Chapter 14

BILLY BLOW, CLOWN

Billy Blow, the clown, woke up just as the wagon reached the tent site at Clifton. It was nearly midnight.

His sleep did not seem to have refreshed him much. He got down from the vehicle like a man half-awake, and as if the effort hurt him. He had to shake himself to get the stiffness out of his limbs.

"Dis vos dot poy I told you aboud, Billy," said the musician.

"Oh, yes, yes," answered the clown in a preoccupied way, with a quick look at Andy. "I'll take him under my wing until Marco comes along. This way, kid. I've some baggage to look after. Then we'll bunk."

Andy bade Hans Snitzellbaum adieu with reluctance. He liked the bluff-hearted old German with his fatherly ways.

"Goot py for dot bresent times," said the fat musician. "Vhen I sees you mit dose tumblers, I gives some big bang-bang, boom-boom, hey?"

"I hope you will," responded Andy with a cheery laugh.

He followed Billy Blow. The latter finally found the wagon he was after. He bundled its contents about and got a small wooden box and a big wicker trunk to one side.

"Wish you'd mind these till I see if I can't make quick sleeping quarters," Blow said to Andy.

"Yes, sir, I'll be glad to," answered Andy willingly, and the clown hurried off in his usual nervous fashion.

Andy was kept keenly awake for the ensuing hour. It did not seem to be night at all. The scene about him was one of constant activity.

Andy caught a glimpse of real circus life. Its details filled him with wonderment, admiration and keen interest.

The scene was one of constantly increasing hustle and bustle. There was infinite variety and excitement in the occasion. For all that, there was a system, precision and progress in all that was done that fascinated Andy.

The boy was witnessing the building of a great city in itself within the space of half-a-dozen hours.

The caravan wound in, section by section. The wagons moved to set places as if doing so automatically, discharged their cumbersome loads, and retired.

First came the baggage train, then the stake and chain wagons, the side shows, paraphernalia, and the menagerie cages.

The circus area proper had been all marked out, the ring graded, sawdust-strewn, and straw scattered to absorb dampness.

The blacksmiths' wagons, cooks' caravan and the minor tents all removed to the far rear. The naphtha torches were set every twenty feet apart to illuminate proceedings. Workers were hauling on the ground great hogsheads of water. Near the dining tents half-a-hundred table cloths were already hanging out on wire clothes lines to dry.

Some men were washing small tents with paraffin to season them against the weather. Finally the great forty-horse team lumbered up with its mighty load. The boss canvasman with half-a-hundred assistants began the construction of "the main top," or performing tent, holding fifteen thousand people.

Andy, absorbed in every maneuver displayed, was completely lost in the deepest interest when a voice at his side aroused him.

"Tired waiting?" asked Billy Blow.

"Oh, no," answered Andy, "I could watch this forever, I think."

"It would soon get stale," declared the clown, with a faint smile. "Give us a hand, partner--one at a time, and we'll get my togs and ourselves under cover."

Andy took one handle of the box, the clown the other. They carried it to the door of one of twenty small tents near the cook's quarters. They brought the wicker trunk also, and then carried box and trunk inside the tent.

Andy looked about it curiously. A candle burned on a bench. Beyond it was a mattress. Near one side, and boxed in by platform sections as if to keep off draughts, was a second smaller mattress.

On a stool near it sat a thin-faced, lady-like woman. She was smiling down at a little boy lying huddled up in shawls and a comforter.

"This is my boy, Wildwood," spoke Billy Blow. "New hand, Midge--if he makes good."

The little fellow nodded in a grave, mature way at Andy. According to his size, he resembled a child of four. That was why they called him Midget. Andy learned later that he was ten years old. He had an act with the circus, going around the ring perched on the shoulders of a bare-back rider. He also sometimes had a part with "the Tom Thumb acrobats," doing some clever hoop-jumping with a trick Shetland pony.

He seemed to be just recovering from a fit of sickness. His face, prematurely old, was pinched and colorless.

"Our Columbine in the Humpty Dumpty afterpiece," was the way the clown introduced the lady. "I don't know how to thank you for all your trouble, Miss Nellis."

"Don't mention it, Billy," responded the woman. "Any of us would fight for it to help you or the kid, wouldn't we, Midge?"

"I don't know why," answered the lad in a weary way. "I ain't much good any more."

"Now hear that ungrateful boy!" rallied Miss Nellis. "Billy, the doctor says his whole trouble was poisoned canned stuff, bad water and a cold. He's broken the fever. Here's some medicine. Every hour a spoonful until gone, and doctor says he'll be fit as ever in a day or two."

"That's good," said the clown, a lone tear trickling down his cheek. "I wish I could afford the hotel for the lad, instead of this rough-and-tumble shack life, but my wife's hospital bills drain me pretty well."

"Never mind. Better times coming, Billy. Don't you get disheartened," cheered the little woman. "Remember now, don't miss that medicine."

Miss Nellis went away. Andy heard poor Billy sigh as he adjusted the larger mattress.

"There's your bunk," he said to Andy. "Marco will see you early in the morning."

Andy took off his coat and shoes and lay down on the rude bed. He watched Midget tracing the outlines of a picture with his white finger in a book Miss Nellis had brought him.

Andy saw the clown go over to a stool and place a homely, old-fashioned watch and a spoon and medicine bottle Miss Nellis had given him upon it.

Then Blow came back to the big mattress and sat down on it. He bent his face in his hands in a tired way. Every minute he would sway with sleepiness, start up, and try to keep awake.

"The man is half-dead for the want of sleep, worn out with all his worries," thought Andy. "Mr. Blow," he said aloud, sitting up, "I can't sleep a wink. This is all so new to me. I'll just disturb you rustling about here. Please let me attend to the little fellow, won't you, and you take a good sound snooze? Come, it will do you lots of good."

"No, no," began the clown weakly.

"Please," persisted Andy. "Honest, I can't close my eyes. Now don't you have a care. I'll give Midget his medicine to the second."

Andy felt a glow of real pleasure and satisfaction as the clown lay down. He was asleep in two minutes. Andy went over to the stool.

"I'm going to be your nurse," he told Midget. "Suppose you sleep, too."

"I can't," answered the little fellow. "I've been asleep all day. Wish I had another book, I've looked this one through a hundred times."

"I could tell you some stories," Andy suggested. "Good ones."

"Will you, say, will you?" pleaded the clown's boy eagerly.

"You bet--and famous ones."

Andy kept his promise. He ransacked his mind for the brightest stories he had ever read. Never was there a more interested listener. Andy talked in a low voice so as not to disturb the clown.

Midget seemed most to like the real stories of his own village life that Andy finally drifted into.

"That's what I'd like," he said, after Andy had told of some boyish adventures back at Fairview.

"Oh, I'm so tired of moving on--all the time moving on!"

"Strange," thought Andy, "and that's just the kind of a life I'm trying to get into."

Midget became so animated that Andy finally got him to tell some stories about circus life. All that, however, was "shop talk" to the little performer, but Andy learned considerable from the keen-witted little fellow, who appeared to know as much about the ins and outs of show life as some veteran of the ring.

He enlightened his auditor greatly in the line of real circus slang. Andy learned that in show vernacular clowns were "joys," and other performers "kinkers." A pocket book was a "leather," a hat a "lid," a ticket a "fake," an elephant a "bull." Lemonade was "juice," eyes were "lamps," candy peddlers were "butchers," and the various tents "tops," as, for instance: "main top," "cook top," and the side shows were "kid tops."

Finally little Midge went to sleep. Andy woke him up each hour till daybreak to take his medicine. After the last dose Andy went outside to stretch his limbs and get a mouthful of fresh air.

He saw men still tirelessly working here and there. Some were housing the live stock, some unpacking seat stands, some fixing the banners on the main tent.

Andy did not go far from the clown's tent. It was fairly dawn. Happening to glance towards the chandelier wagon he came to a dead stand-still, and stared.

"Hello!" said Andy with animation. "There's that Jim Tapp, and the man with him--yes, it's the fellow, Murdock, I saw with Daley in the old hay barn."

As he stood gazing Tapp caught sight of him. He started violently and spoke some quick words to his companion, pointing towards Andy.

"That's the man who cut the trapeze," murmured Andy. "I'll rouse the clown and tell him. He's a dangerous man to have lurking around."

"Hey! hey!" called out Tapp at just that moment.

Both he and his companion started running towards Andy. There was that in their bearing that warned Andy they meant him no good. Andy did not pause.

"Stop, I tell you!" shouted the man, Murdock.

Andy made a bee-line for the clown's tent. As he neared it he glanced back over his shoulder.

Tapp was still putting after him. His companion had stooped to pick up an iron tent stake from the ground.

This he let drive with full force. It took Andy squarely between the shoulders, and he dropped like a shot.