Four Afoot: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Highway

“I don’t care,” replied Nelson. “It gives me satisfaction.”

They left Dan and, after sauntering around the streets of the little village for a while, returned to the circus field in the wake of the parade. On the way they paused to admire a lithograph of “Donello, Prince of High Divers, in his Perilous Plunge of Fifty Feet into Thirty-six Inches of Water!”

“But, look here,” objected Tom, “how many of him are there?”

Sure enough, according to the lithograph there were three distinct Donellos. One was poised on the little platform at the summit of the ladder, while two others were turning somersaults on the way down to the tiny tank.

“Oh, that’s just poetic license,” explained Nelson. “It shows him at various points in the trip. It’s the same chap, see? Blue-black hair, pink tights, and a green velvet thingumbob around the middle of him.”

“All the same,” answered Tom, “it’s a lie, that picture.”

“As far as I can see,” responded Bob sadly, “circus posters are most all lies. I guess if they just showed what there really was to see no one would go.”

“Sure,” said Nelson. “Besides, they’re mighty interesting lies. I suppose a circus man’s got as much right to tell lies in his pictures as authors have to write them in books.”

“It isn’t the same,” objected Tom. “Authors don’t tell lies to get your money out of you, and circuses do.”

“No; authors get your money first,” laughed Bob.

“Besides,” Tom continued, “that poster says fifty feet, and Jerry says it’s only thirty.”

“Poetic license again, Tommy,” said Nelson soothingly.

“It isn’t right, though,” was the stubborn response.

“Well, don’t you care, old chap; it isn’t your fault.”

“Hunger is driving Tommy into a frightful condition of pessimism,” said Bob.

“Wish I had a fried egg,” said Tom gloomily.

“Yes, all kind of golden on top and brownish around the edges,” supplemented Bob with a grin.

“Oh, cut it out,” sighed Nelson. “You’re making me have spasms inside. I suppose we might go and stand around the cook until he offered us something to eat to get rid of us, but it would be pretty low down.”

“Couldn’t be any lower down than I feel right now,” said Tom.

“Oh, I guess Dan’ll get the money this time,” said Bob hopefully.

They found a comfortable place in the sun and stretched themselves out to wait. Nelson said he was going to try to go to sleep and forget it. But he didn’t succeed. It was long past noon when Barry pounced on them and heralded Dan’s approach. They sat up quickly and looked the question none dared to ask. Dan shook his head smilingly. Tom rolled over on the grass and muttered. Even Bob lost his temper for an instant.

“You needn’t look so thundering pleased about it,” he growled.

Dan laughed and tossed something at him. Bob snatched it up. It was a two-dollar bill.

“What did you lie for?” he demanded.

“I didn’t,” answered Dan. “The money hasn’t come, nor any message either. But there’s enough for dinner.”

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-where – ” began Tom.

“You needn’t ask where it came from,” said Dan, “because I’m not going to tell you. But I got it honestly, and all you’ve got to do now is to find something to eat.”

“It sounds good to me,” said Nelson, jumping up. Bob and Tom joined him, eying Dan curiously.

“Aren’t you coming?” asked Bob. Dan shook his head.

“I’ve had mine,” he answered lightly.

“I’ll bet you haven’t! Don’t be an ass, now; there’s more than enough for the four of us.”

“Honor bright, I have, Bob.”

“Where?”

“I won’t tell you. Go on and get your dinners, you chaps, and I’ll tell you all about it later. And – er – do you mind taking Barry with you? I don’t believe he had enough.”

“Will you be here when we come back?” asked Nelson suspiciously.

“Yes, somewheres around,” was the careless answer.

“There’s something mighty funny about it,” grumbled Tom as they took themselves off, Barry following unwillingly at the end of the leash.

“You bet there is,” answered Nelson. “Dan’s been up to mischief, that’s what!”

“Well, he says it’s all right,” said Bob cheerfully, “and Dan doesn’t lie. I vote we get some dinner and – ”

“Hold on a bit!” cried Nelson. “Let me see that bill.”

He took it and looked it over carefully. Then he gave a sigh of relief.

“It seems to be all right,” he said. “I didn’t know but what it might be a fake or something. You never can tell what Dan will do.”

“That’s so,” the others agreed.

And a few hours later they were more certain of it than ever.

CHAPTER XII

WITNESSES THE FIRST APPEARANCE OF “DANELLO”

They found their dinners at the first house they applied at, and good, generous dinners they were. At a quarter of two they were returning to the circus ground, and not alone. The vicinity for two weeks past had been well sprinkled with glowing posters advertising “America’s Greatest Circus and Hippodrome,” and now the result was in evidence. The road to the field was lined with pedestrians and filled with vehicles. The mud-specked family carryall of the farmer or the spring wagon with boards forming extra seats for the accommodation of a large family rubbed hubs with the natty phaeton or rubber-tired station ’bus from the summer settlement. That thoroughly American vehicle, the buggy, showed the national spirit of independence by rattling along in the way of impatient and arrogant English carts and supercilious French touring cars. Tom’s eyes hung out of his head.

“I didn’t know there were so many people on the whole island!” he exclaimed.

“They’ll have a full house this afternoon, all right,” said Nelson.

When they reached the field they had difficulty in working their way over to the mess tent, so great was the throng. The side show was being liberally patronized. In the shade of the pictured canvas a man, in a high silk hat and wearing a flannel shirt with a large yellow diamond in it, stood upon a box and pointed out the attractions with a long stick.

“This way, ladies and gentlemen!” he cried. “Don’t forget the Side Show, the Palace of Mysteries, the Greatest Aggregation of Natural Curiosities ever placed before the American Public. Step up, ladies and gentlemen! It is only ten cents, a dime, the tenth part of a dollar! ’Twill neither make nor break! The Performance in the Main Tent does not begin for half an hour. You have plenty of time to visit the Hall of Wonders! See the Snake Charmer in her wonderful demonstration of Psychic Force! A beautiful young girl who handles the deadly rattlesnake, the formidable boa constrictor, and the treacherous Indian Cobra as a child fondles a kitten! Only a dime, ten cents! See Boris, the Wild Man of the Tartary Steppes! Lives on raw flesh, sleeps but one hour in the twenty-four, and speaks no word of any known language! A puzzle to the Scientists of all Countries! Listen to the Albino Patti, whose voice has the greatest range of any singer in the world and has delighted the ears of Royalty all over the Civilized Globe! Step up! Step up! Step up! Have your fortunes told by Queen Phyllis! Tells the past and the future! Reads your mind like an open book! Advises you in affairs of business for the ridiculously small price of fifteen cents. The greatest Fortune Teller of the Age! This way to the Side Show! Step up! Step up! Step up! Step up!”

Tom listened with open mouth.

“Let’s go in,” he whispered. “We’ve got half a dollar yet.”

“Oh, come on,” laughed Nelson, dragging him forcibly away from the enticing “barker” and the lurid canvas. “It’s nearly quarter past, and we’ve got to find Jerry.”

They pushed their way through the jostling throng, seeking the mess tent. Since morning dealers in lemonade, sandwiches, photographs, souvenir post cards, and many other things had set up their tables. A five-cent photograph tent was doing a rushing business, and a man with a cane-toss outfit was fast becoming rich. Bob wanted to linger at the post-card booth, but Nelson pulled him away only to discover the next instant that they had lost Tom. He was discovered finally, watching the efforts of a country youth to capture a pocket-knife by throwing a wooden ring over the head of a cane.

“Say, Bob, lend me ten cents, will you?” he begged. “I’ll just bet I can do that!”

“No, sir,” answered Bob firmly; “you come along here.”

Eventually they reached the mess tent and found Jerry awaiting them.

“Have you seen Dan?” they asked.

“Dan?” repeated Jerry, looking about as though that youth might be hidden under the wagon or the trestles. “He ain’t here. Have you lost him?”

“We left him an hour ago and he promised to be around here, but he didn’t say where. I thought maybe he was with you,” answered Nelson. Jerry shook his head again.

“No, he ain’t here.”

“Well, we’ll wait awhile. Maybe he’ll turn up if he hasn’t got lost.”

But he didn’t, and when the strains of the band reached them from the big tent Tom refused to sit still a moment longer.

“Come on,” he said impatiently. “He’s got his ticket. Maybe he’s in there now. We’re missing half the fun.”

So, led by Jerry, who seemed strangely excited for a boy who had been part and parcel of the show for several days, they made their way to the main tent, Nelson carrying Barry in his arms to keep him from being walked on. They fought their way through the narrow entrance and found seats near the end of the tent. There was one ring and a stage. Suddenly Tom nudged Nelson.

“Look, I’ll bet they’ve got Donello back,” he said. “See there? That’s the ladder and the tank like pictures show them.”

“Yes,” said Jerry; “I heard they’d found a fellow to take Donello’s place, but it ain’t Donello himself. Here comes the grand march.”

The curtains at the far end of the tent were pulled aside, and a procession of horses and chariots and animals entered and lumbered around the tan bark to the martial strains of the overworked band. Hercules wobbled along in a world-weary way, swaying his trunk as though keeping time to the music. The camel followed. Tom said he looked as though he was trying to do a cake walk. Then the three clowns suddenly appeared, fell over the ropes in time-honored fashion, and the performance began. It wasn’t a half-bad show, the boys agreed, Bob pointing out the fact that it was an advantage to have only one ring because you didn’t get cross-eyed trying to see two or three things at the same time. The bareback riding was good, the trick roller-skaters fair, and the clowns quite as funny as clowns ever are. Everybody ate peanuts and threw the shells on everybody else, the air grew heavy with dust, and the band played tirelessly. Tom sat with fascinated gaze and saw everything that went on. Jerry told interesting inside history of the performers, and was greatly pleased at the evident enjoyment of his friends. It was the first time in his life that Jerry had ever treated anybody and acted as host, and he was proud and elated. The afternoon wore along and the performance with it. The ringmaster mounted the stage and invited everybody to remain for the Minstrel Show and Popular Concert to be held immediately after the conclusion of the performance.

“An amusing, instructive, and moral entertainment,” he declared, “that no one should miss. Tickets are ten cents apiece. Gentlemanly agents will now pass through the audience, and all wishing to do so may purchase tickets to the Concert. Remember, they are but ten cents apiece. Keep your seats, Ladies and Gentlemen! The best part of the afternoon’s performance is still to be seen!”

Whereupon, as if by magic, vociferous men appeared everywhere shouting “Tickets to the Minstrel Show and Concert! Only ten cents! Tickets here! Who wants a ticket?”

“Here he comes!” whispered Jerry excitedly.

“Who?” asked Nelson.

“The fellow that’s going to dive,” answered Jerry. “That’s him coming along there by the ropes. See?”

But they couldn’t see very well, for Donello’s substitute was at the other end of the tent from them and various persons intervened. They did, however, catch sight of a figure in pink fleshings with green velvet trunks. Then the ringmaster introduced “Signor Donello, the World-Renowned Aërial Diver,” and the drums rolled while the figure in pink fleshings bowed gracefully and turned to the ladder. Up he went, nimbly, hand over hand, until he stood on the tiny two-foot platform attached to the top of the ladder high up under the creamy canvas roof. Then he turned and looked down, and for the first time the boys saw his face.

Nelson gasped, Bob half rose from his seat, Tom shouted:

“Dan!”

Nelson pulled him back to his seat.

“Shut up, you idiot!” he whispered hoarsely. “He’ll hear you and get nervous.”

“Bu-bu-bu-but he’ll bu-bu-bu-break his nu-nu-neck!” cried Tom.

“Not Dan,” answered Nelson, but with more confidence than he felt. “Just the same, it’s a fool stunt.”

“He ought to be licked,” growled Bob nervously.

“Do you think he’s tried it?” asked Nelson.

“Yes; he practiced before the tent opened,” said Jerry. “I knew about it, but he made me promise not to tell.”

“I’ll bet he did,” said Nelson savagely. “He knew plaguy well we’d have stopped him. That’s where he got the money he gave us, I guess.”

“Wh-wh-why don’t he jump?” asked Tom, squirming in his place. “Do you su-su-suppose he’s scared?”

“That’s part of it,” explained Jerry. “Donello always did that. It gets you sort of scared-like and anxious.”

It certainly did. Tom’s face looked like a piece of white paper. Bob was scowling at his programme. Even Nelson, in spite of his confidence in Dan’s ability to do most anything he made up his mind to do, looked rather miserable. Jerry was the least anxious of the four, – but he had witnessed the trials. The only entirely unperturbed member of the group was Barry. Barry was sniffing the mingled odors of the tent with calm curiosity.

High up above the ridiculously tiny tank of water, which to the uninitiated seemed barely deep enough to bathe in, stood Dan. He held a handkerchief in his hand the while he measured the distance. Then, carefully, he stepped to the edge of the little ledge, dropped the handkerchief, which went fluttering slowly down, accentuating the distance, and let his arms fall straight to his sides.

There was scarcely a sound throughout the crowded tent. The audience sat with upturned faces and fast-beating hearts. Tom’s fingers were gripped fiercely into his legs as he watched with staring fascinated eyes. Bob was breathing like a steam engine. Nelson, hands stuffed into pockets, held his underlip between his teeth and made no sound. Barry was standing in his lap and was now sniffing excitedly, his little nose pointing toward the figure on the platform and twitching violently.

The ringmaster held up one gloved hand. The bandmaster raised his baton.

“Ready!”

The voice sounded a quarter of a mile away, and Nelson shivered. The pink-clad figure gave a little hop from the edge of the platform and shot downward like a flash of light. The drums broke into a roll. The ringmaster cried “Hi!” and snapped his long whip. When a third of the way down “Signor Donello’s” arms shot out and his body revolved.

“In mid-air!” cried the ringmaster exultantly.

Another drop and again the falling body turned head over heels, while the drums rolled faster and the cymbals crashed. The new Donello had beaten the old one at his own trick! The next instant there was a splash and a cloud of flying spray as the body plunged headfirst into the tank.

A gasp of relief arose from the audience, and then the applause thundered forth, applause which quickly turned to laughter. For, as the performer climbed over the edge of the tank, a white streak bounded across the ring and leaped at his face. Barry had found his master.

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 were sitting in the deserted dressing tent, to which Dan, as was his privilege as a member of “America’s Greatest Circus and Hippodrome,” had invited them. Barry was curled up in Dan’s lap. Jerry had taken himself away to his duties.

“I knew I could do it,” Dan was explaining. “When Jerry told about it I just made up my mind that if the money didn’t come I’d go to Murray and ask for the place. And I did. He didn’t think I was quite right in my mind at first, but I asked him to let me show what I could do, and finally he agreed. Then” – Dan grinned reminiscently – “then I borrowed two 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 I gave in. Then I had some lunch in the village, found you fellows, gave you that two dollars, and went to the tent. They had got the ladder and tank filled up, and I got into my tights. Jerry went with me to see fair play. He didn’t want me to try it, Jerry didn’t, but I shut him up and 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 the tank.”

“But supposing you had?” asked Nelson quietly. Dan turned and looked at him a second.

“Well, then I’d got considerably messed up, I guess,” he answered soberly. “Well, I tried a dive from about twenty feet up first; the platform is adjustable, you see; and it went all right. Then I went clear up and tried it from the top. And that went all right too. It seemed a long ways down at first, and I wondered whether the tank would stay there until I got to it. But it did. Then I did it again and tried a somersault. Murray was tickled to death. ‘You stay with us,’ he said, ‘and you’ll be making big money in a year or two.’ Then I thought to myself, what’s the use in doing only one flop when there’s lots 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 was always satisfied with one turn. But I made up my mind to try it, and I did. It was dead easy. Murray wanted to hug me. Then he wanted me to sign a contract for six months and went up on his price; offered me two hundred dollars a month for two performances daily.”

“Gee!” gasped Tom.

“Well, that’s what I thought,” answered Dan with a laugh. “And I had to think a long while before I got up courage to say no. But that wasn’t the 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 the first thing. Nice stunts for a chap who’s just out of bed from typhoid fever!”

“Just out of bed, your granny! Well, anyway, I’ve agreed to do it again to-night.”

“You have!”

“Yep.”

“Oh, cut it out,” said Bob. “We’ve got money enough. Besides, maybe your 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 perform twice.”

“Well, don’t you go and try to improve on it,” begged Nelson. “Don’t try to put in three somersaults instead of two.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Dan, grinning, “that’s an idea! I hadn’t thought of that!”

“Shut up!” begged Nelson. “If you try that trick you’ll be Done-ello for sure.”

“Instead of Danello,” added Tom.

“Wasn’t it great about Barry?” asked Nelson. “He was on my lap and I didn’t know what he was up to until he was kiting across lots with his leash dangling after him. Did you hear the crowd laugh? Barry made the hit of the performance.”

“Well, how about supper? Suppose you fellows come with me. I’m to eat with the push here, and I guess Murray’ll let you come along if I agree to 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 news that Murray had given him permission to take the others to supper as his 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. Jerry found places for them at one end of the long table, and they looked about them with frank curiosity. Overhead naphtha torches flared, throwing deep shadows on the pine boards that formed the table. The sides of the tent were up here and there, and from without came the sound of the crickets, the voices of Mr. Foley and his companion at the stoves, and the scrape and clash of pans and utensils. Inside, the air became hot and heavy under the shallow curve of canvas, the tin plates and cups glimmered, the steam drifted up from the hot viands, and the noise was at first deafening.

This was the first table, Jerry informed them, and accommodated the performers and the “staff,” the “staff” being the management. The canvasmen, drivers, animal men, and the other hands ate later at a second table. Across from the Four sat the ringmaster, between a pleasant-faced and rather elderly woman and a thin youth with pale cheeks whom Nelson recognized as the leader of the “family” of trick skaters. He wondered who the woman was, and would have been wondering yet, 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 walking trip along the island.”

“Is thot so? Well, I didn’t see the jomp myself, but I heard the boys talkin’ 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 robbery and their subsequent adventures, and the little Irishman chuckled enjoyably.

“Sure, ’tis the plucky lad he is. But he’s right, the circus be’s no place for a gintleman.”

“Do you belong?” asked Nelson innocently. Then he blushed and stammered until the Irishman laughed his embarrassment away.

“Sure, there’s no offinse, me boy. I’m no gintleman. Yes, I belongs to the 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 in the side show? No? Well, you’d have seen me there if you’d been. They call me ‘Boris,’ bedad! ’Tis a disgraceful, onchristian name, but it’s money 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’s me shpecialty and I shpake no word of any known language.”

Nelson glanced at the Wild Man’s plate, well filled with steak and potatoes, and laughed. The Wild Man joined him.

“’Tis a faker I am. Me name’s Thomas Cronan an’ I was born in the wilds of 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 ‘Princess Zoe’ and does thricks with three ould shnakes thot’s had the shtingers yanked out of them. She’s a lady, too, me boy, if iver there was one.”

Nelson, to his surprise, discovered that “Princess Zoe” was the nice-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 the horses, you know – till she had a fall and hurted her back. Thin she blached her hair and now they call her an al-bin-o, which is an ungodly name to my mind.”

“She – she sings, doesn’t she?” asked Nelson, observing the young lady in 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 was drivin’ the tent wagon. Thot’s what I used to do. Come an’ see me this avenin’, an’ bring your frinds. Tell Billy Conly, the feller outside, I said 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’re shmall aters on the Tar-tary Shteppes.”