BURSTING BALLOONS
The big top had never been more crowded than it was the night of Johnny's
first performance as a clown. And never, in the memory of the oldest
circus man, had there been a jollier throng. Never had there been an act
more thoroughly appreciated than that of Gwen, the Queen, and Johnny, the
fat clown.
Johnny had been dressed in inflated rubber clothing until he appeared as
fat as a butcher. When, by the aid of the balloons, he rose to the tight
wire, when he tripped lightly along it, and returned cakewalking, the
spectators howled their approval. But when in apparent consternation, he
lost his step and instead of plunging downward, leaped upward with the
sudden lift of the balloons, they rose to their feet and roared their
delight.
Silently, calmly, he rose toward the tent top. There was nothing calm
about the feelings that surged in Johnny's breast, however. He had never
been in aviation, and never would be. Going up in the air made him feel
sick. Had it not been for Gwen, he would have refused to attempt this
stunt.
"Oh, well!" he sighed, "here's the top; now I can grab the rope and come
down. Rope's more certain than these balloons."
Hardly had the thought passed through his brain than there came a loud
report. So close it was that it hurt his ear drums. It was followed
almost instantly by a second explosion.
"The balloons," Johnny groaned. "They're bursting!"
For a second his head whirled. To drop from those dizzy heights meant
death. Then his mind cleared. The rope was to his right. Already he was
beginning to shoot downward. Could he reach it? With one wild leap in
mid-air, he thrust out a hand. He grasped the rope with his left, then
lost his hold. With his right, he secured a firmer grip. At that same
instant the last balloon burst. For one sickening moment, he clung there,
swinging backward and forward, madly groping for the rope with his free
hand. At last, he found it, and, with a sigh of relief, began sliding
down the rope.
The crowd was standing up cheering. The band was playing. Even the
performers thought it part of the act.
For a minute or two after he had reached the ground, Johnny rested on a
mat. As he rose to go he noticed something lying in the sawdust.
Carelessly he picked it up, examined it, then gave a low whistle. It was
an arrow-like affair. The shaft was of steel wire, the head of wood. The
head had been discolored, part yellow and part dark brown.
"Sulphur!" he murmured. "Dipped in burning sulphur, then shot at my
balloons! No wonder they exploded. Now, who played that dirty trick?"
He examined the thing carefully. "Couldn't have been shot from a bow, no
groove for the bow string. Now I wonder. An air rifle, that's what it
was."
Quickly there flashed before his mind a picture of a midget clown chasing
a huge elephant around the ring. The clown was dressed in equatorial
hunting garb and carried an air rifle.
"Tom Stick!" Johnny murmured. "Tom Stick and his air rifle! I wouldn't
have thought he'd do it."
Slowly he walked back through the alleyway that led to the dressing room.
He had discarded his clown suit and had walked out into the open air,
when a shrill young voice called his name:
"Johnny, Johnny Thompson."
Whirling about, he found himself facing the millionaire twins. They were
riding astride their ponies, and were dressed as if ready for their turn
in the ring.
"Wha--where'd you come from, and who let you in?" he gasped.
"We came from our grandfather's to join the circus," piped Marjory.
"Yes, and to think," Margaret fairly wailed, "we got here too late for
the parade!"
Johnny looked at them for a moment, then laughed a good natured laugh.
"Got let down, didn't you?" he smiled. "Well, so did I a minute ago,
mighty sudden, too. But perhaps we can get you into a part yet, since
this is positively your first and last appearance."
"Oh, no, Johnny," exclaimed Marjory, "not the last! We've come to stay as
long as you do."
"Then I don't stay long," laughed Johnny. "Circus is no place for
millionaire twins. You wait right here. I'll be back."
By dint of much persuading, Johnny succeeded in getting the twins a place
on the program. At the end of the races came a pony race. The ponies were
ridden by monkeys. It was arranged that the two little girls, on their
own ponies, were to race the monkeys on their circus mounts.
It was a wilder and more genuine race than is usually pulled off in the
circus, for the twins were dead in earnest about winning it, and so were
the monkeys. The monkeys and their ponies had played at racing so long,
however, they were not able to get seriously down to business. When the
twins were riding neck and neck, three lengths ahead of their nearest
rivals, they delighted the throng by leaping upon their feet and riding
in this manner around the last sweeping circle and out of sight.
"That's fine," exclaimed the manager, rubbing his hands. "Who are they,
friends of yours? Can we book 'em for the rest of the season?" He was
speaking to Johnny.
"Can't book them for another show," groaned Johnny. "And I'll get skinned
alive for letting them in on this one. They're the daughters of Major
MacDonald, the steel magnate. Ran away from their grandfather's, and they
go back to-night."
The manager whistled. "Too bad to spoil perfectly good circus girls to
make society belles," he smiled. "But seein' that's who they are, I guess
it can't be helped."
"Oow-wee! That was grand!" exclaimed Marjory, who now came up with her
sister. "Did we make good. Can we stay?"
"You made good, but you can't stay," smiled Johnny. "What do you suppose
your grandparents are thinking of about now?"
"Oh, they won't know about it at all. We are supposed to be over here
with friends who live down on Pine street. That's how they let us come at
all. These friends are real old folks and don't go to circuses. When we
got here, we called them up as if we were at home and told them we
couldn't come; so you see it's all right. And, Johnny, if we can't stay
and be circus folks, we can stay just one night, can't we, and have a
real ride in a circus train?"
Johnny looked at the manager.
"Sure," grinned the good natured boss of the circus. "We'll put you in
the care of Ma Kelly, the circus girls' matron, and you'll be safe as a
bean in a bowl of soup."
"How far do we move?" asked Johnny, a bit anxiously.
"Only forty miles, and that leaves us less than thirty miles from their
grandfather's place. They can make it back all right."
"I'll borrow one of the rough riders' ponies, and hoof it back with
them," said Johnny. "But remember," he turned to the twins, "remember,
this is the last. To-morrow morning you turn your faces toward home. And
by thunder! I wish I could go along to stay!"
"Why? Why can't you?" cried Marjory. "We want you to. Indeed, we do."
"I can't tell you now. Maybe some time. You stay right here. I'll send Ma
Kelly around. Then I've got to go box the bear."
Johnny rushed away, and that was the last they saw of him for some time.