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.