The circus came through our town three weeks ago, and me and Tom
McGinnis went to it. We didn't go together, for I went with father, and
Tom helped the circus men water their horses, and they let him in for
nothing. Father said that circuses were dreadfully demoralizing, unless
they were mixed with wild animals, and that the reason why he took me to
this particular circus was that there were elephants in it, and the
elephant is a Scripture animal, Jimmy, and it cannot help but improve
your mind to see him. I agreed with father. If my mind had to be
improved, I thought going to the circus would be a good way to do it.
We had just an elegant time. I rode on the elephant, but it wasn't much
fun for they wouldn't let me drive him. The trapeze was better than
anything else, though the Central African Chariot Races and the Queen of
the Arena, who rode on one foot, were gorgeous. The trapeze performances
were done by the Patagonian Brothers, and you'd think every minute they
were going to break their necks. Father said it was a most revolting
sight and do sit down and keep still Jimmy or I can't see what's going
on. I think father had a pretty good time, and improved his mind a good
deal, for he was just as nice as he could be, and gave me a whole pint
of pea-nuts.
Mr. Travers says that the Patagonian Brothers live on their trapezes,
and never come down to the ground except when a performance is going to
begin. They hook their legs around it at night, and sleep hanging with
their heads down, just like the bats, and they take their meals and
study their lessons sitting on the bar, without anything to lean
against. I don't believe it; for how could they get their food brought
up to them? and it's ridiculous to suppose that they have to study
lessons. It grieves me very much to say so, but I am beginning to think
that Mr. Travers doesn't always tell the truth. What did he mean by
telling Sue the other night that he loved cats, and that her cat was
perfectly beautiful, and then when she went into the other room he slung
the cat out of the window, clear over into the asparagus bed, and said
get out you brute? We cannot be too careful about always telling the
truth, and never doing anything wrong.
Tom and I talked about the circus all the next day, and we agreed we'd
have a circus of our own, and travel all over the country, and make
heaps of money. We said we wouldn't let any of the other boys belong to
it, but we would do everything ourselves, except the elephants. So we
began to practise in Mr. McGinnis's barn every afternoon after school. I
was the Queen of the Arena, and dressed up in one of Sue's skirts, and
won't she be mad when she finds that I cut the bottom off of it!--only I
certainly meant to get her a new one with the very first money I made. I
wore an old umbrella under the skirt, which made it stick out
beautifully, and I know I should have looked splendid standing on Mr.
McGinnis's old horse, only he was so slippery that I couldn't stand on
him without falling off and sticking all the umbrella ribs into me.
Tom and I were the Madagascar Brothers, and we were going to do
everything that the Patagonian Brothers did. We practised standing on
each other's head hours at a time, and I did it pretty well, only Tom he
slipped once when he was standing on my head, and sat down on it so hard
that I don't much believe that my hair will ever grow any more.
The barn floor was most too hard to practise on, so last Saturday Tom
said we'd go into the parlor, where there was a soft carpet, and we'd
put some pillows on the floor besides. All Tom's folks had gone out, and
there wasn't anybody in the house except the girl in the kitchen. So we
went into the parlor, and put about a dozen pillows and a feather-bed on
the floor. It was elegant fun turning somersaults backward from the
top of the table; but I say it ought to be spelled summersets, though
Sue says the other way is right.
We tried balancing things on our feet while we laid on our backs on the
floor. Tom balanced the musical box for ever so long before it fell; but
I don't think it was hurt much, for nothing except two or three little
wheels were smashed. And I balanced the water-pitcher, and I shouldn't
have broken it if Tom hadn't spoken to me at the wrong minute.
[Illustration: THE TRAPEZE PERFORMANCE.]
We were getting tired, when I thought how nice it would be to do the
trapeze performance on the chandeliers. There was one in the front
parlor and one in the back parlor, and I meant to swing on one of them,
and let go and catch the other. I swung beautifully on the front parlor
chandelier, when, just as I was going to let go of it, down it came with
an awful crash, and that parlor was just filled with broken glass, and
the gas began to smell dreadfully.
As it was about supper-time, and Tom's folks were expected home, I
thought I would say good-bye to Tom, and not practise any more that day.
So we shut the parlor doors, and I went home, wondering what would
become of Tom, and whether I had done altogether right in practising
with him in his parlor. There was an awful smell of gas in the house
that night, and when Mr. McGinnis opened the parlor door he found what
was the matter. He found the cat too. She was lying on the floor, just
as dead as she could be.
I'm going to see Mr. McGinnis to-day and tell him I broke the
chandelier. I suppose he will tell father, and then I shall wish that
everybody had never been born; but I did break that chandelier, though I
didn't mean to, and I've got to tell about it.