THE circus performance was almost over. They were getting ready for the chariot and other races which would bring the program to an end. Jack went to the tent where he had made-up as a clown. He found scores of the men performers getting off their ring outfits and putting on their regular garments. The clowns were washing off the grease paint.
“There he is now!” exclaimed a voice as Jack entered the tent. “There’s the fresh kid that spoiled my act. He did it on purpose, too. If I find out who put him up to it——”
“Look here!” exclaimed Jack, who intended to maintain his rights. “You needn’t say that, for it isn’t so. I’ve told you it was an accident.”
“Well, I say it wasn’t.”
“What’s the row?” asked Sam Kyle, coming into the tent after a burst of applause had testified to his abilities as an entertainer. “What’s up, Ted? You seem angry, my child,” and he assumed a playful, theatrical air.
“Cut that out!” replied Ted in a surly tone.
“Ah, you are peevish, little one,” went on Sam, who was a great joker, outside as well as inside the ring.
“Ted says the new kid spoiled his auto act,” remarked a clown whose specialty was to lead a little dog about the ring with a rope big enough to hold a battleship fastened on the beast’s neck.
“That’s what he did,” spoke Ted. “He jumped right down on me with those paper hoops, and spoiled my act.”
“It was an accident,” put in Jack hotly.
“We’ll see what Mr. Paine thinks,” went on Ted wrathfully. “I’m going to report to him.”
“You’ll report to me first,” declared Sam. “I’m in charge of this part of the show. Jack, let’s hear your story.”
Without stopping to remove his clown dress, Jack told exactly what had happened, and how the thing had occurred so quickly that it had been.
“Now it’s your turn,” said the head clown to Ted, and the latter made it appear that it was Jack’s fault. Some of the other performers, however, had seen what had taken place, and their version made it clear that it was an accident.
“You can report to Mr. Paine if you want to,” said Sam, when he had declared that he believed our hero, “but that’s all the good it will do. Jack stays.”
“Oh, he does, eh?” replied Ted. “We’ll see about that.”
But he did not go to Mr. Paine, for which Jack was grateful, for the boy thought perhaps, in spite of Sam Kyle being his friend, the manager might discharge him.
“Don’t mind Ted,” said the head clown as he took Jack aside and showed him how best to remove the grease paint from his face. “He thinks every performer is trying to spoil his act. He’s jealous, that’s all. But look out for him. He’ll try to make trouble for you, and he has an ugly temper. Keep away from that part of the ring where he is, and you’ll get along all right. I watched you to-night. You did pretty well. Keep at it.”
“Thanks,” replied Jack gratefully. “I think I can do a better act when I get my flying machine. Where do we show next?”
“At Haddington. That’s a big city. But you’d better hustle, now, and get to the train.”
Jack finished removing his make-up, and then donned his street clothes. He was given a trunk by Sam, in which to put his clown outfit and some tubes of grease paint. So far his baggage was very light.
“Come on with me and I’ll see that you get a place in the sleeping-car,” said Sam, for the Bower & Brewster Show had its own special train, with quarters for the hundreds of performers, employees and animals.
Outside the dressing-tent Jack found that very little of the circus remained. The menagerie had entirely disappeared, and now men were beginning to take down the big tent. It was quite a different scene from the one of an hour before. Then it had been light, lively and gay, with strains of music and the laughter of the crowd.
Now it was dark; on all sides were rumbling wagons drawn by struggling horses, and men were shouting and calling to one another, trying to get their vehicles loaded so they could drive them to the flatcars by which they were transported. Yet though there was seeming confusion, everything was done by a careful system.
Jack found that the interior of the sleeping-car was not much like the regular Pullmans. But it answered the purpose, and he soon followed the example of the other circus performers and crawled into his bunk. He was tired, yet the excitement of what he had gone through kept him awake. Then, too, there were many disturbing noises caused by making up the train and loading the big wagons containing the tents, poles, supplies and animal cages.
Gentle snores on all sides of him told Jack that his companions were not disturbed by what, to him, were unusual things, for they fell asleep almost as soon as their heads touched the pillows. Finally sharp whistles of the locomotives told him that the train was ready to start, and soon he felt himself being lulled to slumber by the motion of the car and the steady click-clack as the wheels passed over the rail joints.
He was roused from his sleep by some one shaking him, and he looked up to see the good-natured face of Sam Kyle looking in on him.
“Time for breakfast,” announced the head clown.
“Breakfast? Is there a dining-car on the train?”
“Yes, for the manager and the star performers, but we’ll take ours in the tent.”
“The tent? I thought—why—are we at the next place where we’re going to show?”
“That’s what,” answered Sam. “Come on. It’s only a short walk to the grounds, and if you don’t hustle there may be no steak left.”
Jack looked from the window of his berth. He saw that the train was in a railroad yard, and from the flatcars men were sliding down the big animal cages.
He hurriedly dressed, made his toilet in the washroom of the car, and went out to find Sam waiting for him. They were soon at the circus grounds, and the boy clown saw a crowd of men laying out the canvas for the big tent. The animal tent was already up, as was the dining one. While Jack had been sleeping the circus employees had been busy at work.
Many performers were arriving from the train, and there was an appetizing smell of coffee and meat on the fresh morning air. Gathered about were scores of small boys, and Jack remembered the time when he, as a little lad, used to get up early to see the circus come in. Men were leading the camels and elephants to water, hundreds of horses were being driven here and there, there was the rumble of heavy wagons containing tents and poles, the deeper thunder of the wheels of the chariots and gilded cages that went in the street parade, the sound of men yelling and shouting—seemingly confusion added to confusion. Yet slowly order was coming out of disorder.
“Come on,” advised Sam. “There’s a good meal waiting for us, and we don’t want to be left.”
Jack followed his friend toward the dining-tent. As he passed the heavy cage containing the hippopotamus, he heard a man, concealed on one side of it, saying:
“He says it was an accident, but I know better. Some one put him up to it. I’ll spoil his act the first chance I get. I’ll be even with him.”
“Yes, and I’ll help you,” spoke another voice, and then Jack saw Otto Mitz, the ringmaster, and Ted Chester walking away.
Jack had made two mean enemies since joining the circus, and through no fault of his own, for though he could understand why the clown should bear him a grudge, from not understanding how the accident had occurred, he saw no reason for the ringmaster holding enmity against him.