Four Afoot: Being the Adventures of the Big Four on the Highway

“What are you doing here, Jerry?” asked Nelson.

“I’m cook’s boy,” was the answer. “I joined the show last Wednesday, the day after I seen you. Have some sugar?”

Nelson helped himself, accepted the proffered tin spoon, and stirred his coffee.

“Do you like it?” he asked. “It must be rather a change from the farm.”

“Yes, I like it first-rate,” said Jerry.

“I don’t like to interrupt the meeting of old friends,” said the cook good-naturedly, “but they’ll be in for breakfast in about ten minutes, Jerry, and if you ain’t ready for ’em they’ll scalp you alive.”

“I better be goin’,” said Jerry. “Glad I seen you again.”

“All right,” answered Nelson. “When can I see you? Are you busy all day?”

“No; ’long about ten o’clock I generally don’t have much to do.”

“Good! I’ll look you up then,” said Nelson. “The other fellows will want to see you too; I’ll bring them along.”

“Will you?” asked Jerry eagerly from the door of the tent. “That’s mighty kind of you. Good-by. I – I’ll look for you.”

“Know Jerry, do you?” asked the cook as he pulled a box of tin cups toward him and began setting them on a trestle. Nelson told of their former meeting, sipping the boiling hot coffee the while.

“Well, Jerry’s a pretty good boy,” said the cook. “Tends to his work and ain’t got no highfalutin’ nonsense about bein’ too good for it. Come around and see us again.”

“Thanks,” said Nelson. “I will. And I’m awfully much obliged for that coffee; it went right to the spot.”

“Knew it would. Have some more? No? Well, so long.”

Nelson turned away and retraced his steps. The coffee had warmed him up, and he wished the others could have some. He stopped one of the canvasmen and asked the time.

“Twenty-five minutes after six,” said the man, consulting a big nickel watch.

Nelson thanked him and went on. But it wouldn’t do to wake up the others yet, for, of course, the telegraph office wouldn’t be open before eight, and they wouldn’t want to wait around without any breakfast. So instead of joining them he turned and looked about him. The big tent was up, and so was the dressing tent alongside. The ticket seller’s box was set up beside the main entrance, and men were stretching a forty-foot length of painted canvas across some upright poles. He walked toward them and watched. When finally in place the canvas advertised the attractions of the side show. There was a highly colored picture of “Princess Zoe, the Marvelous Snake Charmer.” The princess was an extraordinarily beautiful young lady and was depicted standing in a regular chaos of writhing snakes, while two others proved their subjugation by twining themselves caressingly about her arms and neck. Then there was a picture of “Boris, the Wild Man of the Tartary Steppes.” Nelson didn’t find Boris especially attractive. According to the picture he was a squat gentleman with a good deal of hair on his face, a remarkably large mouth, a flat nose pierced by a brass ring, and an expression of extraordinary ferocity. Add to that that he was shown in the act of making his dinner on unappetizing-looking pieces of raw meat, and you will understand Nelson’s lack of enthusiasm. Queen Phyllis, the fortune teller, while not particularly beautiful, was much more pleasing to look upon. The last picture was that of “Zul-Zul, the Celebrated Albino Prima Donna,” singing before the crowned heads of Europe. Having exhausted the fascinations of Zul-Zul, Nelson wandered unchallenged into the main tent and found a squad of men erecting the seats. Even that palled after awhile, and he went out again and walked through the lane formed of the chariots and wagons. The cages were still boarded up, but the legends outside threw some light on the identity of the occupants. “Numidian Lion,” he read; “Asiatic Zebra,” “Black Wolves,” “Royal Bengal Tiger.” Now and then a cage would rock on its springs as its occupant moved about, and sometimes a snarl or a grunt reached his ears. A strip of canvas festooned the big tent on the roadside and bore the inscription in big black letters:

MURRAY AND WIRT’SMAMMOTH COMBINED SHOWSAMERICA’S GREATEST CIRCUSAND HIPPODROME!

At a little after seven, having seen all that was to be seen at present, he returned to the camp. On his way he stopped for a look at the elephant and camel, which were breakfasting on a bale of hay. In broad daylight the elephant was distinctly disappointing. He wasn’t much larger than the camel, as far as height and length went, but there was a good deal more of him. He was secured by a short chain which led from an iron ring around one hind foot to a stake driven in the ground. He ate slowly and thoughtfully, with much unnecessary gesticulation of his trunk. He was sadly deficient in the matter of tusks, for he showed only one, and that one had been broken off about three inches from his mouth and looked much in need of cleaning. Yes, Nelson was disappointed in the elephant. Nor, for that matter, was the camel much more satisfying. He was a dirty, rusty camel with a malicious gleam in his little eyes and a forbidding way of snarling his upper lip back over his discolored teeth.

“Oh, don’t be so grouchy,” muttered Nelson. “I’m not going to swipe any of your old hay.”

When he got back to the knoll he found only Barry fully awake, although Dan showed symptoms of wakefulness, muttering away at a great rate and throwing his arms about. While Nelson watched, the expected happened. One of Dan’s arms descended forcibly on Tom’s nose, and Tom awoke with an indignant snort.

“Hello, Nel,” he muttered. “What time is it?”

“About a quarter after seven, I guess. I can’t tell you exactly, for I seem to have mislaid my watch.”

Tom gave his attention to Dan.

“Here, wake up, you lazy brute!” he cried. “Want to sleep all day?”

He accompanied this remark with a violent tweak of Dan’s nose, and the effect was instantaneous. Dan sat up with a start and sent Barry flying on to Bob.

“Wh-what’s the matter?” he asked, startled.

“Time to get up,” said Tom virtuously.

“That’s right,” agreed Nelson. “Everyone’s eating breakfast.”

“Huh!” said Tom. “Wish I was.”

“Who’s eating breakfast?” asked Bob, rolling over with the struggling terrier in his arms.

“Well, the elephant and the camel, for two,” answered Nelson.

“Elephant and cam – !” ejaculated Dan. “Say, that’s what comes of sleeping in the moonlight. I’ve heard of it before. I wonder if you’re daffy, too, Bob. Are you? Try and say something sensible and let’s see.”

“The moonlight can’t have any effect on you,” said Bob significantly. Dan sighed.

“You too! I feared it! Say, Nelson, how are the pelicans and the white mice getting on? Had their hot chocolate yet?”

“I didn’t see them,” answered Nelson. “But the Numidian lion and the royal Bengal tiger aren’t up yet.”

“You don’t say? Dear, dear, most careless of them! Say, Tommy, how about you? Are you – er – ?” Dan tapped his forehead.

“I will be if I don’t get something to eat pretty soon,” replied Tom dolefully. “How soon does that telegraph office open?”

“Eight, I guess,” said Nelson. “Wonder where we can wash up a bit?”

“How about the farmhouse over there?” suggested Bob.

“All right, I guess. Let’s break camp and go over. By the way, I saw Jerry a little while ago.”

“Jerry who?” asked Tom.

“Jerry Hinkley.”

Dan, who had started to get up, sank back again and viewed Nelson with real concern.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded.

“Why, Jerry Hinkley,” answered Nelson with a laugh. “Haven’t forgotten Jerry, have you?”

Dan shook his head sorrowfully.

“No, but you’d better forget him. Joking aside, Nel, what’s the matter with you?”

“Oh, nothing. Or – well, the fact is, I thought I saw things; elephants and camels and – and circuses, you know. I suppose I must have dreamed it.”

“Well, rather!” said Dan relievedly.

“What was Jerry doing?” asked Bob. “Feeding the elephant peanuts or riding the camel?”

“He was setting the table,” replied Nelson gravely.

“Say, you must have had a corking nightmare!” exclaimed Tom. “I did a little dreaming myself; dreamed I was freezing to death, for one thing; but I didn’t see any menageries.”

“Well, come on, fellows,” said Bob. “Pack up and let’s get a move on. We’ll get them to loan us some water over at the house and then mosey toward town. Gee, I’m beastly hungry! Feel as though I hadn’t had a thing to eat for six weeks.”

“I had a cup of coffee about an hour ago,” said Nelson musingly.

“Say, chuck it, will you?” begged Dan earnestly. “You make me feel creepy, Nel.”

“Was it hot?” asked Tom in far-away tones as he tied up his pack.

“Boiling,” answered Nelson. “It was great. I wished you fellows had been there.”

“Thanks. Where was it?” asked Bob. “In the Sahara desert?”

“No; down at the mess tent.”

“What mess tent? Jerry’s?”

“Well, he was there. That’s where I met him. It was the circus mess tent. The cook gave it to me. It was peachy!”

“Su-say!” cried Tom. “Maybe he isn’t lying, fellows! You know there was to be a circus here to-day!”

“Yes, that’s what made Nel dream of ’em,” said Bob.

But Tom was studying Nelson’s face attentively, and something about his smile made Tom suspect that he was on the right track.

“I’ll bu-bu-bet you it’s su-su-su-so!” cried Tom. “Where is it, Nel?”

“Come on,” said Nelson.

They followed him up to the brow of the hill. Before them lay the tents and the wagons, and, nearer at hand, the elephant and the camel were still quietly eating breakfast. They stared in amazement.

“Well, I’ll be bu-bu-bu-bu – !”

“Of course you will, Tommy,” said Nelson soothingly. “Only don’t explode.”

“ – bu-bu-bu-blowed!” ended Tom triumphantly. “Wouldn’t that cu-cu-cu-craze you?”

Then Nelson had to tell them all about it.

CHAPTER XI

IN WHICH JERRY TELLS HIS STORY AND DAN PROVIDES DINNER

They dragged Dan away from the elephant and set out for the town and the telegraph office.

“I hope the money is there,” said Tom. “Of course I want to eat, but to stay here where there’s a circus and not be able to get in would be worse than starving.”

“And such a bee-oo-tiful elephant,” sighed Dan. “I could look for hours at that elephant and watch him curl his trunk up. Why weren’t we made with trunks, do you suppose?”

“I suppose little boys like Tommy would only have suit cases?” inquired Bob.

“Robert, that is a bum joke,” answered Dan severely. “Only the consideration that you are weak and faint from want of food restrains me from punishing you severely. Also Nel.”

“What have I done?”

“It’s what you didn’t do. You didn’t wake me up when the circus walked into our bedroom. Don’t you think I like to see camels and lions and things as well as you do? And hot coffee too! You were pretty mean to have all that fun by yourself.”

“That’s what!” concurred Tom.

“Well, there’s the telegraph office,” said Bob. “Say, fellows, supposing – supposing it hasn’t come!”

“Maybe it hasn’t – yet,” said Dan anxiously. “It’s only a little after eight, and if dad didn’t send it last night – ”

“We ought to have said ‘Send immediately,’” interrupted Bob regretfully.

“That’s so,” agreed Tom; “immediately, if not sooner. But pshaw, why, I can just smell that money!”

“Wish I could smell the breakfast,” laughed Nelson. “Here we are.”

“Good morning,” said Dan. “Anything here for me?”

The operator shook his head.

“Nothing yet,” he answered.

They looked disappointed, and he added:

“Brooklyn’s sort of slow this morning, though; maybe your message is coming.”

“It’s more the money I want than the message,” said Dan.

“Oh, well, the money wouldn’t be likely to get here for an hour or so yet. When was it sent?”

“I don’t know. Last night, I hope.”

“If it was sent last night it ought to be here now,” said the operator.

“What’ll we do?” asked Dan.

“I’m going back to the circus,” said Tom. “If I’ve got to starve I’d rather do it there where I can keep my mind off my troubles.”

“So am I,” said Nelson.

“I guess we might as well all go,” said Dan. “I’ll come back in an hour,” he added to the operator. “It ought surely to be here by that time, don’t you think?”

“I should think so,” answered the operator. “Sorry I haven’t got it for you now.”

“Thanks. It isn’t your fault, though. Come on, fellow-poverns.”

“What’s a povern?” asked Tom.

“It’s a chap who hasn’t any money,” answered Dan glumly, “like you and me, Tommy, and Bob and Nelson – and Barry.”

“Oh,” said Tom disappointedly; “I thought maybe it was something to eat. I guess I was thinking of muffins.”

“Don’t do it; that way lies madness.”

When they turned into the circus grounds again they put Barry back on his leash, for he showed a most unchristian attitude toward the elephant and camel. For an hour they wandered about or sat on some packing boxes at the back of the dressing tent and tried to forget that they were hungry. Then Dan and Barry left them and set off for the telegraph office once more. By that time the scene had become animated again. The horses were being hitched to the wagons and chariots, performers in costume were issuing from the dressing tent, and the elephant and camel were being decked in spangled red blankets. Tom made inquiries and learned that there was to be a parade through Millford and on a mile farther to where the summer colony was situated. Things were quite exciting for the next half hour and when all was in readiness the boys went down to the road to watch the procession pass out.

First there was an intensely dignified gentleman in hunting costume, pink coat, high hat, and all, who rode ahead on a big white horse. Then came the band, eight dejected-looking men in red tunics sitting in a boat-shaped barge. After them followed the elephant conducted by an Irishman in Arab dress who carried a short spear. The elephant’s name, if the faded red blanket was to be believed, was Hercules. The blanket said so in large letters. But the Irish Arab called him “Charlie.” A lady with golden hair, attired in a flowing white costume of cheesecloth made up according to the fashions prevailing in Greece many centuries ago, stood in a golden chariot and drove three well-behaved black horses abreast. A second chariot, drawn by three bay horses, was presided over by a red-faced gentleman in Roman costume. A line of animal cages followed. Then came a small pony cart hauled by a black-and-white pony and driven by a clown, a very sad-looking individual indeed. More cages, many empty; a calliope with the musician smoking a big black cigar; a float upon which five white-cheesecloth-attired ladies sat in various attitudes of discomfort; two lady jockeys driving white horses in tandem; more clowns, one riding a donkey and the others occupying a small carriage; the camel ridden by a man in a pair of baggy blue trousers and a green jacket; three trick ponies led by small boys; an ancient barouche occupied by four gentlemen in full dress and bearing placards advertising the show. That was the last of it. It trailed slowly away in the direction of the village, and the boys slipped off the fence.

“Let’s go and find Jerry,” suggested Nelson. “He said he wasn’t busy at ten, and I guess it must be pretty near that time now. Gee, but I miss my watch!”

“And I miss my money,” said Tom.

“Wait a minute,” said Bob. “Here comes Dan. Did you get it, Dan?”

Dan shook his head sadly.

“Thunder!” muttered Tom.

“Do you suppose your father’s away?” asked Bob.

“I don’t believe so. He doesn’t very often go away. Anyhow, mother would be pretty sure to open the message.”

“I think one of us had better telegraph,” said Nelson.

“Wait until noon,” said Bob.

“We’ll be starved by that time,” objected Tom.

“Look here, fellows,” said Dan. “If that money doesn’t come by twelve o’clock, I’ll get some dinner for you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how yet. But I’ll do it, so don’t you worry. I’m mighty sorry, and I don’t see what the trouble can be.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” said Bob, noting Dan’s downcast looks. “We’ll do well enough. Who wants to eat, anyway?”

“Not I,” said Nelson. “Food has no attraction for me; I’m above it.”

“It’s bad for the digestion,” added Tom. “Let’s find Jerry. Maybe he’ll present us with a crust of bread.”

“If you ask him for food,” threatened Bob, “I’ll lick you, Tommy, till you can’t stand up – or sit down either, for that matter.”

“Who’s going to ask him?” muttered Tom. “I was only in fun.”

They found Jerry sitting on one of the trestles outside the mess tent reading a book. When they hailed him he laid the book aside rather hurriedly, but later Nelson caught a glimpse of the cover. It was a battered arithmetic. Jerry shook hands all around and was formally introduced to Barry, and they climbed to the trestle beside him and asked dozens of questions. Above all they wanted to know how Jerry came to be with the circus.

“It sort of happened,” he said. “The day after you all was at the farm, dad sent me over to Newbury with a load of hay for the circus. I got there about eight o’clock and after I’d thrown the load off I hitched the horses and looked around a bit. And I happened to get along to the mess tent just when Mr. Foley – that’s the head cook and the man that gave you the coffee – was tellin’ Mr. Wirt – he’s one of the proprietors, you know – that he wouldn’t work another day without a boy to help him. You see, the boy they had before I came, had run away two days before, when they was showing at Flushing. So after the boss went away I up and asked Mr. Foley did he want a boy. He said he did, and I said I’d like the job. He looked me over and said for me to go and see Mr. Wirt. So I seen Mr. Wirt, and he hired me. Then I drove the hayrick home and came back in the afternoon.”

“That was slick,” said Tom. “Do you like it?”

“Yes, I like it. It’s kind of hard, but Mr. Foley and Mr. Jones are mighty good to me. I get three dollars and a half a week and plenty to eat.”

“Did your father want you to go?” asked Nelson.

Jerry shook his head.

“No; but after I’d explained to him he didn’t mind – much. You see, it’s kind of lonesome for dad without me there. But I told him I had to earn some money because I was going to school next year, and he said it was all right. Course I ain’t goin’ to stay here all winter. The show goes South next month, and I’m goin’ to quit then. I got a place on a farm promised me in October, over near Barrington.”

“That’s fine,” said Nelson. “You still intend to go to Hillton?”

“Yes. Do you – do you think I could?”

“Of course you can,” answered Nelson heartily. “Only – you’d better study whenever you get a chance.”

“I’m goin’ to.”

“It would be nice,” said Dan, “if you could go to one of the schools around here this winter.”

“Yes; I thought of that,” answered Jerry, “but I couldn’t do it, I guess; leastways, not if I was to make any money. And I got to have money,” he added doggedly.

Dan looked inquiringly at Nelson and Bob, but each shook his head, counseling silence as to their conspiracy.

“Does the circus make much money?” asked Tom.

“I guess so,” Jerry replied. “Sometimes we don’t have very big crowds, and then again sometimes we have to pack ’em into the tent like oats in a grain bin. A good deal depends on the weather, they say. They’re sort of lookin’ for a big crowd this afternoon an’ a slim one to-night. This ain’t a very good show place, Mr. Foley says, but it’s better to make a little here than to miss a performance, like we’d have to do if we went right on to Patchogue.”

Jerry put his hand in his pocket and brought out four soiled oblongs of red pasteboard.

“I thought maybe you fellers would like to go,” he said, handing the admission tickets to Dan. “Those ain’t for reserved seats, but the reserves ain’t much better’n the others, far’s I can see.”

“That’s awfully kind of you,” said Dan, and the others echoed his sentiment.

“Can you get all the tickets you want?” asked Nelson.

“N-no,” answered Jerry; “they don’t give many away.”

“Well, they must like you, Jerry, to give you all these,” said Tom.

Jerry studied his hands a moment.

“I – they didn’t exactly give me them,” he owned finally.

“Do you mean that you bought them?” asked Tom.

“Yes; but ’tain’t anything,” Jerry responded with elaborate carelessness.

“But – but – !” stammered Tom.

Nelson reached across with his foot and kicked Tom’s shin.

“It’s mighty good of you, Jerry,” he said gratefully. “Are you going to be there?”

“Somewheres about, I guess.”

“Well, couldn’t you go with us and – and sort of explain things?”

Jerry’s face lighted eagerly.

“Guess I could if you want me to,” he answered.

“All right. We’ll look for you here, then. What time does it begin?”

“Half-past two. I’ll be here and I’ll look for you. You won’t see as good a show as usual, though,” he continued apologetically. “You see, we ain’t got Donello any more. He left us day before yesterday.”

“Who’s he?” asked Bob.

“He’s the fellow does the high dive,” answered Jerry. “Ain’t you seen the show bills? He climbs up a ladder on to a little platform about thirty feet in the air an’ dives into a tank an’ turns a somersault comin’ down. The bills say that there ain’t but three feet of water in the tank, but that ain’t so, ’cause the tank’s set down in the ground about two feet. It’s a fine trick, that is, an’ the first time I seen it I was most scared to death. But he an’ Mr. Murray had a quarrel, an’ he lit out. Mr. Murray’s been telegraphin’ around ever since tryin’ to get some one to take his place, but I guess he ain’t found anyone.”

“How far did you say he dives?” asked Dan.

“’Bout thirty feet, but it looks a lot more. An’ when he gets up there he says ‘Ready!’ in a little squeaky voice that sounds like he was about a mile away. An’ then the drums beat an’ he comes down headfirst a ways. Then he flips himself over, an’ the ringmaster he shouts ‘In mid-air!’ an’ then Donello he comes plump into the tank headfirst; an’ everyone sets up a shoutin’ an’ a clappin’. It’s certainly” – Jerry searched for a word – “in-spi-rating.”

“It must be,” said Dan gravely. “I wonder what time it is.”

Jerry looked up at the sun.

“’Bout eleven, I guess,” he answered. “I got to get to work. The parade’ll be back in about half an hour, an’ we have dinner at half-past twelve.”

“Well, we’ll meet you here at about a quarter past two,” said Nelson as they slid off the trestle.

“What’ll we do now?” asked Tom.

“Guess I’ll go back to the telegraph office,” said Dan.

“We’ll all go,” said Nelson. “Then if the money’s there we can find some place to have some dinner. We don’t want to miss the show. Isn’t Jerry a corker?”

“He’s all right, Jerry is,” agreed Bob. “What was that word of his? Inspi – ?”

“In-spi-rating,” answered Tom, laughing. “I wish Donello, or whatever his name is, was going to do his stunt. It sounds pretty fine.”

“Shucks!” said Nelson, “that isn’t very much. Why, look here, Dan, you’ve done twenty-five feet often up at camp. And as for turning somersaults – !”

“That’s all right,” responded Tom warmly, “but I’ll bet you couldn’t do it, nor Dan either. It’s one thing to dive into a lake where there’s twelve feet of water and another to dive into a little old tank.”

“Five feet’s as good as twelve,” answered Dan calmly.

“Not for me it isn’t,” said Tom.

“I know, Tommy; it takes more water to float you.”

“Huh!” grunted Tom. “I can beat you floating!”

“I don’t believe you could sink if you tried,” said Dan.

“Then what did you just su-su-say it took more water – ”

“Shut up, you fellows,” interrupted Bob. “Here’s the office. Let’s learn the worst.”

It was soon learned. The operator shook his head before Dan could ask a question. Tom groaned loudly.

“I’ll stay here awhile,” said Dan soberly. “You fellows go on back if you want to. I’ll be there at a little after twelve.”

“Well, all right,” said Nelson. “Only if you don’t hear by that time I’d better telegraph to my folks. Supposing I write out a message now? Then if you don’t get any word you can send it.”

So Nelson wrote a demand for fifty dollars “immediately,” underscoring the “immediately,” although, as Bob pointed out, the operator couldn’t send italics.