Flea and Flukey Cronk, followed by the yellow dog, made their way
farther and farther from Ithaca. They had left the university in the
distance, when a dim streak of light warned them that day was
approaching. It was here that Flea lagged behind her brother.
"Ye're tired, Flea," said Flukey.
"Yep."
"Will ye crawl into a haystack if we come to one?"
"Yep."
They spoke no more until, farther on, a farmhouse, with dark barns in
the rear, loomed up before them.
"Ye wait here, Flea," said Flukey, "till I see where we can sleep."
After an absence of a few minutes he returned and in silence conducted
the girl by a roundabout way to a newly piled stack of hay.
"I burried a place for us both," he whispered. "Ye crawl in first, Flea,
and I'll bring in Snatchet. Lift yer leg up high and ye'll find the
hole."
A minute later they were tucked away from the cold morning, their small
faces overshadowed by the new-mown hay, and here, through the morning
hours, they slept soundly. Then again they set forth, and it was late in
the afternoon when they drew up before the high fence encircling the
fair-grounds at Dryden. The fall fair was in full blast. Crowds were
passing in and out of the several gates. With longing heart, first Flea,
then Flukey, placed an eye to a knothole, to watch the proceedings
inside. Rows of sleek cattle waved their blue and red ribbons jauntily
in the breeze; fat pigs, with the owners' names pasted on the cards in
front, grunted in small pens. For a time the twins stood side by side,
wishing with all their might that they were possessed of the necessary
entrance-fee.
"If I could get a job," said Flukey, "we could get in."
"I could work, too," said Flea, her hands dug deep in her trousers
pockets.
Just then a man hailed them. "Want to get in, Kids?" he asked.
"Yep!" bawled Flea and Flukey in unison, their hunger forgotten in this
new delight.
"Then help me carry in those boards, and then you can stay in."
Flukey looked apprehensively at Flea.
"Ye ain't a boy--"
"Shet up!" snapped Flea. "My pants're as long as your'n, and I be a boy
till we get to the good land. Heave a board on my shoulder, Fluke."
They slid through the opening in the fence made to pass in the lumber,
and for ten minutes aided their new friend by carrying plank after plank
into the fair-grounds. When the work was done they stood awe-stricken,
looking at the gorgeous surroundings. Flags waved aloft on each
building; yards of bunting roped in exhibits of all kinds. Everywhere
persons were walking to and fro. But still the squatter children stood
motionless and stared with wide-open eyes at such an array of good
things as had never before gladdened their sight. Then, after the
strangeness had somewhat worn off, they wandered on, bewildered.
Snatchet was hugged tight in Flukey's arms; for other dogs laid back
their ears and growled at the yellow cur.
[Illustration: "THEN THEY COMED AN' TOOK ME AWAY FOR STEALIN'."]
Suddenly they came upon the athletic field. Here, reared high in the
air, was a slender greased pole, on the top of which fluttered a
five-dollar bill. Several youngsters, dressed in bathing suits, awaited
the hour when they should be allowed to try and win the money. One after
another they took their turn, and when an extra spurt up the pole was
made by some lucky boy the crowd evinced its delight by loud cheers.
Time and again the breeze fluttered the coveted money, and yet no boy
had won the prize.
"I'd like to try it," said Flukey.
"If we couldn't get it with bathing suits, you couldn't climb that pole
with them long pants," retorted one of the contestants who stood near.
"Look! that kid's goin' to get it, after all!" There was disappointment
in the tones; but the words had no sooner died away than the climber
slipped to the ground.
Flea pinched Flukey's arm. "Be yer knee so twisted that ye can't try,
Flukey?"
"Nope, my rheumatiz ain't hurtin' me now."
"Then shinny up it, Fluke--ye can climb it! Get along there!"
She took the dog from his arms, and the boy went forward when the call
came for another aspirant.
"I'm goin' to get that there bill!" said Flukey, shutting his teeth
firmly.
He advanced and spoke in an undertone to a man, who, with a grin,
shouted out the name, "Mr. F. Cronk."
The dignity of the prefix made Flukey spit upon his hands before he
started to climb the pole. Flea came closer and stood almost breathless.
Her parted lips showed small, even, white teeth, her eyes glistened, and
flashes of red blood crimsoned her face. One suspender slipping from her
shoulder, the vicious dog in her arms, the beautiful upturned face, was
as interesting a spectacle as the onlookers had ever seen. It was with
breathless interest that she watched her brother laboriously ascend the
pole.
Flukey was indeed making a masterful climb. But at last he halted; and
then, a moment later, he climbed desperately. The girl on the ground saw
him falter, and knew that he was becoming faint-hearted. To encourage
him, she lifted a voice broken by emotion and shouted:
"Go it, Fluke, go it!... Aw! damn it, he slid!... Go it, ole feller! Git
there, git there! Ye're almost there, Fluke--git it! It's a dinner--it's
a bone for Snatchet, and we'll eat!... Damn it! he slid again!... Aw!
hell!"
Flukey gained the space he had lost in his last slide. Halfway up, he
began again, the men cheering and the women waving handkerchiefs. But
the boy had heard only the words from the little figure under the pole.
The five dollars did mean a good dinner, and a bone for lean Snatchet.
Up, up, and still up, until his fingers grasped the pole very near the
top.
There he rested for breath. For a few seconds his head drooped on his
shoulders, and absolute quiet reigned below. His slender legs encircled
the pole, and finally, with a painful effort, he lifted out the pin
stuck in the bill, grasped the money in his fingers, and instantly slid
to the ground. Laughs and cheers roared into the air. Flea had backed
away from the pole, still holding the small dog; but, before she could
get to Flukey, other boys were surrounding him, asking how he had done
it.
* * * * *
A sudden shouting came from hundreds of throats. One voice raised above
the clamor:
"Anyone catching the greased pig, Squeaky, can have him. He's a fine
roaster! After him, Boys!"
Over a knoll, his tiny nose swaying in the air, and four short legs
kicking the dust into clouds, skurried a small pig, coated from head to
tail with lard. Deftly he slipped for his life through many youthful
hands stretched out to grasp him, and time and again he wriggled from
under a small boy crouched to stop his progress. He passed the
danger-mark, and in the new stretch of ground, where the spectators were
standing, discerned a chance to escape.
Flea saw him coming and could detect the terror in the flying little
beast. Her heart leaped up in answer to the call from something in
distress--something she loved, loved because it lived and suffered
through terrible fear. She dropped Snatchet and caught the greased pig
in her arms. She hugged him up to her breast and, turning flashing eyes
upon the people staring at her, said:
"Poor little baby piggy! He's scared almost to death."
"You've caught the greased pig!" somebody shouted. "You can have
him--he's yours!"
"Ye mean mine to keep?" Flea demanded of the man who had cheered on the
boys.
"Yes, to keep," was the reply, "and this five-dollar gold-piece because
you caught him."
"I didn't try to catch him," she said simply. "He jest comed to me
'cause he were so afeard. His little heart's a beatin' like as if he's
goin' to die. I'll keep him, and I thank ye for the money.... Golly! but
ain't me and Flukey two rich kids? Where's Fluke?"
Just then somebody stepped up behind the girl and touched her on the
arm. Flea turned her head and found herself gazing into the kindly eyes
and earnest face of her prince.
Instantly she lost all thought of her brother and Snatchet. The voice
she had dreamed of was speaking.
"Little boy," it said, "I've purchased every year the greased pig of the
youngster who caught him. May I buy him of you? I'll give you another
gold-piece for him."
Words stuck in Flea's throat, and she only clung closer to the suckling.
At last she murmured, "What do ye want with him?"
The man threw back his head and laughed. "Why, to eat him, of course. We
always have roast pig for dinner the day after the fair."
Flea dug her toe into the dust and flung up a cloud of it, as her face
drew into a sulky frown. "Well," she drawled, "ye don't hog down this
'un! He's mine!"
"But the money, Boy! Don't you want the money?"
Her heart was beating so fast that she dared not lift her eyes again to
his. Then a lady spoke in a soft voice, and Flea glanced at her.
"This is Mr. Horace Shellington," she said, "and if he did not have the
pig he would be disappointed. You'll let him buy it, won't you?"
Flea looked into the questioning face of her prince, the face of her
dreams, looked again into his smiling eyes, and stood hesitant. Her
thoughts flew fast. She remembered the terrified pig, how she had pitied
him, and how much he wanted to live, to frisk in the sunshine. She
thought of the cruel knife that would reach the tiny heart tapping
against her own, and threw back her head in defiance.
"Ye may have e't all the greased pigs in this here country," she said to
Shellington; "but ye don't eat this 'un! Ye see, this 'un's mine, and
he's goin' to live, eat, and be happy, that's all!" Although she had
spoken emphatically, her eyes dropped again before the keen gaze bent
upon her. To relieve her embarrassment, she turned and shouted, "Flukey,
Flukey, come along! Where's Snatchet?"
So great had been Flea's excitement at the catching of the pig that she
had given no heed to the dog. Flukey had handed the little fellow to
her, and she had let him go.
Suddenly an appalling spectacle rose before her. On an elevated spot, a
few feet from the greased pole, Snatchet stood poised in view of
hundreds of curious eyes. His short stubby tail had straightened out
like a stick. His nose was lowered almost to the ground. Each yellow
hair on his scarred back had risen separate and apart from one another,
while his beady eyes glistened greedily. Directly in front of him,
staring back with feathers ruffled and drooping wings, was a little
brown hen, escaped from her coop. She was eying Snatchet impudently,
daring him to approach her by perking her wee head saucily first on one
side and then on the other. Snatchet, pressed on by hunger beating at
his lean sides, slid rigidly a pace nearer. A cry went up from a
childish voice.
"He'll kill my Queen Bess! Father--Oh! Father!"
Flukey's voice, calling to his dog, rose high above the clamor. Suddenly
the little hen turned tail and flew across over the soft earth, uttering
frightened cackles; but her flight was slow compared to Snatchet's. He
came scurrying behind her, snapping a tail feather loose with each
onward bound, utterly oblivious of the two strong voices calling his
name.
The little hen wove a precarious path through coops of chattering
chickens, and Snatchet, bent upon his prey, added to the din. He had no
way of knowing the twists and turns to be taken by his small brown
victim, and it was only by making sharp corners that Queen Bess kept
clear of the snapping teeth. Men were running to and fro for something
to beat off the yellow invader. The girl's voice had settled to a cry,
and, just as Flukey, panting and tired, reached the dog, Snatchet
snapped up the hen, shook her fiercely, and settled down to his meal. In
an instant Flukey had dragged the beating body from his teeth, kicked
him soundly with his bare foot, and held out the dead hen to a man whose
face was darkened by anger. The young mistress of the feathered queen
was clinging, sobbing, to his hand.
"Is that your dog?" Flea heard the man ask, pointing to Snatchet under
the squatter boy's arm.
"Yep."
"Do you understand that he killed my little girl's prize hen?"
"The dog ought to die, too!" cried a voice from the people.
Her brother's sorrowful attitude made Flea press Flukey's arm
soothingly.
"So he ought to die!" said another.
"He were hungry," explained Flukey, turning on Snatchet's accuser.
"Mister, if ye'll let my dorg live--"
Before he could finish the child had interrupted him. "That dog ought to
die for killing my Bess!"
Flea pushed past Flukey and stood before the little girl. "Kid, I don't
blame ye for cryin' for yer hen," she began; "but my brother ain't got
no dog but Snatchet, an' if ye'll let him live I'll give ye this bit of
gold I got for catchin' the pig."
A murmur followed her words, and the tears dried in the blue eyes
looking up at her.
"Here little 'un, chuck it in yer pocket," said Flea, straightening her
shoulders, "and it'll buy another hen."
So the jury which had sat for a moment upon the precious life of
Snatchet brought in a verdict of "not guilty," and the squatter children
turned to find something to eat for the quartet of empty stomachs. Out
of sight of Dryden, they sat down beside the road, and Flea looked the
pig over.
"Ye has to tie a piece of cord to his leg, Kid," cautioned Flukey;
"'cause he'll get away if ye don't. Ain't he fine?"
"The finest pig in this here world," responded Flea. "Ye ain't got no
rag what'll wipe off some of this grease, have ye, Fluke?"
"Nope; but ye can scrape it off with a stick or a rock. Here, ye hold
him tight while I dig at him."
For about twenty minutes they busied themselves with cleaning the
suckling, laughing at his wriggles and squeaks.
"What'll we call him?" asked Flea.
"Squeaky," said Flukey, "that's what the man called out."
"Aw, that ain't nice enough for me! I'll call him Prince, and ye call
him Squeaky--Prince Squeaky," she ended, knotting the cord Flukey had
given her about the short hind leg of the animal.
"And we be rich," she declared later, "'most five dollars, a pig, and
Snatchet, and yer leg's well. It don't hurt a bit, do it?"
"Nope, not now; but when I were at the top of that pole I got a damn
good twist. It's better now."
"Then let's mog along," said Flea, "'cause we can eat all we want, now
we got money."