Edgar B. P. Darlington - The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings - or, Making the Start in the Sawdust Life

"Where do they all sleep?" wondered Teddy.

"Who, the ponies?"

"No, of course not. The people."

"I don't know unless they sleep in the cages with the animals," laughed Phil. "Some of the folks appear to be sleeping on the horses."

"I'd be willing to go without sleep if I could be a showman," mused Teddy. "Wouldn't you?"

"Sure," agreed Phil. "Hello! There come some more wagons. Come on! We'll run down to meet them."

"No; Let's go over to the grounds where the circus is coming off. They'll be putting up the tents first thing we know."

"That's so, and I want to be around. You going to work any, Teddy?"

"Not I. I'm going to see the show, but you don't catch me carrying pails of water for the elephants for a ticket of admission that don't admit you to anything except a stand-up. I can stand up cheaper than that."

Both boys slipped from the fence, and, setting off at a jog trot, began rapidly overhauling and passing the slow-moving wagons with their tired horses and more tired drivers.

By the time Teddy and Phil reached the circus grounds several wagons were already there. Shouts sprang up from all parts of the field, while half a dozen men began measuring off the ground in the dim morning light, locating the best places in which to pitch the tents. Here and there they would drive in a stake, on one of which they tied a piece of newspaper.

"Wonder what that's for," thought Phil aloud.

"Hey, what's the paper tied on the peg for?" shouted Teddy to a passing showman.

"That's the front door, sonny."

"Funniest looking front door I ever saw," grunted Teddy.

"He means that's the place where the people enter and leave their tickets."

"Oh, yes. That's what they call the 'Main Entrance,'" nodded Teddy. "I've seen it, but I don't usually go in that way."

With the early dawn figures began emerging from several of the wagons. They were a sleepy looking lot, and for a time stood about in various attitudes, yawning, stretching their arms and rubbing their eyes.

"Hey, boy, what town is this?" questioned a red-haired youth, dragging himself toward the two lads.

"Edmeston."

"Oh, yes. I remember; I was here once before."

"With a show?" asked Teddy.

"Yes, with a Kickapoo Indian medicine man. And he was bad medicine. Say, where can I wash my countenance?"

"Come on; I'll show you," exclaimed Teddy and Phil in the same breath.

They led the way to the opposite side of the field, where there was a stream of water. While the circus boy was making his morning toilet the lads watched him in admiring silence.

"What do you do?" ventured Phil.

"I perform on the rings."

"Up in the air?"

"Uh-huh."

"Ever fall off?"

"I get my bumps," grinned the red-haired boy. "My name is Rodney Palmer. What's your names?"

They told him.

"We're going to be circus men, too," Teddy informed him, but the announcement did not seem to stir a deep interest in the circus boy. He had heard other boys say the same thing. "Is it very hard work?"

"Worst ever."

"When do you sleep?"

"When we ain't awake."

"And you perform on the flying rings?"

Rodney nodded his head indifferently.

"I should think you'd burn the tent up with that head of red hair," grinned Teddy.

Instead of getting angry at the boy's thrust, Rodney glanced at Teddy with a half questioning look in his eyes, then burst out laughing.

"You're a cheerful idiot, aren't you?" he twinkled. "I'll tell you why I don't. Confidentially, you know?"

"Sure."

"I wear a wig when I'm performing. Mebby if it wasn't for that I might set something on fire. I must get over on the lot now."

"You're in a lot already," Teddy informed him.

"We call the place where we pitch the tents 'the lot.' The cook tent must be up by this time, and I'm half starved. The performance was so late yesterday afternoon that they had the cook tent down before I got my supper. Will you come along?"

They did.

"Do you think there is anything I could do to earn a ticket to the show today?" asked Phil.

"Yes, there's most always something for a boy to do."

"Whom do I ask about it?"

"Go see the boss canvasman. I'll point him out to you as we go along."

"Thank you. You want to see him, too, Teddy?"

"No; I don't have to."

"That's him over there. He's a grouch, but just don't let him bluff you. Yes, the cook tent's about ready. I'll sneak in and hook something before breakfast; then mebby I'll come back and talk with you."

"We'll look for you in the show this afternoon," said Phil.

"All right, if I see you I'll swing my hand to you," Rodney replied, starting for the cook tent, where the meals were served to the show people.

"Now, I'm going to see that boss canvasman," announced Phil. "See, they are laying the pieces of the tents flat on the ground. I suppose they fasten them all together when they get them placed, then raise them up on the poles."

"I guess so. I don't care much so long as I don't have to do it."

"Teddy Tucker, actually you are the laziest boy I ever knew. Why don't you brace up?"

"Don't I have just as good a time and better, than you do?"

"Guess you do."

"Don't I get just as much to eat?"

"I presume so," admitted Phil.

"Don't I see all the shows that come to town, and go to all the picnics?"

"Yes."

"Then, what's the use of being any more'n lazy?"

Teddy's logic was too much for his companion, and Phil laughed heartily.

"Look, the elephant is butting one of the wagons," cried Teddy.

"No, they are using the elephant to push the cage around in place. I wonder what's in it," said Phil.

A roar that fairly made the ground shake answered Phil's question. The cage in question held a lion, and a big, ugly one if his voice was any indication. The great elephant, when the cage was being placed, would, at a signal from its keeper, place its ponderous head against one side of the cage and push, while a driver would steer the wagon by taking hold of the end of the tongue.

It was a novel sight for the two boys, and they watched it with the keenest interest. A man dressed in riding clothes, carrying a short crop in his hand, was observing the operations with equal interest. He was James Sparling, the proprietor and manager of the Great Combined Shows, but the lads were unaware of that fact. Even had they known, it is doubtful if Mr. Sparling would have been of sufficient attraction to draw their attention from the working elephant.

All at once there was a warning shout from Mr. Sparling.

The men set up a yell, followed by a sudden scurrying from the immediate vicinity of the cage that the elephant had been shunting about.

"Stop it! Brace it!" bellowed the owner of the show, making frantic motions with his free hand, cutting circles and dashes in the air with the short crop held in the other.

"What's the row?" wondered Teddy.

"I--I don't know," stammered Phil.

"The elephant's tipping the lion cage over!" shouted someone. "Run for your lives!"

For once in his life Teddy Tucker executed a lightning-like movement. He was one of several dark streaks on the landscape running as if Wallace, the biggest lion in captivity, were in reality hard upon his heels. As he ran, Teddy uttered a howl that could have been heard from one end of the circus lot to the other.

A few of the more fearless ones, the old hands of the show, did not attempt to run. Instead they stood still, fairly holding their breaths, waiting to see what would happen next.

Mr. Sparling was too far away to be able to do anything to prevent the catastrophe that was hanging over them, but it did not prevent him from yelling like a madman at the inactive employees of the show.

At the first cry--the instant he comprehended what was happening-- Phil Forrest moved every bit as quickly as had his companion, though he leaped in the opposite direction.