“YES, monsieur, I have, what you call it, voyaged much.” Randolpho, Senior, whose curiosity was too strong for him to resist, had taken a place by Dave Brandon’s side. “You have of the Cirque d’Hiver in Paree heard, no doubt, monsieur?”
Dave nodded. “Winter Circus, we say in English,” he replied.
“Yes. I have performed there before crowds enormous.”
“Do you like this country?” asked Dave.
Monsieur Randolpho’s agreeable voice was silent as he pondered over the question. Presently he said:
“Ah, it ees a great place—such wonderful peoples. Nozzing for them is too hard. You have never bark before, and yet—ah, you go?”
Dave had hastily arisen.
“I’d like to continue the conversation, Monsieur Randolpho,” he remarked, pleasantly, “but I haven’t an instant to lose.”
“Ah, you must of the show something learn, ees that not it? Well, I wish you a grand success.”
As Dave started off in search of Mr. Whiffin a rather curious sensation began stealing over him. The lot had assumed an appearance of life and gaiety such as it had perhaps never known before in all its existence. The insistent cries of peanut, pretzel and lemonade venders, the shrill yells of children, the rough voices of men calling to one another and the awesome snarls and growls which occasionally came from the menagerie tent kept up a never-ceasing din.
And but a short time before Dave had been merely an outsider; but now—that meal sealed the contract—he was to be until night a part and parcel of “Spudger’s Peerless” and something destined to belong to the public gaze. The barker’s stand before the main entrance seemed to assume an importance altogether unwarranted by either its size or gaudily decorated surface.
One quick glance disclosed Mr. Whiffin not far away, gesticulating, his thin, harsh voice raised to a pitch of unpleasant shrillness.
“Hey, you,” he yelled, on catching sight of Dave, “step a step this way. I’m a-waitin’.”
As the newly-engaged barker approached, he saw a much-bewhiskered gentleman, florid of complexion, apparently short of breath, and very wide of girth sticking close to the manager’s side.
“Here’s the fellow, Mr. Spudger,” exclaimed Peter Whiffin, pointing a bony forefinger toward the oncoming Dave. “Says he kin help us out, but I ain’t bankin’ on it.”
The “great and only” Ollie Spudger unbent his ponderous form and began to examine Dave as a connoisseur might search for the good points of a rare piece of statuary.
“Him?—He don’t look the part to me, Whiffin,” he said, with refreshing candor.
“His loss if he ain’t there with the goods,” commented Peter, shortly. “Listen, young feller; here’s what I want ye to git over to the audience, an’ git it over strong, mind ye.”
Talking rapidly, he checked off on his fingers point after point, while Mr. Spudger nodded his head in unison with the motions.
“I understand,” said Dave. His eyes traveled mechanically in the direction of the stand. “Shall I begin now?”
“No! Come this way.”
The historian followed the circus men inside the menagerie tent, where he discovered that a space between two cages had been inclosed by a long strip of canvas.
Whiffin drew aside the flap and bade him enter.
Dave’s eyes immediately took in a pile of garments resting on a stool.
Peter Whiffin selected a very red coat, plentifully supplied with spangles, and, as he held it at arm’s length, the slightest movement sent them shaking and glittering in the dull gray light which came from above.
“A fine piece of goods,” said Mr. Whiffin, admiringly. “Slide inside, young feller.”
“What!” gasped Dave.
“Put it on,” ordered Whiffin, peremptorily.
The stout boy, with a broad grin, took off his coat and made an effort to follow instructions. It required the services of both Spudger and Whiffin, however, to force the garment around his ample shoulders, and during this operation every seam, in turn, seemed ready to burst in angry protest.
“Now ye look a bit better,” exclaimed Mr. Spudger, at length, as, somewhat winded with his exertions, he stood off to stare at Dave with an eye of approval.
“Stick this top-piece on yer, young feller,” came from Peter Whiffin.
He handed over a little red cap with still redder tassels on the sides.
“I certainly got myself into something when I took this job,” laughed Dave, carefully adjusting the head-gear. “What else do I have to change, Mr. Whiffin?”
“Your expression—that’s all,” growled Peter. “I’m goin’. Jist wait around the tent somewheres until the ‘Ten Thousand Dollar’ band reels off a few tunes; an’ when I flash the signal git your nerves together an’ come.”
“An’ don’t let any bunch o’ kids rattle you,” advised Mr. Spudger, following his manager with ponderous steps.
Left alone, Dave paid no attention to the men passing to and fro, but set his thoughts busily to work on the composition of his announcement. Then, suddenly, noticing a small, round hole in the canvas he walked quickly toward it. In another moment his eye was applied to the aperture.
He could see a considerable number of people crowding before the entrance and also “Spudger’s Ten Thousand Dollar Peerless Band” occupying a raised platform near the barker’s seat.
Even quiet, self-contained Dave felt his nerves tingling curiously. The ordeal of waiting tried his patience. He felt that his throat, for some reason or other, was becoming unpleasantly husky.
And now, after much preliminary tooting, the band struck up. A grand crash was followed by several resounding bangs; then the musicians were safely off. The brass easily predominated, almost drowning the well-meaning attempts of the others.
“When we started on that motor car trip how little I ever expected to run into anything like this,” murmured Dave, softly. “I certainly do wonder where those boys could have gone.”
“Hey there!”
He recognized the rasping voice.
“All right, sir.”
The great moment had arrived.
A strong effort stilled the quick beating of his heart. Walking with a firm step he reached Mr. Whiffin’s side.
“Up with ye! An’ chuck it over strong, now!” commanded the manager.
The chilly wind blowing hard across the lots swayed the great canvas paintings before the entrance and violently fluttered a multitude of flags and pennants floating from the top of ridge poles and strung along various ropes.
Even above the vigorous strains of music, Dave could hear a curious murmur run through the crowd as he stepped upon the stand. In an instant every eye was apparently focused upon him. He found it rather difficult to face unconcernedly that battery of looks expressive of curiosity, anticipation, or, perhaps, dreadful to think of, derision.
Almost mechanically the new barker observed the shifting currents of humanity, one moment massed together, and the next flowing over the lot to form in scattered groups before various points of interest. It was very picturesque and interesting. Many girls, in their bright-colored dresses, added a touch of color to the scene.
Dave became so absorbed in contemplating the kaleidoscopic effects that he almost forgot to feel embarrassed. But a shrill screech coming from a youthful throat just below brought him abruptly back to the prominence of his position.
“Say somethin’ or git the hook!”
And just then Mr. Ollie Spudger, by a wave of his big right hand, signaled to the fiddling leader of the “Ten Thousand Dollar” band.
With another terrifying crash and bang, the playing suddenly stopped. A stillness, appalling by contrast, immediately seemed to hover over the surroundings. Dave, momentarily off his guard, found his wits acting in a way that wits sometimes do when called upon to perform their duties under extraordinary conditions. Words which just a few seconds before were clearly imprinted on his mental vision had completely vanished, and he stood gazing awkwardly into the faces of a staring, noisy mob.
Below and at his back, he was conscious of the presence of Mr. Spudger and his manager, realizing, too, that the eyes of each were fastened upon him with eager intensity.
That instant of silence was unendurable. But a noise producer was at hand. A large disc of metal hung between two supports on his right, while a wooden mallet lay on a shelf close by.
Dave got into action.
Bang, bang! A series of deafening crashes, rivaling in volume those produced by the brass in the “Ten Thousand,” immediately swung off into space. Again and again the clanging notes swelled into a din of uproarious proportions.
Every straggler, apparently, within hearing distance came rushing up, until a dense crowd had massed itself before him.
Dave was once more in full control of his faculties. Words began popping into his head in such generous numbers that before the notes of the gong had ceased their musical reverberations he was addressing his audience.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, in a clear, resonant voice, “it is my pleasure and privilege to call your attention to the great and mar-velous features of Spudger’s Great Combined Peerless Circus and Menagerie. We have here to-day a stupendous and superb ag-gre-gation of wonders collected from all quarters of the globe by Mr. Ollie Spudger. The expense was e-normous.
“At each and every performance there is to be seen a grand exhibition of a-renic pomp and splendor, together with visions of inspiring beauty. Golden chariots drawn by huge African elephants form part of a glittering, jeweled and costumed army rivaling those gorgeous pro-cessions which, centuries ago, filed with majestic pomp before the emperors in the Coliseum of ancient Rome.”
“Bully for you! That’s going some!” screeched the voice of “Mister” Joe Rodgers from the front row.
Dave hit the gong a resounding crack.
“I call attention to Ormond de Sylveste!” he cried, “the champion bareback rider of the world, in his thrilling exhibition of equestrian skill; to Tobanus, the renowned sword swallower, in a mysterious and a-mazing act. And besides these two un-equaled stars there is the Randolpho troupe of acrobats, who, in an as-ton-ishing series of gyrations, set at defiance all laws of gravitation.”
Dave paused impressively, letting his pointer come to rest on the broad chest of Adolphus’ counterfeit presentment.
“Then there are other attractions alone worth double the price of admission. This most ex-tra-ordinary giant, Adolphus, is a youth, still growing, and promising to eclipse in height all giants of any era. Zingar, the famous dwarf, has caused the greatest sensation wherever shown. Mr. Ollie Spudger’s standing offer of ten thousand dollars for his equal in any country has never been taken up.”
A buzz of comments arose. Dave waited for a few moments, then resumed:
“The menagerie is an exhibition in itself—a great collection of savage, fear-in-spir-ing animals, in gilded lairs, bringing to your very doors the inhabitants of the jungle—an ag-gre-gation of fe-rocious quadrupeds without parallel in the country.
“And all this can be seen for the small sum of ten cents, just one dime, an amount well within the means of every man, woman or child of Kenosha. Remember—ten cents—just one dime, to see all the curiosities. Reserved seats up to twenty-five cents. Pass along—get your tickets—get your tickets!”
Dave vigorously hammered the gong. Then the “Ten Thousand Dollars,” obeying another signal from Mr. Spudger, sent up a blast that threatened the safety of ear-drums.
Joe Rodgers, with a shrill “Gee, this must be a bully show, fellers!” flung over his shoulder, made a dive for the ticket wagon, followed by several young men whom Dave had noticed about the circus.
As though they possessed some strange magnetic force, many spectators seemed to be drawn irresistibly after them. The tent soon began swallowing up a steady flow of humanity, and when interest waned Dave promptly resumed his speaking.
He rose to greater heights this time, his clear, strong voice compelling attention. He told of the wonderful performing elephants; of Mademoiselle Hazel, queen of the slack wire, in her great danger-defying act, and of Professor Lopus and his extraordinary troupe of trained horses.
Joe and his associates were on hand, and, as before, at the important moment, started a stampede toward the “box office.”
Another repetition of the performance left standing at the entrance only a few disconsolate-looking people. Even Mr. Peter Whiffin could not altogether conceal his satisfaction at the success of Spudger’s new barker.