CHAPTER XIII
A TRIUMPHANT HOME-COMING
AND if my memory does not serve me falsely, I think there is a tent over yonder, and just around the corner bearing a sign like this:
DINNERS SERVED HERE
BY THE LADIES OF THE FIRST CONGREGATIONAL CHURCH
PRICE $.25
Mrs. Treat is a Congregationalist, and if all the church ladies are the experienced and skilful cooks she is, their patrons need not worry about receiving a full twenty-five cents worth. It always pays to be early at such a place, that I know full well, for the baskets may be empty before the last customers are fed. I’m not sure that the Treats will be at the Fair to-day, so I will be compelled to forage, and this rather appeals to me. I’ve often heard about church dinners.
“Hurrah, over there is the very place I’m seeking. And how amiable the mistress of ceremonies looks, standing over the stove at the rear of the tent. Doesn’t a white apron swathing a woman make you think involuntarily of things to eat? I suppose she’s preparing the coffee. I’ll not go in by the back door. She guards that too closely. Under the side of the tent is good enough for Billy.”
And under he went, as nimble as a kid, being egged on by gnawing hunger.
“Huh! I guess I am early. The tables are not yet spread. But they needn’t think I’m going to wait as long as that for a bite to eat. Their sign says
DINNERS SERVED
and they’ve absolutely no right to post such a notice when it isn’t true. They’re sailing under false colors. I’ll serve myself, seeing they are such fibbers.”
Truth to tell, this suited Billy much better anyway, and he began to explore the territory under the picnic tables. Numerous baskets, all heaped with eatables, were snugly stowed away here for safe keeping until it was time to lay the tables, and Billy decided to examine each in turn. In one he discovered an immense pan of nicely browned beans. Boston baked beans, just fresh from some generous oven needed to extend no second invitation to Billy. He greedily devoured them, and then passed on to the neighboring basket.
“My eyes, what pies!” he chuckled, “but I’m not ready for dessert as yet. There’s no use in trying to hurry me on to the last course. I’ll return to you, so don’t feel slighted,” as he crept stealthily on, addressing the pastry.
Other baskets yielded generously of sandwiches, salads, pickles, fruits—everything to his exact liking and preference, and no lively conscience warned Billy that he was doing anything wrong in satisfying his appetite in this manner.
If one was not expected to eat, then why was he permitted to get hungry? That was the argument he put forth. And if one was hungry, why shouldn’t he eat—and especially when there were so many and such good things in front of one?
“I believe I’ll lay low until they begin to serve, for that big barrel at the back of the tent means just one thing—ice-cream, and after it is opened, it may be that I can manage to get a portion. At least it is worth an effort. It is the next best thing to a good, cool drink, and I see no likelihood of quenching my thirst. All they seem to have is coffee, and I never yet have touched the vile stuff. It smells good enough, but I value my nerves far too much to touch it.”
By this time the women were bustling about, spreading snowy linen over the rough tables, and placing the dishes and silver. It required some maneuvering for Billy to edge his way unnoticed from table to table, but he gradually approached the back of the tent and took up his station under the last table, crouched into the darkest corner, near the side of the tent.
He had not long to wait until the clinking of glasses and the clatter of knives and forks told that patrons had begun to come, and the swish of skirts told him that waitresses were busily serving meals.
“My waiting time is nearly over,” he decided, and poked his head under the tent just enough to get a glimpse of the ice-cream freezer. “Now the very moment that that burly fellow leaves—as he surely will after the first rush is over—I’ll make the raid.”
He hardly winked, so anxious was he to remain undiscovered, for this was the crucial test. Once or twice he was forced to draw back wholly within the tent, fearing that the man dishing out the cream would face about and find the marauding Billy so near. But Billy had an unlimited amount of patience about some things, and he was in the mood to exert it for the promised treat.
“There!” sighed the man at last, mopping his brow, “that is the hardest work I’ve done for many a day. I think I need a strong cup of coffee to brace me up for the next round,” and he hurried off before an impatient waitress should demand his further services.
“Now’s my time,” and Billy was up on the freezer, and had taken one great mouthful of the cream.
“O-o-oh! What a dreadful pain it gives me in my temples. I must swallow it very slowly, I see,” raising his head. “I wish I had some cake to eat with it. Mrs. Treat always serves it that way at Cloverleaf Farm. And now I understand why.”
Down he plunged his head once more, but he never took the second mouthful, for someone rudely seized him by his abbreviated tail, and after describing a circle in the air, he landed on the ground many feet away.
Trembling with pain, Billy darted blindly straight ahead, caring little where he went if only he escaped this giant of strength. The paroxysm of fright left him as soon as he heard a tumult of voices, and he opened his eyes in wonder to find that he had rushed into the tent, now crowded to its full capacity with diners. Such commotion as followed defies description. Everyone rose to their feet simultaneously, as Billy paused for a moment undecided what to do or where to go, and then made a dash for the other door. A waitress bearing aloft a loaded tray advanced down the narrow aisle, and it was no fault of Billy’s that she went sprawling and her dishes flying for he did his best to swerve to the right and give her the right of way. But the girl turned to her left in her excitement, and so a collision resulted. Billy darted on, escaped the shower of falling china, only to hook his horns in a rent in one of the table-cloths, and there followed another and a greater clatter of falling, breaking dishes. One man with more presence of mind than the rest reached for the cloth, thinking thus to arrest Billy’s flight, but with one vigorous forward leap the linen was torn from Billy’s horns, and he rushed out of the tent free.
“I’ll guarantee that some poor fellow will waste a quarter buying a meal ticket there, and then they’ll find their provisions have mysteriously disappeared, and they cannot give him a square meal,” Billy meditated, strolling slowly along in the genial sunshine of the early October day. In fact, after his exertions in the Congregational dinner tent, he felt disinclined to hurry, and he ambled along leisurely, a good-natured smile hovering around his mouth.
“Now for the races. Shall I take a grandstand seat? That’s the subject up for discussion. I believe I prefer a little more room than they give one there, and will occupy a special grandstand of my own. That high road-cart over there offers a splendid vantage point, and I’m thinking no one will care to dispute my right to it once I am installed and if they do—well, I think I may be able to establish my ownership with small difficulty. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, so I’ve heard them say.”
At this time of the day, before the races were begun, the race course was a common thoroughfare, and people crossed and recrossed without fear. Therefore Billy now crept under the two fences outlining the course, and in a few moments was viewing the world from his elevated seat in a most stylish turn-out.
A rattle of the gong at the judges’ stand announced that the hour for beginning the races had arrived, and out trotted the horses, each with his jaunty jockey in gay cap and trousers to match. What a storm of applause! How wild the people were over the promised contest for speed!
Up and down trotted the horses, to display their good points and to warm up for the first heat.
“The bay is a beauty. She’s made for the track.”
“But look at the slender chestnut! Fleet limbs, those.”
“I’ll pin my faith on the black.”
These and many like remarks greeted Billy’s ears, for everyone was ready to express their opinions of the values of each entry.
Now they are lining up for the first start, and under the rope they go, but not all together. Back they turn and again the bell sounds the signal. This time they are off, and how gallantly each horse responds to the will of the driver. Now they dash around the long oval, each taking his course, now on the outside, now on the inside as they make the curves.
“The black! The black!” comes the cry of approval as the dainty little mare forges ahead by one whole length.
“The bay gains. She wins! She wins!” and as they pass under the line and wheel about ready to repeat the performance, the excited spectators settle back into their seats, relieved of the strain and stress.
Again the jockeys form their line, each in his proper place, each eager to urge his mount to full capacity for speed, each hoping that this time the shouts of encouragement and approbation will be for him.
Billy is one of the best watchers. He is trembling in every limb, for well he knows the stress of the day for the animals in the harness, well he knows how earnestly each of the racers yearns to win, and how much they are disappointed when they come in any place but first.
Around and around they fly, jockeys using their whips, urging on and ever on with words uttered scarcely above a whisper, yet heard and obeyed by the alert steeds. Feet patter on the earth, dust rises and still on they fly, but oh, why the sudden silence? Why the bated breath? Why the stifled moans of all this vast multitude? Not a stir for a brief moment, for there in the track, directly in the path of the oncoming rush of horses toddles a little youngster, barely able to walk alone, all unmindful of its peril, taking its own time to cross the track.
Billy sees, recognizes the danger, and with a leap is down and over the fence, into the middle of the course, and lowering those magnificent horns, hooks the clothes of the baby, and, never stopping to turn to retreat, dashes on across, just in time to escape the onrush of the racers as they round the bend.
What shouts! What hurrahs! The crowd goes wild in its frenzied admiration. Losing all fear of such an animal, Billy is grasped by three sturdy men, baby is lifted safely up and tenderly placed in the outstretched arms of the mother, and then Billy is borne high on the shoulders of the men, a conquering hero. Of course he struggles—what goat wouldn’t?—and yet finds himself powerless, for his feet are held by men who grip him with hands of iron and with an immense following, they carry him around to the grandstand and then over to the platform where the judges sit. Up the steps they go, and there, with thousands and thousands of witnesses, the master of ceremonies decks Billy out with a blue ribbon bow, and again shouts of admiration fairly rend the heavens.
No more racing to-day. Interest in fleet horses has suddenly died, and through the megaphone come these words:
Ladies and Gentlemen:
You have just witnessed the brave act of a dumb animal. A goat has done what no man had brains to conceive nor daring to put into execution. Ladies and gentlemen, the races are called off, and, in honor of the goat hero of the day, there will be given on the race course a grand parade of all the animals exhibited at the Fair. You are requested to keep your seats and witness the grand finale of the Licking County Annual Fair.
A buzz of excitement followed this change of program, and necks were craned and all were agog.
In a very few minutes their consuming curiosity was satisfied for there was a long line of animals parading the circle, and at their head was no other than Billy Whiskers, proud of his position, but still prouder that at last his animal friends were receiving the recognition they merited.
As the crowd recognized the leader of the procession, three mighty cheers went up, and when Billy bowed his thanks for this overture—just as he had done countless times during a Circus performance—the people went wild, and hurrah after hurrah greeted him.
Not the least bit disconcerted, Billy marched the length of the track, and had drawn up in front of the grandstand, lining up his motley following, each with an attendant close at his head, for a final flourish, when a little fellow standing near the grandstand shouted:
“It’s Billy! It’s my Billy!” and escaping from his father’s arms, ran pell-mell to him, threw his arms around his neck, and then Billy underwent such a petting as never goat had before.
“Now you won’t think such bad things of my Billy, will you, mama,” Dick petitioned, as his mother hurried up. “See, isn’t it a pretty bow he won?”
“Well, well,” conceded Mrs. Treat, reluctantly, “he may be all right, after all.”
“I think we’ve all had excitement enough for this Fair time. Suppose we escape all of the palavering that will surely be lavished on us, and start for home,” proposed Mr. Treat.
“All right,” agreed the boys, “and we’ll take Billy right along. We don’t want him to give us the slip. He’s too valuable a goat to lose, and we must take great care of him.”
Slowly they made their way to the automobile, for however much they might wish to slip quietly away, the crowds thought differently, and pressed about closely, everyone eager to get a glimpse of this very wonderful goat.
“I’ll pay you a thousand dollars for him,” offered a fakir, the proprietor of one of the side shows on the midway. “He’d do a dandy act I have in mind. A thousand dollars, I say. Take it?” he questioned.
“No, nor two thousand,” answered Tom emphatically. “Why, this goat is the best goat in the world, I’d have you know, and five thousand couldn’t buy him to-day.”
“Changed your opinion about me since two days ago,” thought Billy, remembering this same boy’s wish that they might rid themselves of his goatship upon the arrival of the automobile.
“Hurry along, boys,” urged their father. “Let’s get home before the crowd kidnaps him.”
“Or goatnaps him, papa.”
“Where shall we put him?” uneasily asked Mrs. Treat.
“Why, that’s the easiest thing of all. Where but on the front seat?” answered Harry, unhesitatingly. “That’s the honor place, you know, and Billy Whiskers is the honor goat of Licking County to-day.”
And this is how it came that Billy really kept his promise to old Browny, and rode back to Cloverleaf Farm in state, occupying the front seat, while the boys, Tom, Dick and Harry, were crowded into the tonneau with their mother.