CHAPTER XIII
WHEREIN THEY MEET THE WILD MAN OF THE TARTARY STEPPES
They were talking it over. It was after five o’clock and they weresitting in the deserted dressing tent, to which Dan, as was hisprivilege as a member of “America’s Greatest Circus and Hippodrome,”had invited them. Barry was curled up in Dan’s lap. Jerry had takenhimself away to his duties.
“I knew I could do it,” Dan was explaining. “When Jerry told about itI just made up my mind that if the money didn’t come I’d go to Murrayand ask for the place. And I did. He didn’t think I was quite right inmy mind at first, but I asked him to let me show what I could do, andfinally he agreed. Then”--Dan grinned reminiscently--“then I borrowedtwo dollars and a half from him, half the pay for one performance----”
“Gosh! Did he only give you five dollars for doing that?” asked Tom.
“Well, I wanted more, but he said he’d only paid Donello five, so Igave in. Then I had some lunch in the village, found you fellows, gaveyou that two dollars, and went to the tent. They had got the ladder andtank filled up, and I got into my tights. Jerry went with me to seefair play. He didn’t want me to try it, Jerry didn’t, but I shut him upand made him promise not to tell you fellows.”
“Lucky you did,” grunted Bob.
“That’s what I thought,” laughed Dan. “But, pshaw, it wasn’t any stunt!Just a straight drop; and there wasn’t any possibility of missing thetank.”
“But supposing you had?” asked Nelson quietly. Dan turned and looked athim a second.
“Well, then I’d got considerably messed up, I guess,” he answeredsoberly. “Well, I tried a dive from about twenty feet up first; theplatform is adjustable, you see; and it went all right. Then I wentclear up and tried it from the top. And that went all right too. Itseemed a long ways down at first, and I wondered whether the tankwould stay there until I got to it. But it did. Then I did it againand tried a somersault. Murray was tickled to death. ‘You stay withus,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be making big money in a year or two.’ Then Ithought to myself, what’s the use in doing only one flop when there’slots of time for two? I asked Murray, but he didn’t like it at first.Said Donello was considered one of the best in the business and he wasalways satisfied with one turn. But I made up my mind to try it, and Idid. It was dead easy. Murray wanted to hug me. Then he wanted me tosign a contract for six months and went up on his price; offered me twohundred dollars a month for two performances daily.”
“Gee!” gasped Tom.
“Well, that’s what I thought,” answered Dan with a laugh. “And I had tothink a long while before I got up courage to say no. But that wasn’tthe last of it. He’s after me yet. Maybe he’ll get me after all.”
“Not if I know it!” said Nelson indignantly. “I’d send for your dad thefirst thing. Nice stunts for a chap who’s just out of bed from typhoidfever!”
“Just out of bed, your granny! Well, anyway, I’ve agreed to do it againto-night.”
“You have!”
“Yep.”
“Oh, cut it out,” said Bob. “We’ve got money enough. Besides, maybeyour dad’s telegram is at the office by this time.”
“I know, but I can’t go back on my promise, and I promised to performtwice.”
“Well, don’t you go and try to improve on it,” begged Nelson. “Don’ttry to put in three somersaults instead of two.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed Dan, grinning, “that’s an idea! I hadn’t thoughtof that!”
“Shut up!” begged Nelson. “If you try that trick you’ll be Done-ellofor sure.”
“Instead of _Dan_ello,” added Tom.
“Wasn’t it great about Barry?” asked Nelson. “He was on my lap and Ididn’t know what he was up to until he was kiting across lots with hisleash dangling after him. Did you hear the crowd laugh? Barry made thehit of the performance.”
“Well, how about supper? Suppose you fellows come with me. I’m to eatwith the push here, and I guess Murray’ll let you come along if I agreeto pay for you.”
“That’s dandy!” said Tom. “We’ll eat with Zul-Zul and the Wild Man!”
“You’d better look out, Tommy,” Bob advised. “Maybe he’ll eat you,you’re so fat and rosy.”
So Dan disappeared for a moment, and presently returned with the newsthat Murray had given him permission to take the others to supper ashis guests.
“He’s mighty nice to you, isn’t he?” asked Nelson sarcastically.
That supper was one of the ever-remembered features of the trip. Jerryfound places for them at one end of the long table, and they lookedabout them with frank curiosity. Overhead naphtha torches flared,throwing deep shadows on the pine boards that formed the table. Thesides of the tent were up here and there, and from without came thesound of the crickets, the voices of Mr. Foley and his companion at thestoves, and the scrape and clash of pans and utensils. Inside, the airbecame hot and heavy under the shallow curve of canvas, the tin platesand cups glimmered, the steam drifted up from the hot viands, and thenoise was at first deafening.
This was the first table, Jerry informed them, and accommodated theperformers and the “staff,” the “staff” being the management. Thecanvasmen, drivers, animal men, and the other hands ate later at asecond table. Across from the Four sat the ringmaster, between apleasant-faced and rather elderly woman and a thin youth with palecheeks whom Nelson recognized as the leader of the “family” of trickskaters. He wondered who the woman was, and would have been wonderingyet, doubtless, had not his neighbor, a good-natured little Irishman,come to his assistance.
“You’re frinds of the laddie that did the jomp?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Nelson. “We four are together. We’re taking a walkingtrip along the island.”
“Is thot so? Well, I didn’t see the jomp myself, but I heard the boystalkin’ about it. ’Twas a pretty lape, they said.”
“Yes; but I was awfully scared. I was afraid he’d miss the tank.”
“I suppose so. Is he goin’ to shtay wid the show?”
“Oh, no; he only joined for to-day.” Nelson told briefly of the robberyand their subsequent adventures, and the little Irishman chuckledenjoyably.
“Sure, ’tis the plucky lad he is. But he’s right, the circus be’s noplace for a gintleman.”
“Do you belong?” asked Nelson innocently. Then he blushed and stammereduntil the Irishman laughed his embarrassment away.
“Sure, there’s no offinse, me boy. I’m no gintleman. Yes, I belongs tothe show. Now, what would you think I was, sir?”
Nelson studied him a moment and shook his head.
“Are you--are you a clown?”
“Faith, no,” chuckled the other, “’tis not as bad as thot. Was you inthe side show? No? Well, you’d have seen me there if you’d been. Theycall me ‘Boris,’ bedad! ’Tis a disgraceful, onchristian name, but it’smoney in me pocket.”
“Boris? Why, I thought Boris was the--the----”
“The Wild Mon of the Tar-_tary_ Shteppes? Thot’s me, me lad. Raw mate’sme shpecialty and I shpake no word of any known language.”
Nelson glanced at the Wild Man’s plate, well filled with steak andpotatoes, and laughed. The Wild Man joined him.
“’Tis a faker I am. Me name’s Thomas Cronan an’ I was born in the wildsof County Clare, which is the grane garden spot of ould Ireland. Sure,we’re all fakers in the side show. Mrs. Wheet over there is ‘PrincessZoe’ and does thricks with three ould shnakes thot’s had the shtingersyanked out of them. She’s a lady, too, me boy, if iver there was one.”
Nelson, to his surprise, discovered that “Princess Zoe” was thenice-looking elderly lady at the ringmaster’s right.
“An’ further along there,” continued his informant, “is ‘Zul-Zul,’which her name is Maude Harris. She used to be an equistreen--rode thehorses, you know--till she had a fall and hurted her back. Thin sheblached her hair and now they call her an al-bin-o, which is an ungodlyname to my mind.”
br /> “She--she sings, doesn’t she?” asked Nelson, observing the young ladyin question.
“Same as onybody sings, me boy, no more an’ no less.”
“Oh,” said Nelson. “And do you--like being a Wild Man?”
“I do an’ I don’t,” responded the other judicially. “’Tis asy money,but the life’s confinin’. I’m thinkin’ I had the best of it when I wasdrivin’ the tent wagon. Thot’s what I used to do. Come an’ see me thisavenin’, an’ bring your frinds. Tell Billy Conly, the feller outside, Isaid he was to let you in.”
“Thanks,” answered Nelson. “And I’ll bring some raw meat with me.”
“Sure,” answered the Wild Man, laughing as he arose from the table,“it’s kind of you, me boy, but I could ate no more to-night. We’reshmall aters on the Tar-_tary_ Shteppes.”
After supper Nelson and Dan walked to the telegraph office, and thistime found the money awaiting them. There was also a telegram from Mr.Speede.
“Away when your message came,” it read. “Have sent fifty. Sorry fordelay. Try and write oftener and send address.”
“I guess they’re worrying about us having the money swiped,” saidDan. “I’ll write to-morrow. There ought to be some letters for us atBahogue. Supposing we walk on there to-night after the show? It’s onlyabout four miles and it’ll be fairly light, I guess. Wait.” He turnedback to the operator. “What’s a good hotel at Bahogue?” he asked.
“There’s the Seaview and the Bahogue House. They’re both good, I guess.”
“Seaview sounds good to me,” said Dan. “Is there an office at Bahogue?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Give me a blank.”
“Reserve two rooms for me to-night,” wrote Dan. “Will arrive aboutmidnight. D. H. F. Speede.”
“Will you get that off for me, please?” he asked.
They paid for the message, thanked the operator, said good night, andwent back to the circus, Barry, off his leash for the moment, cuttingall sorts of wild capers. Later the Four paid a visit to the sideshow. The performance in the main tent had begun, and they had theplace almost to themselves. The Wild Man of the Tartary Steppes wasseated in a chair on a platform. He was dressed in yellow tights witha strip of leopard skin about his hips and a string of bones about hisneck. A formidable club rested against his knees. On his head was a wigof loose and long black hair, and his face was painted with black andred stripes. He was not attractive, but nevertheless the picture on thecanvas outside was a base libel. He tipped Nelson a portentous wink,jabbered something at him, and made signs with his hands which Nelsontranslated as demands for raw meat. There were a few people wanderingabout the tent, and so Nelson and the others waited until they had gonebefore approaching the wild man. Then,
“Well, boys,” said Mr. Cronan, “how are ye the avenin’?”
“Fine,” answered Nelson. “I’ve brought my friends in to see you.They’ve never seen a Wild Man before.”
“Think of thot!” sighed Mr. Cronan. “Sure where was they edicated?”
“Are you going to eat any raw meat this evening?” asked Tom with a grin.
“Have you ony wid you?”
Tom had to acknowledge that he hadn’t.
“There it is, then,” sighed Mr. Cronan again. “How am I to ate it if Ihaven’t got it? ’Tis onreasonable you are, me lad.”
There were several photographs of the Wild Man lying along the edge ofthe platform, and Nelson picked one up and looked at it.
“Ain’t thot a beautiful thing?” asked Mr. Cronan. “Does it do mejustice, do you think? Put it in your pocket, me boy, an’ show it toyour frinds when you git home. Tell ’em ’tis the picter of a Wild Monwhat chased ye down on Long Island.”
“I’d like to have it,” laughed Nelson, “but I’d rather pay you for it.”
“You pays nothin’,” answered Mr. Cronan firmly. “Put it in your pocket,like I say, wid me compliments. Howld on! Give it me a minute.” TheWild Man found a stump of a pencil in a hidden pocket, inverted thephotograph on his knee, stuck his tongue in his cheek, and laboriouslywrote. “There, ’tis much more valuable now.”
Nelson accepted it and thanked him. On the back was written in lettershalf an inch high: “Your frand, Thomas Cronan, the wild man.” They wereformally introduced to the Snake Charmer, the Albino Patti, and theFortune Teller; also to a sad-looking little man in a suit of misfitclothes whose duty it was to lecture about the attractions. Presentlythey said good-by to Mr. Cronan and went out to the ticket booth. Dantried to pay for three reserved seats for his companions, but theticket seller refused to accept any money.
“Go ahead in,” he said smilingly, pushing the tickets and the moneytoward them. “This is on the show.”
So they thanked him, presented their tickets, and were shown to seats,Dan, however, leaving them to go to the dressing tent and taking Barrywith him. There was not so great a crowd as in the afternoon, but forall that the big tent was comfortably filled. They had grown to knowa number of the performers by sight now, and the evening performanceproved more interesting for that reason. Dan’s fame had spread, andwhen, near the end of the performance, he appeared at the foot of theladder, quite a salvo of applause greeted him.
“Look at Barry!” exclaimed Tom.
Dan had brought the terrier in with him, and now, when he began tomount the ladder, Barry started after him. The audience laughed andclapped. Barry managed three rounds of the ladder by hooking his pawsover them and dragging his body up, but that was as high as he couldget. Three times he made the attempt and three times he tumbled off.Then he gave it up, barked once, and stood watching his master. Asbefore, the tent became stilled, Dan’s voice came down eerily fromthe platform, the drums rolled, the ringmaster cracked his whip andshouted his shrill “_In mid-air!_” the dropping pink figure revolvedtwice, and the water splashed from the tank. Then, as the applausebroke out, Dan’s wet head appeared, and Barry leaped frantically towardit. Fighting the terrier off, Dan scrambled from the tank with theassistance of two of the red-coated men, and, grabbing Barry in hisarms, disappeared toward the dressing tent.
Afterwards they sought and found Jerry. The mess tent was gone, thewagon packed, and that department was all ready for the road.
“Where do you go next, Jerry?” Bob asked.
“Ridgefield,” answered Jerry. “It’s about forty miles. We travel allnight.”
“Don’t you ever go by railroad?” asked Nelson.
“Not when we can help it. It costs more, you see. Some of theperformers take the train, though.”
“Well, good-by, Jerry. Take care of yourself; and I’ll write to yousoon. Where is it you’re going to work?”
“Mr. Osgood’s farm,” answered Jerry. “It’s about two miles fromBarrington.”
“And you’ll be there in October?”
“Before, I guess,” answered Jerry. “There ain’t much money in this, an’since I seen you fellows again----”
He hesitated. Then,
“I kind of got more anxious to make that money,” he finished. “I guessI’ll leave the show about the twentieth.”
“Well, good luck, Jerry. We’ll see you again, I guess; anyway, I’llwrite to you, because I think I’ll have some news for you.”
“What--what sort of news?” asked Jerry anxiously.
“Well, good news; I can’t tell you any more now. Good-by.”
They all shook hands, and then Jerry, as though loath to part fromthem, walked out to the road with them and called a final good-by fromthere.
“Did you get your money from the circus folks?” asked Tom of Dan, as,with packs once more on their backs, they strode off toward the village.
“You bet. But, say, fellows, I had an awful time getting away. Murraymade all sorts of offers, and finally I promised him that if I everchanged my mind I’d let him know right away.”
“It was a crazy business,” observed Bob.
“But it found us our dinners,” said Tom philosophically.
br /> “You can always be sure of Tommy’s point of view,” laughed Nelson.
It was a clear, calm night, and walking was a pleasure. They wereall well rested, and the four miles intervening between Millford andBahogue were soon covered. A few minutes before they reached the hotelthe ocean sprang into view, and they heard the beat of the waves on thebeach.
“Sounds good to me,” sighed Bob. “Who’s for a bath in the morning?”
Evidently all were, even Barry, who, excited by the chorus of assent,barked loudly. They found the Seaview House without difficulty,assaulted the office gong until a sleepy porter appeared, wrote theirnames on the register--Dan signing as “Signor Danello”--and were shownto their rooms.
“Gee!” sighed Dan a few minutes later as he pulled the covers down androlled under them. “A real bed again! This thing of sleeping nigh tonature is all very fine, Nel, but--the downy couch for mine every time!Good night!”