CHAPTER XVI
THE FLYING MACHINE
BREAKFAST was a much better meal than Jack had expected, from knowing the hurried manner in which it must have had to be prepared and under what adverse circumstances. But he was to learn that a circus cannot afford not to feed its employees and performers well, and that the preparation and cooking of meals had been reduced to a science. Large stoves were carried on wagons, the sides of which dropped down, making a regular kitchen. Soup was cooked in immense caldrons, and the supplies, which had been contracted for in advance, the bread, meat, milk, vegetables, as well as fodder for the animals, had been brought to the circus grounds by local dealers before daylight.
“I’m glad we’ve had good weather this week,” observed Sam as he finished his third cup of coffee.
“Why? Did it rain much before I joined?” asked Jack, feeling somewhat of a veteran already, though it was only his second day with the show.
“Did it? Well, I should crack my grease paint!” Which was the clown’s way of remarking that he should smile. “It rained for three days straight.”
“And you have to show in the rain, I suppose?”
“Rain or shine, we go on. Only it’s not much fun. It’s cold and dreary, and the crowds don’t laugh worth a cent. The sunshine for mine, every time.”
Jack wondered whether he had better tell his friend what he had overheard near the hippopotamus wagon, but he decided he had better try to fight his own battles, or, at least, wait until he needed help against the schemes of his enemies.
For Jack was convinced that Ted Chester would endeavor to do him some injury. If not a physical one, the vindictive clown would probably try to interfere with Jack when the boy was doing his turn in the ring. This would cause him to fail to make the audience laugh, and he might get discharged.
“I’ll keep away from the side of the ring where Ted is,” thought the young clown. “I suppose I’ve got to be on the watch against that ringmaster, too. His whip certainly hurts. If he hits me again I’ll tell Sam. I’m not going to stand it.”
Jack found there was nothing special for him to do until the street parade was ready to start. This had been omitted in the town they had just left, as the place was not considered important enough for such a demonstration. Here, however, one was to be given, and Jack learned that all the clowns were to ride on top of a big gilded wagon, each one playing some grotesque musical instrument.
“But I can’t play anything but a mouth organ,” the boy had objected to Sam, who told him what was expected of him.
“That doesn’t make any difference. We only make all the noise we can on battered horns, broken drums and all the odd things the property man can get together. I’ll give you a trumpet. All you’ll have to do is to blow it as loud as you can.”
Jack thought this would be easy enough, and he soon retired to the dressing-tent to make-up for the street parade. The big wagon on which the clowns were to ride was hauled by eight prancing horses, and when Jack saw it, and knew he was to be on it, he felt a sense of pride that he had so soon been able to make a place for himself in such a big aggregation as a circus.
“All clowns this way!” cried Sam Kyle as he came from the dressing-tent. “Here are your instruments.”
The funnily-attired and painted men, including our hero, gathered around their leader, who handed out such a collection of noise-producing apparatus as was seldom seen. Each one had once been a musical instrument, but time and accident, in some cases purposely done, had changed the character of them. Now they produced nothing but discordant sounds.
“All ready!” called Sam. “Get up!”
The clowns began to ascend to the top of the high wagon, which was fitted with cross-seats.
“Come! come! Hurry up!” cried Mr. Paine, running up to the clowns’ wagon. “The parade ought to have started an hour ago.”
“We’re all ready,” replied Sam.
“Step lively!” added another voice, and there came a crack like a pistol shot. At the same time Jack felt a stinging pain in his hip. He turned in time to see Otto Mitz, the ringmaster, swinging his vicious whip. The man did not have on his dress-suit, but was ordinarily attired.
Jack started with the sudden pain, and Ted Chester laughed heartily.
“That’s the way to wake him up,” he said.
“Don’t you do that again, Mitz!” exclaimed Sam Kyle, for he had seen the mean act.
“I guess I will if I like. I’m practicing.”
“Then you try it on yourself,” added Sam angrily.
“I’ll try it on you if I feel like it,” went on the ringmaster.
Sam, with a suddenness that took Mitz by surprise, rushed up to him, grabbed the whip from his hand and threw it to one side.
“I wouldn’t advise you to,” he said quietly. “Don’t you flick that lad again with your whip.” And then he turned and began to ascend the wagon.
There was an ominous silence about the clowns’ wagon, and more than one expected to see a fight between the ringmaster and Sam. But Mitz, with a deep flush on his face, walked over, picked up his whip, and disappeared into the dressing-tent.
“He’ll have it in for you, Sam,” remarked a jolly, fat little clown.
“I’m not afraid of him,” replied Sam. “He’s too free with his whip, and it’s time some one told him so. Did he hurt you much?” he asked of Jack in a low voice.
“Not much,” replied the lad, though the truth was the lash had bitten deep, and he had had hard work to refrain from crying out. But he bravely repressed his feelings.
Then the band on the wagon struck up, the steam calliope began to play, and the parade started. Soon the procession was in the midst of the streets of a fair-sized city. Jack, doing as he saw Sam and the other clown do, blew as loudly as possible on his trumpet. The grotesque music raised many a laugh, as did the funny antics of the clowns.
At times some of them stood up and made elaborate bows, as if in answer to applause, while others did little dance steps. But Jack sat silent, save when he blew the trumpet. He was beginning to see the darker side of the circus life.
“Be a little livelier,” whispered the clown next to him. “There’s no telling when the old man is watching.”
By the “old man” was meant Manager Paine, though no disrespect was intended by this title. Thus urged, Jack tried to be gay and to cut some of his funny tricks, but it was with no light heart. He realized now what it meant to have to amuse a crowd when one felt the least like it.
He was glad when the parade was over and he could go back to the circus grounds. Sam told him he could take off his clown dress and wash up, as it would be several hours until the afternoon performance.
“A good dinner will make you feel better,” said the head clown to the boy, for he understood how the lad felt, as he had heard Jack’s story and had taken an unusual liking to him.
Our hero did feel better after the meal, and he looked forward, with something akin to real pleasure, to the performance in which he was to take part. The big tent was up now, and was gay with many-colored flags and banners. Jack strolled around to the side shows, and was amused in getting a near view of the freaks, for he was a privileged character now.
“Well, boy, I’ll have that flying machine for you sooner than I expected,” said a voice at his elbow, and he turned to see Mr. Delafield, the property man. “I was speaking to Mr. Paine about it, and he thinks it a good idea. I’ll have it for you the first of the week. We strike Stewartsville then, and that’s quite a town. Suppose you come over to my tent and we’ll take a look at what I’ve got done. Maybe you can suggest something.”
This gave a new turn to Jack’s thoughts. He found that the property man had carried out his ideas exactly, for Jack had made a rough sketch of what he wanted to introduce into his act.
The flying machine consisted of a big muslin bag, shaped like a cigar, and held distended by barrel hoops. This was to make it look as if filled with gas. Above it was a big Japanese umbrella, while below it was a sort of harness, holding a seat, which Jack could sit astride of.
On either side were big, tough paper-covered wings, working on hinges, and they could be operated by his feet. The handle of the big umbrella extended down through the distended muslin bag, so that Jack could grasp it with both hands.
His plan was, after going through some funny stunts, to pretend to pump up the bag with air. Then he would carry the “flying machine” to the top of a small, light platform, which had been made for the purpose. After some further odd mannerisms he would jump to the ground, a distance of about thirty feet. The big umbrella he calculated would allow him to land without injury, and as he descended he would work the paper wings with his feet, giving a fairly good imitation of a person flying.
“What do you think of it?” asked Mr. Delafield. “Of course, it will be all painted up in bright colors before you use it.”
“It’s fine!” exclaimed Jack enthusiastically. “I wish it was ready now.”
“There’s quite a lot of work on it yet,” said the property man. “But I’ll have it for you the first of the week. I hope you make a hit with it.”
“I will if I don’t come down too heavy.”
“Oh, that umbrella will hold you all right. You’ll come down as easy as a piece of paper. I’ll make it good and strong.”
“Hello! hello! hello! What’s this? What terror-inspiring bird of prey from the towering peaks of the Andes Mountains is about to perform before an awe-struck multitude for the first time in the history of the world?” asked another voice, and Jack and Mr. Delafield looked up to see the fat, jolly countenance of Nolan Waddleton, the “adjective man.”
“Oh, this is a new machine for a flying clown,” explained the property man. “Jack is going to spring something different.”
“Ah, I must have that for my posters,” said Mr. Waddleton. “That will be quite a drawing card. I need something fresh and new. Let’s see. Nerve-thrilling trip through the terrestrial——No, that won’t do. You’re going to keep off the earth. Through the towering—no, I’ve used that before. Oh, can’t you give me a couple of adjectives, some of you?” and he looked appealingly at Sam and Jack.
“How would ‘Startling sensation of a Simple Simon sailing serenely, supereminently and satisfactorily over the heads of a startled, strabismus-struck, sensation-satiated assemblage in an admirably adapted aeroplane’ strike you?” asked Mr. Delafield.
“Excellent! superb! lovely! marvelous! That’ll do first-rate!” exclaimed the “adjective man” enthusiastically. “I must write that down. We’ll have you on the bills soon,” he added, turning to Jack.