CHAPTER VIII
BILLY HAS AN ENCOUNTER
SUCH a goosie as she is,” chuckled Billy in delight, “I shall not lose sight of—O-o-o-h!” his merriment changing to wonder, for there peeping from behind the skirts of the second woman was a handsome goat, whose coat was as white, whose horns were as long and well-shaped, whose very whiskers were as fine as Billy’s own.
There were very few occasions and small reason for Billy Whiskers to envy individuals of his kind, for, as you have often been told, he was a king among goats. He was finer looking, had a better carriage, was larger and stronger, he could leap farther and butt harder than ordinary goats, and so his proud position was not often questioned, even though he sometimes grew overbearing and a trifle too boastful of his prowess.
“O-o-oh!” he repeated, peeping out from the other side, only to find the other goat doing exactly the same thing. “He’s a fine animal, to be sure, and might prove a close rival. We’ll see how much backbone he has,” and Billy slowly advanced, stepping high and tossing his proud head from side to side the better to display his good points.
Goat Number Two likewise advanced, stepping just as high and lifting his head and tilting it provokingly to one side.
“Ah, ha! So he’s going to show me he’s a thoroughbred, is he? Perhaps it might be well for me to make his acquaintance and have him for my friend,” weakening a little. “He’s sure to be a power wherever he may live.”
Billy always did believe that it was a wise thing to make friends with those who occupied prominent positions. This policy put into effect had brought both adventure and many good berths to him, and so now it had become almost second nature to Billy to bind to him as close friends and allies all those he could not conquer.
“Anyway, even if he proves as overbearing as he looks, it will be a great relief to talk to someone who can understand what I say. I am not accustomed to being without companions, especially since my Circus experience, and it’s lonesome without a companion to share my pleasures.”
Bleating his greeting, Billy advanced with a smile. Billy the Second nodded, but no answering bleat opened the way to conversation.
“I must admit that he’s rather offish and high and mighty. He could at least pass the time of day,” thought Billy, unused to having his friendly overtures met so coldly. “What shall I do to bring his High Mightiness down from his throne?” and Billy half closed his eyes in thought.
“Well, the impudent rascal! I do believe he’s mimicking me to arouse my wrath. I’ll prove it to my entire satisfaction and then I will give him the punishment such behavior deserves.”
There followed a series of advances, retreats and side steppings in which Billy’s adversary proved an adept, closely imitating Billy’s every move.
Jealousy began to grow in Billy’s heart, and, what is more, for the first time in all his life Billy was AFRAID. Yes, he really doubted his ability to conquer this foe in a fair fight, and the longer he hesitated about closing with the enemy, the greater hold did this fear have on him.
Were not those horns most splendid specimens? Of what would they not be capable in battle?
Was not this goat strong of limb and well-nigh perfect in every point?
Did not those eyes fairly gleam with fighting zeal? And the nostrils tremble with repressed excitement of the coming contest?
As many a wise general has evaded the enemy rather than risk a battle when little would be gained if victory perched on his banners and much would be lost if defeat met him, so Billy now decided that discretion demanded withdrawal, and he quietly covered his retreat by using the German woman and the ever-moving crowd as a shield.
“This is the first time Billy Whiskers has ever waved the white feather,” he mused, hanging his head for very shame as he thought of the cowardice of his actions. “I can never, never redeem myself and—and, say, wouldn’t all my friends deride me if they knew? But I shall hide my disgrace and keep it a close secret. Even old Browny at the Farm shall never know, and I tell him most everything I do or think.”
“Reputation is a great thing in this world, but self-esteem is better,” he philosophized. “I shall always know that away down deep in the very bottom of my heart I am a coward, and that is what hurts. I am half tempted this minute to return and give battle even if—but hello, there he is and the opportunity to redeem myself is here!”
With that Billy was off like a rocket, and made his onslaught without a moment to consider what the result might be.
With one leap he dashed at the goat, struck something hard—and crash fell the mirror, for Billy had charged his own likeness in the Laughing Gallery. Enraged by the noise of the falling of the shattered glass, he plunged back to renew the contest. There before him stood his foe unharmed, with head lowered and as eager for the fray as he.
Once more forward, once more only the impact with the splintered glass, and then another backward leap to locate his slippery enemy.
“Ah, ha! You won’t escape me the third time, my fine friend,” mumbled Billy, with blood in his eye, gazing steadfastly into Billy the Second’s, where gleamed the same bold, undaunted spirit.
“Come on! Come on! Fight fair!” bellowed Billy, renewing the fray—and the third pier-glass was in atoms.
“Clear the room! Clear the room! Everybody out!” rang the cry, but small need to issue the command, for those who had come to laugh had departed quickly, as eager to be out and away from the scene of strife as the burly, blue-coated officer was to have them.
“Hi, there, goat!” he shouted, and at the summons Billy turned to see the officer bearing swiftly down upon him.
“I know his type too well,” was his quick thought, and he wheeled, spied the door, and was out in the open air, now one of the crowd, now skulking back of the buildings, dodging in and out between the small tents to evade all possible pursuit. Once when the search grew too harrassing for comfort, he even took refuge beneath a building which was set on piles. He had to crawl under and lay perfectly flat and quiet, for cruel nails and long slivers of wood from the rough sills caught his coat and caused him exquisite pain whenever he ventured to move.
“I would like to know how the other goat fared,” he thought. “Perhaps they’ve caught him—hope they have. And will punish him—hope they do. He was about the most impudent piece of goathood I’ve ever met, so there!” and Billy wagged his head sagely.
He remained in safe hiding until all grew quiet—no murmur from the passing crowds, no shouts and calls of fakirs hawking their wares. The gloomy part of the day, when darkness falls without a sunset to mark its close, had come ere he poked his head out, cautiously glanced around, and found that in truth the grounds were deserted.