A QUEER OFFER
Joe was not in a position to go to England to try to straighten out
his affairs, much as he wished to do so. His new position, as one of
the partners in the circus, and the attraction his acts were to it,
made it impossible for him to leave.
“But if I don’t get things straightened out before, I’ll take a run
over when we go into winter quarters,” decided the lad. “I’ll need a
little vacation, anyhow, and a trip to England will do me good. I may
pick up some new ideas about circuses.”
“So you might,” agreed Helen, in whom Joe confided, also showing her
the article in the paper.
“But for the present I’ll have to learn what I can by writing,” the
youth went on.
“I’ll help you,” offered Helen.
Together the young people outlined a sort of letter-writing campaign.
Joe sent notes to the persons mentioned in the London paper as
carrying on the investigation into the conduct of Mr. Bolling. He
also wrote to the solicitor who had first acted in the matter of the
English estate, begging him to use again his influence to straighten
the matters out and take Joe’s affairs from the hands of Mr. Kent
Bolling.
“And now we can only wait,” the youth said, when the last of the
epistles had been mailed.
Meanwhile matters were going fairly well with the circus. Several
times the big tent was crowded to its capacity, and some of the crowd
had to be turned away. At other times the attendance would be rather
less. And being now a partner, whose money varied with the success of
the show, Joe took more interest in the attendance than formerly.
Of course, he had always been glad to see a crowded tent, as any
performer is. It is much easier to act and do one’s best before a big
audience than in front of a slim and unsympathetic one. All actors
realize this.
The circus reached the city of Ralston and played to good business
there for two days and two nights. The next stopping place was
Mortville, which was the center of a thriving community, and where
they expected also to do well.
“I think, instead of going by train, I’ll make a night hike of it by
highway,” said Mr. Sampson, when considering the matter of moving the
show to Mortville. “The performers can ride, of course, and we’ll
send our cars by rail, but it’s a roundabout route and we’ll get in
so late it will mean cutting out the parade.
“That’s too good an advertising feature to omit, and we won’t have to
do it if we drive the animal and other wagons, and move our horses
across country by road.”
“How’s that?” asked Jim Tracy.
“Why, there’s been a new state road opened between Ralston and
Mortville, which makes it about fifteen miles shorter than it used to
be, and much less than the railroad makes it. To go by rail we have
to go to Benton Junction and then double back. If we go by the state
road we can go direct. This will bring the wagons to the lot early
in the morning, and we can get the preliminary work done in time to
prepare for the parade. The performers can have breakfast on the
train, and they’ll be in on time to take part in the procession. It’s
the early morning work--erecting the tent and all that--which takes
time. So we’ll make a night hike.”
This had been done occasionally before on short trips, but not since
Joe had been with the show. And when he heard what was going to be
done he said:
“I think I’ll ride on one of the wagons.”
“What for?” asked Jim Tracy.
“I want the experience,” was the answer. “Now that I’m one of the
partners, I want to learn all I can about the details of circus
management.”
“That’s a fine idea,” said Mr. Sampson. “Ride by all means. It’s
going to be a nice moonlight night, and I’d take the ride myself
only I want to look after the train details.”
So it came about that when the tents were struck that night, and the
canvas, poles, stakes and ropes piled in the big wagons, the vehicles
started off on the road, each one pulled by eight sturdy horses.
Joe took his place on the seat of one of the canvas wagons alongside
of the driver, who handled the many reins with as much ease as the
average man does a single pair.
Joe was familiar with all the life of a circus except this
night-moving by road, and he was keenly interested in it. Along the
new highway, illumined by the mellow light of the moon, the circus
cavalcade proceeded. Joe’s driver was Terry Bland, an old hand at the
business, and he told the lad many stories as they drove along.
“You can crawl back on the canvas and go to sleep when you like,” he
said to Joe.
“Oh, I don’t want to,” was the answer.
“You’ll need it, if you expect to do all your acts to-morrow,” Terry
went on. “I’ll have a chance to sleep after we get in and unloaded,
as I always do. But you won’t. Better get a nap.”
“I will maybe, a little later,” Joe agreed. At present he was too
interested to leave his high perch on the seat of the big wagon.
But after an hour or so it grew rather monotonous, listening to the
rumble of the heavy wheels and the tramping of the hoofs of many
horses, and Joe decided to take the driver’s advice. He made as
comfortable a bed as possible on the canvas, covering himself with
part of it, and soon was sound asleep.
How long he slept he did not know, but when he awoke, with something
of a start, he found that the wagon was not moving.
“Hello!” he cried, starting up. “Are we in?”
“Not yet,” was the answer. The voice did not come from the driver’s
seat. Joe looked forward, but did not see Terry.
“What’s wrong?” he asked in some alarm, as he crawled out. He could
see nothing of the other circus wagons.
“Nothing much,” was the reply, and the voice came from down on the
ground, at the side of the vehicle. “One of the wheel-nuts was
rattling, and I got off to look at it. Found it was quite loose, so
I’m tightening it. Took me longer than I expected and the rest of the
procession has gone on. We’ll soon be up with ’em, though.”
A little later, having fixed the wheel to his satisfaction, the
driver mounted to his seat and they set off again. It was slightly
down grade, and as Terry wanted to catch up to the wagons that had
gone on ahead he called sharply to his steeds. They responded with a
brisk canter which took them along at good speed.
“It’s rather sharp out,” commented the driver. “Begins to feel like
fall, especially in the early morning,” and he slung one arm against
his chest, beating it to start the blood circulating more rapidly.
“Yes,” agreed Joe. “But I like it. When I was a kid in the country I
used to----”
But he did not finish the sentence, for, just then, the wagon jolted
over a stone and lurched so much to one side that the driver was
pitched off and fell to the ground, losing his grip on the many reins.
Joe had a momentary view of Terry, falling clear of the ponderous
wheels to the grass beside the road, and then he realized the
necessity for prompt action, as the horses, frightened perhaps by the
jolt of the vehicle, started to run away.
“Here’s trouble!” flashed through the lad’s mind. “A big heavy wagon,
and eight horses running away down hill! I wonder if I can work the
brakes.”
Even as he thus thought, the youth acted. The reins were fastened to
a hook at the side of the seat and did not fall when Terry dropped
them. Joe grasped them in both hands and began to pull in on the
team. He dared not look back to see what had become of the driver,
but he hoped a severe shaking up would be the only result of the
man’s fall.
Joe knew something about horses, though he had never driven a circus
team.
Calling soothingly to the frightened and galloping animals, Joe began
pulling them in. At the same time his feet found the brake bar,
which extended across the whole front of the foot-rest below the
seat, and with all his might he pressed on it.
For a moment it seemed as if it was going to be of no avail. The hill
was steep at this place, and the wagon was swaying dangerously from
side to side. But the brake was of a new lever kind, and exerted
great power. The grip on the wheels soon began to tell. Slowly the
speed of the wagon slackened, though only the two horses nearest the
vehicle could put any holding-back strain on it. Joe was afraid lest
one of the animals should fall and bring the whole eight down in a
heap together. But the circus horses were sure-footed, and nothing
like that happened.
It was not until the bottom of the slope was reached that the wagon
was completely stopped, and Joe breathed more easily. He looked back
and saw coming along the moon-lit road a limping figure which he
recognized as that of Terry.
“Well, he’s alive, anyhow,” thought the lad.
“First time that ever happened to me!” the driver exclaimed as he
came up. “I never fell off a seat before. Say, boy, you brought that
team up in great shape! Only for you there would have been a bad
mess.”
“I was afraid, myself, that was going to happen,” said Joe.
“You certainly did it mighty slick,” went on Terry. “And this is one
of the hardest teams to drive in the whole show.”
“Are you hurt?” asked Joe.
“Just sprained my leg a little. But that’s nothing to what might have
happened. I’m glad you rode with me to-night.”
“So am I,” returned the lad.
It was lucky, indeed, that Joe Strong had been along, and when the
show got in in the morning and Mr. Sampson heard what had happened,
he was very grateful to the youth. Part of the main tent was in that
wagon, and had there been an accident, and had it been delayed, there
might have been much trouble.
The tents were erected and preparations made for the parade before
the train containing the show-folk arrived. Mr. Sampson’s plan of a
night road journey proved to be a good one, the runaway team being
the only thing that somewhat marred it.
The circus met with a good reception in Mortville, and it was here
that another phase of the queer tangle that seemed to involve his
English matters occurred to Joe.
The afternoon performance was over and the young circus actor was
getting ready to take Helen out for a ride on his motor-cycle when a
note was handed to him. It bore no stamp, and seemed to have come by
messenger.
“Where did you get it?” asked Joe of the circus attendant who had
handed it to him.
“A boy brought it just now.”
“Messenger boy?”
“No, just an ordinary kid.”
“Where is he?”
“He didn’t wait, though I told him there might be an answer.”
By this time Joe was reading the note. Its contents puzzled him, for
all it said was:
“If you would like to get some inside facts about your English
affairs, come to the Globe Hotel at once and ask for Perkins. But
come alone or it’s all off.”
“Humph! this is queer,” said the boy.
“What is it?” asked Helen.
Joe showed her the note.
“Are you going?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“Oh, Joe, I wouldn’t!”
“Why not?”
“This may be another trap, like the one that unfortunate Mr. Clark
set for you. Maybe it’s from him.”
“It isn’t likely,” Joe said. “He was put in the asylum and I guess he
hasn’t gotten out. Besides, this is at a public hotel here in town.
I can’t come to any harm there. I guess I’ll go and see what Mr.
Perkins has to say. You don’t mind waiting for the ride?”
“Of course not, Joe. Only do take care of yourself.”
“I will,” he promised. “And I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
The Globe Hotel was the principal hostelry in the place. It was on
the main street, and Joe soon reached it.
“Perkins?” repeated the hotel clerk when Joe asked for the name
specified in the note. “There he is over there,” and he pointed to a
man who looked as if he had just come over from England.
“Mr. Perkins?” asked Joe, questioningly.
“That’s I!” exclaimed the man, with a strong English accent. “And are
you Mr. Strong?”
Joe nodded in assent.
“I’ve got a proposition to make to you,” Perkins went on. “I’m glad
you came alone, for I don’t want my business known. If you’ll just
step in here we can have a quiet chat,” and he indicated a small
alcove off the main corridor.
Certainly there could be no danger in that, Joe thought, for he was
in plain view of the hotel clerk, and Perkins did not seem to be
anything but a harmless individual.
“What’s it all about, and why are you so mysterious?” asked Joe.
“I have to be,” was the low-voiced reply. “Now to get down to
business. If I help you get what money is coming to you from your
mother’s estate in England, will you share it with me?”