Chapter 9

GOOD-BYE TO FAIRVIEW

Looking back at the attic window, Andy Wildwood wondered how he had ever made the successful descent.

Any boy lacking his sense of athletic precision would have scored a dangerous fall. Andy now slowly worked his way down thrown the branches of the tree. He got a few sharp scratches, but was vastly pleased with himself when he landed safely on the ground.

"Good-bye to Fairview!" he spoke with a stimulating sense of freedom, waving his hand across the scene in general. "I may not come back rich or famous, but I shall have seen the world."

Andy did not turn in the direction of Centreville. He felt of the pocket containing his father's watch and the little box, and then headed straight for Millville.

That was where the big scholar, Graham, lived. It was five miles away. Graham boarded with the farmer who had bought Mr. Dale's cow and calf.

Andy had kept Graham in mind ever since he had agreed to pay for burning up the hay stack. It was about two o'clock when he reached his destination.

The night he and his school companions had restored the little calf to its frantic mother, Andy had seen Graham in the window of his room in the old farmhouse.

Andy now looked up at the window of this room. It was open. A trellis ran up its side. The house was dark and silent. He scaled the trellis and rested a hand on the window sill.

"Mr. Graham," he called out softly. Then he repeated the call several times, gradually raising his voice.

There was a rustle of bed clothes, a droning mumble. Andy called again.

"What is it? who is there?" questioned Graham's tones.

"It's me," said Andy. "Don't be disturbed. Just listen for a minute, will you?"

"Eh! Is that Andy Wildwood?" exclaimed Graham.

"Yes," answered Andy.

A white-robbed figure came to the window and sat down in a chair there. Graham rubbed his eyes and stared wonderingly at the strange midnight visitor clinging to the window sill.

"Why, what's the trouble, Andy?" he questioned in a tone of surprise.

"It's trouble, yes, you can make sure of that," responded Andy with a little nervous catch in his voice. "I'm having nothing but trouble, lately. There's so much of it around here that I've concluded to get out of it."

"How get out of it?" demanded Graham.

"I've left home--for good. I want to leave a clear record behind me, so I've come to you. You don't mind my disturbing you this way, I hope?"

"No--no, indeed," answered Graham promptly. "Run away, eh?"

"Yes, I've got to. Aunt Lavinia has had me arrested; she wants to send me to reform school."

"Why," exclaimed Graham indignantly, "that's a burning shame!"

"I thought so. The constable was around last evening. He locked me in the attic for safe keeping, but I got free, and here I am, on my way to--to--on my way to find work."

"Do you mean circus work?" guessed Graham quickly.

"Why, yes, I do. I don't mind telling you, for you have always been a friend to us smaller boys."

"Always will be, Andy."

"I believe that. We all like you. It's this way: I think I have a chance to join a show, and I want to, bad. I shall be paid something. When I am, I want to send it to you."

"To me? What for, Andy?"

"Well, I smashed the desk and pulled down the chimney at the schoolhouse, you know."

"Yes."

"I calculate that damage amounts to about ten dollars. I burned down a haystack belonging to farmer Dale yesterday. Twenty dollars, he says. I've agreed to pay him, and I want you to see the school trustees to-day and explain to them that I'll pay for the desk and the chimney. I told Mr. Dale I would give him my note. I can't just now, but I will mail one, signed, to you."

"Will Dale accept it?" asked Graham.

"Yes, if I secure it."

"Secure it, how?"

"That's why I came to see you," explained Andy. "I've got in my pocket a silver watch and chain and a box ornamented with gold. They were left to me by my father. I want you to take the articles. Explain to Mr. Dale and the school trustees about them--that you are to hold them for the benefit of my creditors, see?"

"That's quite business-like, Andy."

"I will certainly send you some money. As soon as I do, divide it up with the school and Mr. Dale. I will keep you posted as to my whereabouts, but keep it a secret. Will you do all this for me?"

"Gladly, Andy."

"Here are the things," continued Andy, handing over the contents of his pocket. "And thank you."

"Don't mention it. You're all right, Andy," declared Graham in a warm, friendly way. "I shan't encourage you to run away from home, but I won't try to stop you. Have you got any money?"

"Why, no," answered Andy.

"You wait a minute, then."

Graham took the watch and the box and retired from the window. As he returned he pressed a folded piece of paper between Andy's fingers.

"Take that," he said.

"What is it?" asked Andy.

"It's a five-dollar bill."

"Oh, Mr. Graham--"

"No nonsense, Andy. I know from practical experience what it is to start out in the world penniless. I have the money saved up for two years' board and schooling. I won't miss that little amount until way along next fall. You will have paid it back long before that, I'll warrant."

"You bet I will--and you're awful good to me!" declared Andy heartily.

"Just one more word, Andy," resumed Graham earnestly. "If you are determined to be a circus tumbler, be the best or nothing. If you like enjoyment, made it good, clean fun. I'm not afraid of you. I'm only giving the advice of a fellow older than you, who has learned that it pays to be right and do right in the long run."

When Andy once more stood in the road with his royal friend's "Good luck, old fellow!" still echoing in his ears, his heart was very full.

"It's mighty good of him," murmured Andy, safely stowing away the five-dollar bill. "I'll deserve his good opinion, see if I don't!"

Andy walked on a mile or two further. Climbing a fence he made a snug bed alongside a convenient haystack.

The sun was shining brightly when the lad awoke, refreshed and full of spirit and hope. He somehow felt as though he was beginning the most eventful day of his life.

Andy turned his face in the direction of Centreville. He had no idea of going direct there, however, that day.

He did not know how many people from Fairview might have seen him there the day previous. He did know that if Aunt Lavinia was determined to pursue him, the first thing she would think of was his circus predilections.

Andy planned cautiously and with wisdom. From watching the circus posters he knew it's route. Centreville was in another county from Fairview. But Clifton, the next point of exhibition, was in another state.

"That suits me," he murmured.

Andy had an idea that once safely over the state line the law could not reach him so readily as on home territory.

He knew the neighboring towns pretty fairly, and he fixed on Clifton as his destination. Clifton was about eight miles from Centreville.

Andy decided he would go there and put in the time until next morning.

At midnight the show would pull up stakes at Centreville. He would be on hand to welcome its arrival at Clifton.

"Then I will see Miss Starr and Mr. Marco," he thought. "If the circus manager will only take me on, I'll fall into great luck."

Andy got to Clifton about noon. He changed the five-dollar bill, buying a cheap but big dinner, for he was nearly famished.

He learned where the circus was to exhibit, and went to the spot. Some workers were already there, digging trenches, distributing sawdust and the like.

Andy volunteered to help them. It would be good practice in the way of experience, he told himself. Until four o'clock in the afternoon he was quite busy about the place.

He had heard so much circus talk during his free labors that his mind was more full of the show than ever.

Andy had heard one of the workers describe to a new hand all the excitement, bustle and novelty attending a jump from one town to another.

He strolled about the place but grew restive. Just before dusk he bought some crackers and cheese, filled his pockets with the eatables, and started down the road leading towards Centreville.

Andy met an advance guard of the circus about two miles out of Clifton. Some wagons carried the cooking camp outfit. A little farther on he was met by some menagerie wagons.

"They'll come in sections," ruminated Andy.

"The big tent people won't make a start till after the evening performance. I won't risk going any farther. There's an open barn near the road. I'll take a little snooze, and wake up in time to join the procession of big loads."

Andy secured his little cash reserve in a marble bag. He ate some lunch and made for the open structure he had observed.

It was an old doorless barn near a hay press. A great many bales were stack up at one side. Climbing among these Andy found a cozy boxed in space, carried some loose hay to it, and composed himself for sleep.

"Twenty cents a day is pretty economical living," he reflected, as he studied the stars visible through a chink in the roof. "I wonder what the circus people pay a beginner?"

Wondering about this, and a variety of similar themes, Andy dozed, but was suddenly awakened by the sharp snap of a match and a brief flare.

He got up and peered over the edge of the bales of hay that enclosed his resting place.

The moon was shining brightly. Outlined at the open doorway of the barn was a man. He leaned against a post, had just lit a cigar, and was looking intently down the road in the direction of Centreville.

Some wagons rattled by and the man drew inside the barn out of view. Andy made out that he was well-dressed and very active and nervous in his manner.

"That man is waiting for some one," decided Andy, getting interested--"yes, and he belongs to the show, I'll bet."

Andy reasoned this out from the facility with which the man hummed out a tune he had heard the circus orchestra play.

The man paced restively to and fro. He went out into the road and looked far down it. He returned to the barn and resumed his impatient pacing to and fro.

Nearly an hour went by in this fashion. Andy began to consider that he had become curious without much reason. He was about to drop back again to his cozy bed when he heard the man utter an exclamation of satisfaction.

He rubbed his hands and braced up, and as a new figure turned from the road spoke in a cautious but distinct tone.

"That you, Murdock?"

"It's me, sure enough, Daley," came the reply.

"S--sh--don't use my name here. You know--"

"All right. No one likely to hear us in this lonely spot, though," spoke the newcomer addressed as Murdock.

"Well, what have you to report?" questioned Daley eagerly.

"It's all right."

"You've fixed it?"

"Snug and sure. The show will have a big sensation to-night not down on the bills."

The listening Andy heard the man called Daley utter a gratified chuckle.

"Good," he said.

"And there'll be a vacancy on the Benares Brothers' team to-morrow," added Daley, "so give me the twenty dollars."