Chester. “I’m going to quit soon if he don’t. He
gets all the attention.”
“That’s right,” added two or three others. “The manager thinks he’s the
whole show.”
“If we could queer his act some way maybe it would take him down a
peg,” suggested a tall, lanky clown, whose specialty was to lead an
educated pig around the ring.
“Say, I’ve got an idea,” whispered Ted. “Come over here, you fellows.”
The dissatisfied ones were soon whispering among themselves, but
whenever any one came near them they seemed to be discussing the most
ordinary topics.
That night when Jack went to get his apparatus ready for his
performance, he could not find the trained rooster, that was kept in a
cage in a small tent with other animals used by the clowns.
“Have you seen Pippo?” Jack asked the clown who had loaned him the bird.
“Seen Pippo? Why, no. I told you to take care of him. I hope he isn’t
lost.”
“I put him in his cage, in here, just as you told me to, after the
performance this afternoon,” replied Jack. “Now he’s gone.”
“Yes, and the lock on the cage has been broken off,” declared the
clown, when he had examined the small box, which was kept locked
between performances. “I must tell Mr. Paine.”
The manager was wrathful when informed of what had happened.
“There’s some queer game going on in this show,” he exclaimed. “If I
find out who’s responsible I’ll discharge him at once. Look around,
Jack, and have some of the men help you. That’s a good part of the
act, and I don’t want it spoiled. Maybe some one hid the rooster for a
joke, though it won’t be very funny for him if I find out who it was.”
Careful search was made for the rooster, but it was not to be found.
It was getting close to the time of the performance when the living
skeleton came in from the freak tent.
“Where’s the old man?” he asked Jack, as Mr. Paine had gone to another
part of the dressing-tent.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because the fat lady has kicked up a row, and she says she won’t go on
exhibition. That’ll queer the show.”
“What’s the matter with her?” asked Jack, not caring particularly,
however, as he was anxious about his own act.
“Why, there’s a rooster under the raised platform she sits on, and
she’s superstitious about roosters. She’s afraid she’ll have bad luck.”
“A rooster!” cried Jack. “I’ll get it! I’ll bet it’s the one I’m
looking for!”
He ran to the freak tent, the inmates of which knew nothing of the
missing rooster. Lifting up the canvas side of the raised platform,
upon which sat Madam Rosallie del Norto (stage name, her real one
being Mrs. Susan McGinness), Jack saw the missing bird. No sooner was
the canvas flap raised than the rooster began to crow. Doubtless it
imagined it was in the regular cage on top of the airship, and was
waiting for the falling of the sides.
“Some one stole him out of the cage, and hid him here,” thought Jack,
“and I believe I know who did it. Well, I haven’t time to do any
investigating now, for I must get ready for my act. But I’ll tell Mr.
Paine afterward.”
Jack did not get a chance to inform the manager, however, for that
night after his act, which went off successfully, there were hurried
preparations for departure, as there was every indication of another
storm.
The performance was cut short, Mr. Paine going about the ring, urging
the performers to hasten their acts. Jack only did his turn three
times, instead of four.
“There’s a big thunder storm coming up,” explained the manager, “and I
want to get the people out of the tent before it breaks. I’m going to
cut out the final concert.”
But, try as he did, the performance took some time, and when he gave
orders to omit the chariot and other races, there was such objection
from the crowd that he was forced to put them on.
The menagerie tent had been struck, the canvas and poles being loaded
into wagons, and the vehicles started toward the train. There only
remained up the big tent, and as fast as the performers finished they
packed their costumes in trunks, which were carted away.
“Well, we’re done,” said Sam to Jack, as the clowns finished their
turns. “Let’s pack up and get into the car. It’s going to be a bad
storm.”
“I thought we had had enough rain,” observed the boy.
“So did I, but you never can tell much about the weather this time of
year.”
They donned their regular clothes, and, having packed their trunks,
went outside of the dressing-tent. As they did so the whole western sky
seemed to burst into a sheet of flame. At the same time there was a
loud clap of thunder.
“Here it comes!” cried Sam. “Let’s get inside the tent.”
No sooner had they gotten under the shelter of the big canvas than the
rain came down in torrents. The storm suddenly broke in all its fury.
There was incessant lightning, and the thunder was terribly loud. The
wind swayed the big stretch of tent, and women began to scream in
fright.
“There’ll be a panic in a minute,” said Sam, looking rather alarmed. “I
guess this will end the show.”
It did, for no one cared to look at the races while such a storm was in
progress. The crowd began leaving, and men, at the direction of Mr.
Paine and his assistants, began taking up the board seats, the rattle
and bang of the planks adding to the din and confusion.
The race horses were hurried out of the tent, so that if the people
made a rush the animals would not get frightened and break loose among
them.
Suddenly there came a terrific gust of wind. Some of the smaller tent
poles began swaying dangerously, for there was a terrible strain on
them.
“The tent’s falling down!” cried a foolish man. “Run, everybody!”
Scores of women screamed, and one or two fainted. Then that seemed to
become epidemic, and more women fell backward, pale and trembling.
“It’s all right! It’s all right!” cried Mr. Paine, trying to quiet the
hysterical ones. “There’s no danger! The tent will not fall!”
But his words had no effect. Louder sounded the thunder, and faster
fell the rain. The tent seemed swaying more and more, and one of the
smaller and unimportant poles snapping in two caused a panic-stricken
rush of people from its vicinity.
“They’re rushing right against the side of the tent!” cried Sam.
“There’s no way to get out there, as it’s against a high bank! There’ll
be a lot of women trampled under foot!”
“Why doesn’t the band play and quiet the rush?” asked Jack, who had
read of such things being done in theatres when there was a fire panic.
“That’s the stuff!” cried Sam. “Good idea! Come on, we’ll get over to
the band-stand and tell the leader to strike up a tune. Come on!”
He grasped Jack by the arm and half led, half dragged him through
the press of people, who, every second, were becoming more and more
unmanageable.
“Sit down! Stand still! There’s no danger!” cried Mr. Paine, but all
in vain. No one paid any attention to him. He even began pushing the
people back, to prevent the rush against the bank of which Sam had
spoken. He was only shoved to one side. The crowd wanted to get out,
and that in the quickest manner possible.
Just as Jack and Sam got near where the band was stationed (for the
musicians had kept their places), one of the big centre poles began to
sway.
“That’s going to fall,” said Jack, in a low voice, to the head clown.
“It’ll kill a lot of people if it does!”
“Play! Play!” cried Sam frantically. “Play for all you’re worth,
fellows! It’s the only way to stop the rush!”
The band leader comprehended. He gave a signal and the men, who were
rather alarmed at the signs of panic all about them, placed their
instruments in position.
Jack, with horror-stricken eyes, watched the swaying pole. Others were
also looking at it. One man set up a hoarse shout, and more women
screamed. Then, just as the band struck up a lively air, Jack saw Ike
Landon, the boss canvasman, and several of his helpers spring from the
centre of the middle ring toward the swaying pole. Would he be able
to catch the slipping ropes in time, and hold them? The lives of many
depended on him now.