Ross Gilfillan - The Snake-Oil Dickens Man

Merriweather smiled uncertainly. ‘Let me help you to another glass,’ said D’Orleans. ‘I think we understand each other. Now we come to those details peculiar to entertaining Mr Barnum’s party.’

Merriweather sat stiffly, like a rod in a lightning storm.

‘The General will expect special accommodation.’

‘The General?’ said Merriweather.

‘Gen’ral Tom Thumb, o’ course,’ said Wilkes.

‘You’ll know that General Thumb is travelling with Barnum?’ said D’Orleans.

‘I suppose he is,’ said Merriweather. ‘What of it?’

‘It’s your beds,’ said D’Orleans, ‘I measured them at three feet …’

‘And six inches,’ said Wilkes, consulting his notebook.

‘From floorboard to quilt,’ said Mr D’Orleans. ‘They will never do for the General. He will expect a bed of an appropriate size.’

‘Well, where can I get one of those? A child’s crib?’

‘A child’s crib? That would be far beneath his dignity, a gross insult to one of his high standing. Remember that the General has been exhibited at the royal courts of London and Paris …’

‘Then mightn’t he use a set of steps?’

‘That would hardly do! The General is Mr Barnum’s most prized exhibit and personal friend. If all is not acceptable to him, it will be no less so to Mr Barnum himself.’

‘Then what shall I do?’

‘Get a bed made,’ said D’Orleans. ‘And while you’re about it, have the carpenter fashion a wash-stand and chair. And an escritoire, so he may attend to his correspondence.’

‘This is outrageous,’ said Merriweather.

‘And have any regular-sized furniture removed from his room.’

‘Is that everything?’ said Merriweather, weakly.

‘Yes. Excepting the matter of the Indians,’ said D’Orleans.

‘Indians?’ said Merriweather.

‘Just a few Cheyenne, some Apache and a bloodthirsty Kiowa called Yellow Bear who have consented to attach themselves to the circus. They’re perfect gentlemen and won’t give you any problems. So long as you don’t inflame them, of course.’

‘How?’

‘Well,’ said D’Orleans, winking at me, ‘Be sure you don’t put a Commanche in the same bed as an Apache, for one thing. Although I’m given to understand that a Kiowa with a Commanche might be quite safe.’

Merriweather’s eyes were too clouded with the visions of ghostly dollars to see what was afoot but it was now clear to me that Mr D’Orleans or Barnum as we supposed, was having a rare game at Merriweather’s expense. He and Wilkes were enjoying it mightily but no one relished the spectacle as much as myself. In fact, now I remembered how D’Orleans had looked when Merriweather had struck me, I fancied that it might even be for my benefit.

My enjoyment was short-lived. Merriweather invited his guests to take a glass of whisky with him in the saloon, no doubt intending to show them off to his other customers. Wilkes bent over the table and whispered in his ear. Merriweather, his head crooked in my direction, seemed to notice my presence for the first time and snapped, ‘Don’t stand there gawking, Billy. Ain’t you got no work to do?’

IV

I had promised my mother that I would visit her later and was surprised and annoyed when I didn’t find her in her room waiting for me. She wasn’t in the kitchen and didn’t answer when I called up the stairs. I asked Mary Ann if Merriweather had sent her upon an errand, but Mary Ann was too busy scrubbing the pile of dirty dishes our new guests had caused to bother answering questions from me.

I was about to walk over to the livery stables, where she sometimes went to talk to Old Henry, when I heard Elijah’s bell. Wilkes’s high-pitched laughter rang from the saloon accompanied by a low and silken chuckle that I guessed must belong to D’Orleans. Everyone was having a bully time and I longed to hear what was going on. But Elijah had summoned me and I must go. I could have taken the back stairs but instead, I fished my book from my coat pocket and hastened into the saloon, heading for the main staircase. Mr D’Orleans arrested my progress. ‘And where might you be going in such an all-fired hurry? Won’t you sit with us awhile?’

‘Sit down, boy, you might learn something of the world,’ said Wilkes.

‘I have to attend on Mr Putnam,’ I said to Merriweather, showing him the book.

Merriweather exploded. ‘Putnam be damned!’ he said. ‘Our guests have requested your presence. You’ll stay here.’ Elijah’s bell rang once more and so used was I to obeying its call that sitting there while it jangled seemed next to unnatural.

But how mightily pleased I was to join the company and hear Wilkes and Mr D’Orleans entertaining the entire saloon with astounding accounts of Mr Barnum’s Travelling World’s Fair. Mr Barnum was truly an amazing man. He had built himself a palace and called it Iranistan. He took to farming at Iranistan but he didn’t use horses, not he. Mr Barnum’s ploughs were pulled by elephants! He had built his own city. He had the greatest show on earth – a circus, menagerie and marvellous museum all rolled into one – and when it came here, which it would, as soon as Mr D’Orleans sent word that all was satisfactory, we’d see the miracles wrought by P.T. Barnum for ourselves.

Mr D’Orleans said that he’d taken a liking to me and would escort me personally through the menagerie where I’d see wolves and bears and leopards and tigers. And he would take me to the kraal , where we could watch the bareback riders and sharpshooters practising. There’d be dwarves and giants, wire-walkers and acrobats, bear-tamers and lion-slayers. He told Merriweather that it befitted the dignity of the circus to have the best seats occupied by the dignitaries of the town and he would be honoured if the hotel owner would accept the first two complimentary tickets for such seats. Merriweather took the proffered red-coloured tickets while D’Orleans presented a handful of yellow ones to the assembled company. ‘Tell your friends,’ he told them.

‘Don’t let ’em miss the day P.T. Barnum came to town!’

While the crowd was taking up their tickets and talking up P.T. Barnum, Mr D’Orleans said to me, ‘I have quite taken a shine to you, Billy. You’ll help us pave the way for the circus, won’t you? I need someone I can count on.’

‘Oh, I sure will!’ I exclaimed.

‘I’m glad. You can show us a place we can erect the tents and pavilions? And put up signs advertising the coming?’

I could, for sure.

‘And maybe you could also help us with the tickets. Mr Wilkes?’

Wilkes, who had been exchanging a quiet word with Merriweather, gave D’Orleans his ear.

‘I had just been thinking of how matters might be expedited if we were to sell the tickets in advance of the show, as we have sometimes done before. It’s really not too troublesome and it would save much time later.’

‘Well, I suppose we could …’

‘Good, then I shall arrange with Mr Merriweather how we may proceed with sales of the tickets on the morrow.’

I basked in the glow of his attention and had it not been for my mother’s recalcitrance, I should surely have followed the dream that was born then, of slipping away with this circus and never seeing Merriweather nor the Particular again. Here was I, Billy Talbot, who had never been anything and had never looked like amounting to anything, called to assist the most famous showman on earth. What with all the excitement, the merriment and the two glasses of beer I’d just had, I couldn’t help voicing the question that was on the minds of everyone present.

‘Are you Mr Barnum?’ I asked and there was a perceptible hush.

No one could have been surprised at my question, only at my presumption in asking it. In his velveteen suit and silver watch chain, with his chest thrown out and his head back, he had the poise and the stature we would have expected of a legend. But he only laughed loudly and said, ‘Barnum indeed!’