Magic at the Circus
It was raining outside, it was hot and stuffy inside and it was the
last day of the circus in Stumptown. All over the big tent people moved
about restlessly on the hard seats, and grumbled when sudden splashes
of rain came pelting through the tent top. Mothers were thinking
anxiously of the wet journey home, young ladies were worrying about
their spring bonnets, and even the boys and girls were only applauding
half-heartedly as old Billy, the elephant, rang dinner bells in one
ring and the Glicko sisters swung dizzily from trapezes in the other.
The chief clown ran distractedly around both rings. He stood on his
head, he walked on his hands, he leaped over the elephant, he pretended
he was a balky donkey. But no one laughed. They didn't even smile at
his oldest jokes.
"This is too terrible," gulped the clown, stepping behind a pillar.
"Not one real laugh the whole afternoon! What's the matter with these
folks anyway?" He wiped the perspiration from his forehead, hastily
powdered his nose and dashed out again.
It was beginning to thunder now, and the animals in the outside tent
set up a dreadful roaring. From looking bored, the people began to look
frightened. Something must be done. The worried clown rushed into the
center ring and sprang to the back of the big elephant.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" shouted the clown, waving his arms to attract
attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to perform one of the most
astonishing and amazing feats ever executed--a trick that has astounded
the crowned heads of Europe, Asia and Africa. Ladies and gentlemen--"
People on the back rows, who were already pushing their way toward
the exits, paused. A little girl in the twenty-five-cent seats
cheered faintly. Thus encouraged, the clown turned a really marvelous
somersault and landed on the tip of the elephant's trunk.
"Will some small boy kindly step forward," begged the clown, glancing
hurriedly along the front rows. "For this trick I need a small, active
boy. Ah, there he is!"
Urging the elephant to the very edge of the ring, the clown snatched
a small, red-headed boy from a group of solemn-eyed orphans, who had
been brought to the circus for a special treat. The crowd gasped with
surprise, and the orphan tried to wriggle out of his coat, but the
clown held on firmly.
"One toss of this boy into the air, and he will disappear; a toss of my
cap and he will reappear. Watch!" cried the clown, putting his fingers
to his lips.
"What are you trying to do?" demanded the ringmaster in a hoarse
whisper. "You can't really make him disappear, you know."
The clown realized this, but he was going to make that crowd laugh--or
disappear himself. With a shrill whistle that made even the old
elephant prick up his ears, he tossed the orphan to his shoulder and
reeled off the first ridiculous rhyme that popped into his head. And
this was it:
"Udge! Budge!
Go to Mudge!
Udger budger,
You're a Mudger!"
A roar of delight went up from the crowd, and a roar of terror from the
ringmaster, for the orphan had disappeared--disappeared as completely
as a punctured balloon!
"Help!" screamed the clown, dancing frantically up and down on the
elephant's head. The audience was enchanted and rocking to and fro with
merriment.
"That's the best trick I've ever seen," gurgled a fat man, mopping his
face. "Look at him pretending to be frightened. Come on now, bring him
back, you!"
The clown cried out another verse:
"Udge! Budge!
Go to Mudge!
Udger budger,
I'm a Mudger!"
There was a tearing rip and a clap of thunder. The crowd stared,
rubbed its eyes and stared again. No clown, no orphan! Why, this was
tremendous! They stamped with glee and shouted their approval. But
the ringmaster fell breathlessly against a post, and the owner of the
circus, with popping eyes, started on a run for the dressing tent. Not
a bit too soon, either, for in a few seconds the crowd stopped laughing
as suddenly as it had begun. Umbrellas were brandished furiously, and
people shouted at the ringmaster to produce the orphan at once. The
ringmaster was shaking in his shiny shoes, but he resolved to save
himself if he could. Raising his whip for silence, he announced in his
most impressive voice that the best part of the trick was to come--that
the clown and orphan were at that minute standing at the circus gate
to wave good-bye to the company, one of the most distinguished and
delightful companies it had ever been their pleasure to entertain. He
clicked his heels together, made a deep bow and the crowd, convinced
that he was speaking the truth, began to stream out of the big tent.
[Illustration: THERE WAS A TEARING RIP, AND THE CLOWN DISAPPEARED
THROUGH THE TENT TOP]
Without waiting another second, the ringmaster grasped old Billy by
the ear and ran him toward the animal tent. In five minutes the whole
circus force was dashing about in the pelting rain, dragging out cages,
prodding the elephants, tugging at the big horses, pulling down the
tents.
"Something terrible has happened; we've got to move out of here,"
chattered the owner of the show, rushing from group to group. By the
time the indignant old gentleman who had brought the orphans to the
circus had been to the gate and back, the first of the heavy circus
wagons was already rattling over the hill. The few workmen, hastening
the last bits of loading, shook their heads dully when he demanded the
orphan and, after threatening and stamping in vain, the distracted
old gentleman ran off to fetch the police, with the thirty-nine other
orphans splashing delightedly behind him.
Police! What could police do against magic? How did the clown know
that the rhyme that had popped into his head was an old Oz formula? It
had carried off the orphan like a skyrocket, and when the clown had
frantically repeated the magic words, he too had been snatched into the
air, hurled through the tent top, and flung down beside the frightened
little boy in the strangest land he had ever seen. Fortunately they
had fallen on a soft dune of sand, and around them for miles and miles
stretched a flat and silvery desert.