CHAPTER XVI

THE DANCING BEAR

“Have some nuts, Rose?” said Jan Pooke. He had got a large paper-bag full of those he had earned.

“I don’t want any of your nuts,” answered the girl. “I hate hazel cobs, specially when old and dry. I’m going to have some of that sort, and Noah is bringing me some.” She pointed to some Brazil nuts.

“They’re like slugs turned to stone,” said Jan. “There can’t be good eating in such as them.”

“We shall see. Crack them, Noah.”

This was easier ordered than done.

Flood compressed two nuts in his palm, but could not crush them. He tried his teeth, and they failed. He put a nut under his heel, but in the throng was thrust aside and lost his nut.

“I’ll do it presently, Rose, as soon as I can find something hard on which to crack ’em.”

“Do, Noah. I’m longing to eat them. I wouldn’t give a straw for them dried, shrivelled hazel cobs.”

“I promise you I’ll break ’em--the first occasion.” Then, suddenly, “Rose! Kate! Jan! Come along this way; there is a man here with a dancing bear.”

“A bear? Oh, I do want to see a bear!” exclaimed Kate eagerly.

“I don’t care for a bear,” said Rose.

“But he’s dancing--beautiful,” urged Noah.

“Oh, if he’s dancing, that’s another matter,” said Rose.

Kate was most desirous to see a bear. She had read of the beast in Æsop’s Fables--seen pictures of Bruin as he smelt about the traveller who feigned himself dead whilst his fellow escaped up a tree; also as he tore himself with his claws after having overset the hives and was attacked by the bees. She had formed in her own mind an idea of the beast as very big, and as very stupid.

A considerable throng surrounded the area in which the bear was being exhibited, but Jan and Noah were broad-shouldered, and not scrupulous about forcing a way where they desired to pass, and of thrusting into the background others less broad and muscular. Following close after the two young men, dragged along by them, were Rose and Kate, and they were speedily in the inner ring, in full view of Bruin and his master, an Italian, who held him by a chain. The bear was muzzled, and had a collar to which the chain was attached. A woman, in dirty Neapolitan costume, played a hurdy-gurdy and solicited contributions.

The bear was made to stand on his hind legs, raise one foot, then the other, in clumsy imitation of a dance, and then to take a stick and go through certain evolutions which a lively imagination might figure as gun practice.

“De bear--he beg pretty--von penny, shentlemensh!”

Bruin, instructed by a jerk of the chain and a rap, put his front paws together. Then, tired of his upright attitude, he went down on all-fours.

The brute was not equal to Kate’s anticipations, certainly not as massive and shaggy as pictured by Bewick in his Æsop’s Fables. About the neck it was rubbed by the collar, and the hair was gone. Its fur over the body was patchy and dirty. The beast seemed to be without energy and to be out of health. Its movements were ungainly, its humour surly.

Kate soon tired of observing the creature, and would have withdrawn from the ring had she been able; but the crowd was compact behind, and she was wedged into her place.

The passive disposition of Bruin was all at once changed by the appearance of a dog that had passed between the legs of the spectators, and which entered the ring and flew at the bear with barks and snaps.

“De dogue! Take de dogue away!” shouted the Italian. “De bear no like dogue.”

But no owner of the dog answered and attempted to call it off, and the lookers-on were delighted to have the opportunity of seeing sport.

The dog, apparently a butcher’s brute, sprang about the bear, endeavouring to bite, and darting out of his way whenever Bruin struck at it with his fore-paws.

The woman gave up turning the handle of the hurdy-gurdy, and screamed at the dog to desist from irritating the bear, but it paid no attention to her words. Some fellows in the crowd shouted to the assailant to persevere and take a bite.

The conductor of the bear shortened the chain so as to obtain a portion wherewith to lash the dog, but he was as unsuccessful as his wife. These united attempts to drive it off served only the more to incense the dog and stimulate it against the bear. The man became angry as the young fellows encouraged the dog, and as the bear became unruly, and endeavoured to wrench the end of the chain from his hand, so as to have more scope for defending himself against his adversary.

Rose nudged Noah, and said in a whisper, “Knock her workbox from under her arm.”

Flood answered, “’Twould be a shame.”

“I won’t speak to you again if you don’t.”

“Heigh!” yelled Noah; “go it, Towser!”

“Is dat your dogue?” shouted the bearward.

“No, not mine,” answered Noah. “He looks a towser, that’s why I called him so. Go it, Towser!”

When the bear made a dash at his tormentor, the dog sprang back, and the circle that surrounded the area became an ellipse.

On one of these occasions Kate made an effort to withdraw, but Jan caught her by the arm and insisted on retaining her.

“Here comes another!” he said, as a terrier dashed in. “We shall soon have a proper bear-bait.”

The Italian woman had stooped and picked up the baton with which the bear had gone through his drill, and with it she endeavoured to drive away the dogs. The man swore and kicked with his iron-shod boots at them when they came near; but if the dogs showed signs of retreat, they were kicked forward again by the young men in the ring. The owner of Bruin had lost his temper; he saw that the bystanders were amusing themselves at his expense, and that the baited beast was getting beyond his control, being driven wild and desperate by his assailants.

The yelping of the dogs, the cries of the woman and her husband, the cheers and laughter of the crowd, formed a combination of noise frightening to such a girl as Kate.

The bear, frantic at being unable to reach and maul his tormentors, was now tearing at his muzzle. The terrier was on his back, snapping, and the bear rolled over, and with one paw succeeded in forcing the muzzle aside.

At that moment a blow was struck behind Kitty’s back at the workbox she carried, and it was propelled into the arena, where it fell, was broken open, and its contents were scattered--thimble, scissors, reels of black and white cotton, pins and pincushion.

“Who did that? By George, it was you, Noah!” shouted Jan, who happened to have turned at the moment and saw the movement of Noah’s fist.

Kate asked no questions as to who had done her this wrong. With a cry of dismay, regardless of danger, concerned only for her precious workbox and its contents, she darted forward to pick up what was strewn about. For the moment she forgot the presence of the bear and the dogs, and, stooping, began to collect what she could, regardless of the cries of the bystanders. Bruin had at the same time wrenched himself free from his guardians, and had fallen upon one of the dogs, which howled, and bit, and writhed, and rolled over at Kate’s feet.

Jan Pooke, enraged at the cowardly act of Noah, without looking towards Kate, without a thought that she was in danger, struck Flood full in the face with his clenched fist, and Noah, stung by the blow, and already jealous of Pooke, retaliated.

Immediately the ring that had been formed about the bear and dogs dissolved, and re-formed itself into a figure eight about the several contending parties--some clustering round the bear and dogs, others about the two burly young men, whose fight promised to give greater entertainment than that in the other circle.

Kate was suddenly grasped by a firm hand and drawn away out of danger. She looked up, and saw that she was held by Walter Bramber.

“Oh, my workbox!”

“Never mind your workbox. You were exposed to great risk.”

He drew her through the throng.

“Oh, Mr. Bramber, look! look! There is Jan fighting with Noah. It is all because of the workbox. Do go and separate them.”

“Not till I have brought you to your father. You cannot be safely trusted in such a crowd,--at least, not with such reckless and quarrelsome fellows as Pooke and the other.”

“Yes,” said Kate, the tears running down her cheeks, “take me to my father. I wish I had not come here; but indeed--indeed--this is no fault of mine.”

“No; of that I am very sure. You are inexperienced, that is all. There come the constables; they will separate the combatants. Be no further concerned for them. I will not now leave you till you are safe out of the fair.”