CHAPTER XIV
HIS FIRST PERFORMANCE
JACK was more nervous than he had thought he would be when he got ready for his first performance that evening. Under Mr. Kyle’s direction he painted his face, and then he donned a suit belonging to a clown who had left the circus because of ill health.
“Well, you look, as good as the average clown,” said Jack’s friend when the boy was fully attired. “Now, it’s what you do that will count to-night, and until you get your new act. Then you may find it easier to make a hit. Don’t be nervous. You may think all in the tent are looking at you, but they’re not. Go ahead just as if you were doing it for Mr. Paine. He’s the one that counts, for if he doesn’t like your act he’ll discharge you.”
“I hope I can do as well as I did this afternoon,” said Jack.
“Oh, you will, I’m sure. Just remember what I told you. When you speak, speak slowly and distinctly. A falsetto voice carries a good distance. I used to be able to manage one, but I can’t any more. I’m too old. But you can.”
There was a glamour about the circus at night that was absent in the daytime. Under the flickering gasolene torches the dingiest suit looked fine, and the spangles sparkled as they never would in the sun.
The band struck up a lively air. Once more the procession of performers and animals paraded around the big tent. Jack felt his heart beating loudly. So far he only saw the bright side of the circus life. It was all gaiety and excitement to him now. But he was soon to know the other and darker side.
“We’ll go on in a minute, now,” said Sam Kyle to Jack. “You certainly know how to make up well. Lots of clowns take a year to learn that.”
Mr. Kyle was adjusting a long black patch over one eye, making his appearance more grotesque than before. Suddenly the band stopped playing. The last of the procession, having finished the circuit, wound out of the ring. Then came a blare of trumpets.
“Come on!” cried Sam, and he ran from the dressing-tent into the big canvas-covered arena, where the performance had started. Other clowns followed him, and a score of additional performers—acrobats, tumblers and tight-rope walkers—ran out. Jack followed more slowly. This was to be the real test. He wondered how he would succeed.
He decided he would repeat the same thing he had done for the manager that afternoon. He had secured several of the paper-covered hoops, and he resolved to give as odd an imitation of a man trying to fly as possible.
Once he had passed beyond the canvas curtain that shut off the dressing-tent from the main one, Jack beheld a scene that he long remembered. In the light of the big gasolene torches, high up on the tent poles, he saw many performers going through their acts. There came to his nostrils the smell of freshly-turned earth that formed the ring banks, the damp sawdust, the odor of wild animals, the stifling whiff of gasolene. He heard the music of the band, the shouts of the ringmasters, the high, shrill laughter of the clowns. And he heard other sounds. They were the merry shouts and applause of the big audience.
For there was a large throng present. Jack looked about on the sloping banks of people. Their faces showed curiously white and their eyes oddly black in the brilliant lights. Jack’s mind was in a whirl.
But he was suddenly roused from his daze by a sharp voice calling to him.
“Say, what’s the matter with you? Going to stand there all day? What are you paid for? Get busy! Do something!”
Then came the sharp crack of a whip, and Jack jumped, for the end of the lash had caught him on the legs, which were but thinly protected with his cotton clown suit.
“Jump lively!” cried the voice, and Jack turned to see Otto Mitz, the ringmaster, in his dress-suit and white gloves, waving his long whip. Once more the lash came curling toward Jack, but he jumped aside in time to avoid it. There was a laugh from that portion of the audience in front of which he stood. Doubtless they thought it was part of the show.
With anger in his heart at the man who had been so needlessly cruel, Jack broke into a little run. Though he had not known it, he was suffering a little bit from “stage fright.” The ringmaster had cured him of it. The boy felt a fierce desire to make the people laugh heartily—to show that he could “make good.”
He began his antics. Selecting a portion of the large outer ring where there were no other clowns, Jack did a funny dance, interspersed with snatches of songs, though the band rather interfered with this. Then seeing a board and a saw-horse near him, he put them into place, so that he might jump from the end of the plank, in his pretended flying act.
Flapping the big paper hoops, as a bird does its wings, Jack leaped from the end of the springboard. He tangled himself all up in the rings, one coming around his neck and the other encircling his legs. Then flapping his arms like the sails of an old-fashioned windmill, he trotted off amid the laughter and applause of the throng.
He had been told by Sam Kyle that all the clowns repeated their acts four times, in different parts of the ring, so that the entire audience might see them. Bearing this in mind, Jack prepared to go through the same stunt a little farther along. He succeeded even better than at first, and his funny antics earned him loud applause.
“Ha! hum! Not so bad,” murmured a voice near him, as he finished his second attempt. He looked up and saw Mr. Paine.
“Keep it up, my boy,” said the manager. “I guess you’ll do.”
Jack was grateful for the praise, and almost forgot the mean ringmaster, though his leg still smarted where the lash had struck him.
But if Jack thought he was to have such an easy time winning success, he was mistaken. He was going through his turn for the fourth and last time when, just as he “flew” from the end of the board, Ted Chester came along, doing a stunt in a miniature automobile in which he sat, propelling it with his feet. Unfortunately, Jack landed right in front of the other clown, who ran into him, upsetting himself and overturning the auto.
This time the crowd applauded more heartily than ever. They thought it was done purposely. Jack arose, trying to untangle himself from the paper hoops, in which he found himself fastened differently than at any time before. He was surprised to see Ted Chester glaring at him.
“You did that on purpose!” exclaimed the older clown in a low voice. “You wanted to spoil my act.”
“No, I didn’t. It was an accident,” replied Jack, rubbing his shin where he had struck it on the small auto.
“I say you did! I’ll fix you! I’ll complain to Mr. Paine, that’s what I’ll do. I’m not going to the trouble of getting up a good act to have a green kid like you put it on the blink. Get out of my way or I’ll punch your head. I’ll get even with you for this,” and he shook his fist in Jack’s face.
The audience took this for part of a pre-arranged act, and shouted their approval at the quarrel between the two clowns. This made Ted madder than ever.
“I’ll have you fired!” he exclaimed as he righted the auto and started off with it. “I’ll not work in a ring where there are such clumsy dolts as you. What’s the profession coming to when they take in green kids that don’t know anything about acting? But you won’t be with the show to-morrow, I’ll guarantee that!”
“I didn’t mean to interfere with you,” said Jack. “It was an accident.”
“Oh, I’ve heard that story before,” sneered Ted. “You wanted to spoil my act. You’re jealous of me because I get the most applause. So are the other clowns. I shouldn’t wonder but what some of ’em put you up to it. But I’ll get square with you and them, too.”
“Nobody put me up to it. It was an accident,” insisted the young clown, but Ted, without answering, made his way to the dressing-tent.