CHAPTER II.
IN THE CALLIOPE TENT.
"I don't like it, pard, and you can bet your moccasins on that," saidJoe McGlory.
"There are a whole lot of things about this business I don't fancy,"returned Motor Matt; "but we're under contract, Joe, and Boss Burtonsays he'll give us an extra fifty a week if we do the trick."
"But the girl! What's her notion about it? Hanging to a trapeze underthe a?roplane isn't a stunt to be sneezed at."
"She's anxious to do the trick. She'll get fifty dollars a week for it,and the money looks good to her."
"There's the danger, pard. Her neck's worth more than fifty plunks aweek."
"She's a little brick, that Haidee--pure grit. I'll see that she's notplaced in much danger."
"You'll have your hands full looking after yourself and the a?roplane.Sufferin' whirligigs! You know how hard it is to manage the _Comet_when there's a weight suspended beneath."
"I can do it," declared Matt.
"Of course you can do, old socks--you can do anything when you set yourmind to it. But, tell me this, what has that old elephant driver, BenAli, got to do with Haidee? Ben Ali's a Hindoo, and Haidee is almost aswhite as an American girl."
"Ben Ali's her uncle, Joe. Haidee's mother was Ben Ali's sister, andHaidee's father was an English officer living in Bombay. The girl toldme all this yesterday at the time she begged me to do what Boss Burtonwanted and let her trail the _Comet_ aloft on the trapeze."
"Funny combination," muttered Joe.
McGlory was in his overclothes, and had just finished getting thea?roplane ready for the parade. The "animal top"--that is, themenagerie tent--had been hoisted, and the small canvas lean-to thathoused the steam calliope had been put in place alongside. The calliopewas not in the lean-to, but was out on the grounds, being put in shapefor the parade.
Matt and Joe usually came to the calliope tent to make themselvesready for the street procession. They, together with Ping, had beenthree weeks with the Big Consolidated, Matt making ascensions in thea?roplane twice daily, following the parade and just before the eveningperformance--wind and weather permitting. So proficient had Matt becomein handling the flying machine that nothing short of a stiff gale ora hard rain kept him from carrying out his engagements for a doubleexhibition each day.
The a?roplane had caught the popular fancy, and had proved the biggestkind of a card for Boss Burton, proprietor of the show. Under itsown motive power, the machine formed a star feature of the parade,traveling slowly on the bicycle wheels which were necessary in givingit a start when flights were made.
From tip to tip, the wings of the a?roplane measured more than thirtyfeet. Of course it could not travel in the parade with such a stretchof surface across the streets, so Matt had arranged the bicycle wheelsin such a manner that the _Comet_ moved sideways in the procession,the king of the motor boys, his cowboy pard, and his Chinese comradeoccupying positions in the seats on the lower wing.
When Matt and his friends first joined the outfit, Boss Burton hadsupplied them with bespangled apparel, which, if they had worn it,would, according to McGlory, have made them "a holy show."
Matt and McGlory balked at the glittering costumes, but Ping had hungto his beadwork and gilt trimmings with a fierce determination therewas no shaking.
McGlory compromised with Burton by getting into a swell cowboy rig, butfor Matt there was no such thing as compromise. This engagement withthe show was purely a business proposition, and he refused to make aspectacle out of himself. He looked well, too, in his unostentatiousblue cap and clothes, and was given many a cheer as the a?roplanepitched and shivered along in the procession.
Boss Burton was a shrewd manager, and it was said that he lay awakenights while section two of the show train was making its jumps betweenstands, thinking up new acts that would thrill the patrons of the BigConsolidated. His last idea was to hitch a trapeze to the bottom of thea?roplane, and have Haidee, Ben Ali's pretty niece, perform on theflying bar while Matt was manoeuvring the _Comet_ over the show grounds.
It was this new wrinkle that had drawn objections from McGlory when heand Matt had retired to the calliope tent to make ready for the parade.
About all Matt had to do to get ready was to wash and brush himself.McGlory, on the other hand, had to get into a blue shirt, corduroytrousers, "chaps," tight, high-heeled boots, and a broad-brimmedsombrero.
"What's become of Ping?" asked Matt, stepping to the tent flap andlooking off over the busy grounds.
It would be an hour before the parade could start, and the brightsun glowed over a scene of feverish activity. The side-show tents,the stable tents, and cook tent were already up. A small army of menwas working on the circus "top," and the rhythmical thump of maulson tent stakes could be heard on every hand. Horses in two, four,six, and eight-horse teams were moving about; band wagons, cages, andchariots were being dusted and cleaned; the painted banners in frontof the side-show were being laced to their guys; the candy "butchers"were getting their places in readiness, and throughout the variousoccupations of the men ran an orderly disorder, everywhere noticeable.
But Matt could see nothing of Ping, and he turned away to whereMcGlory, his foot on an overturned bucket, was buckling a big-roweledMexican spur to his heel.
"Ping is always promptness itself in getting into his tinsel frills andfurbelows," remarked Matt, "and I can't understand what's keeping theboy so late this morning."
"He's been put on the steam calliope, pard," laughed McGlory, droppinghis foot from the bucket and stamping until the rowel jingled."Little Squinch-eye seems to have fallen in love with that bunchof steam whistles. He tried to play 'Yankee Doodle' on the pipes,in Indianapolis, and had almost stampeded the elephants before thecalliope man could choke him off. Sufferin' jangles, pard, you neverheard such a sound."
Before Matt could make any response, a soft voice called from outside:
"Motor Matt! Can I come in a minute?"
"Sure," replied Matt heartily.
A lithe, graceful form, in velvet and spangles, leaped lightly throughthe opening.
"Haidee!" exclaimed Matt, staring.
The girl bowed laughingly and threw a kiss, just as she was in thehabit of doing after her trapeze work in the "big top."
"Yes, friends," she answered; "Haidee, the Flying Marvel, who is to doa turn on Motor Matt's flying machine just before the doors open. I amalso to ride on the top wing of the _Comet_ during the parade. Will Ido?"
Lifting her arms, she pirouetted around for the observation of theboys, then paused and smiled bewitchingly.
"Do?" cried McGlory. "Why, sis, you'll be the hit of the piece. All Ihope"--and McGlory's face went rather long--"is that you and Matt comethrough your trip in the air without any trouble."
"I'm not afraid!" declared Haidee.
"No more you're not, sis. If you were riding on the lower wing withMatt the whole game would be different; but you're to hang under themachine, and there'll be more pitching and plunging than if you wereaboard a bucking bronk. Hang on, that's all, and don't try to hang byyour heels."
"I'll get an extra fifty dollars a week!" cried the girl.
It was plain to be seen that she placed great store on that "fiftydollars a week."
"What does your uncle, Ben Ali, think of it, Haidee?" asked Matt.
A barely perceptible frown crossed the girl's face. What was passing inher mind? Whatever her thoughts were, they found no echo in her answer.
"Uncle Ben is glad to have me do it," and Haidee retreated toward thedoor.
"Have you seen Ping, Haidee?" inquired Matt.
"When I saw him last," was the response, "he was walking toward theriver with a couple of buckets. I'll be going, now. I'll see you againwhen the parade starts. That trapeze act on the a?roplane will make agreat hit, don't you think?"
"It ought to," said Matt.
The girl vanished.
"I'll walk over to the steam music box," remarked McGlory, "and see ifI can spot our pigt
ail friend."
"All right," returned Matt, dropping down on an overturned bucket andpulling a pencil and memorandum book from his pocket.
Before he could begin to figure, he heard a voice addressing McGlory atthe tent door--and it was a voice that brought him up rigidly erect andstaring.
"Say, misder, iss dis der shteam cantalope tent?"
McGlory laughed.
"Well, yes, Dutchy, you've made a bull's-eye first clatter. Here'swhere they keep the 'cantalope.' What's the matter with you? Look likeyou'd gone in swimming and forgotten to take off your clothes."
"I tropped in der rifer mit meinseluf, und id vas vetter as I t'ought.Say, vonce, iss Modor Matt aroundt der blace?"
"He's inside, and---- Sufferin' whirlwinds, but you're in a hurry!"
A bedraggled form, with a dripping bundle in one hand and a stick inthe other, hurled itself through the opening with a yell.
"Matt! Mein olt pard, Matt!"
The next instant Carl Pretzel had rushed forward and twined hiswater-soaked arms about the king of the motor boys. The Dutchman'sdelight was of the frantic kind, and he gurgled and whooped, andblubbered, and wrestled with Matt in a life-and-death grip.
McGlory, in amazement, watched from the entrance.
"Carl!" exclaimed Matt. "By all that's good, if it isn't Carl! Greatspark plugs, old chap, where did you drop from?"
"Ach, from novere und eferyvere. Vat a habbiness! I peen so dickled mitmeinseluf I feel like I vas going to pust! My olt raggie, Matt, vat Iain'd seen alreddy for a t'ousant years!"
Just then there was a rush behind McGlory, and some one nearly knockedhim over getting into the tent.
"My workee fo' Motol Matt!" shrilled a high, angry voice. "Dutchy boyno workee!"
Ping was terribly hostile, but McGlory caught and held him.
Carl tore himself loose from Matt and would have rushed at Ping had henot been restrained.
"Looks like they'd both been in the river," remarked McGlory.
"What's the trouble here, boys?" asked Matt.