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| author | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-03-24 06:52:34 -0700 |
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| committer | www-data <www-data@mail.pglaf.org> | 2026-03-24 06:52:34 -0700 |
| commit | 310eb74987ccdd1646d3b9691361ffb89c8301ab (patch) | |
| tree | cb8b0841d1fdd6a2bd551a5c03b94d5a228ed30d /78288-h | |
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diff --git a/78288-h/78288-h.htm b/78288-h/78288-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ab50e8c --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/78288-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9123 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Under the big top | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} + +hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 47.5%; margin-right: 47.5%;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdlx {text-align: left; padding-left: 1em;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; + color: #A9A9A9; +} /* page numbers */ + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +.fs80 {font-size: 80%} +.fs90 {font-size: 90%} +.fs120 {font-size: 120%} +.fs150 {font-size: 150%} +.fs200 {font-size: 200%} + +.no-indent {text-indent: 0em;} +.bold {font-weight: bold;} +.wsp {word-spacing: 0.3em;} +.lh {line-height: 1.5em;} + +p.drop-cap { + text-indent: 0em; +} +p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + float: left; + margin: 0em 0.1em 0em 0em; + font-size: 250%; + line-height:0.85em; +} + +.upper-case +{ + text-transform: uppercase; +} + +h2 {font-size: 130%; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.6em; word-spacing: .3em;} + +.pageborder {width: 300px; border: 1px solid; padding: 10px; margin: auto;} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3.0em;} +.poetry .indent1 {text-indent: -2.5em;} + + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp10 {width: 10%;} +.illowp100 {width: 100%;} +.illowp85 {width: 85%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78288 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 85%"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<h1> +UNDER THE BIG TOP +</h1> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter pageborder"> + <p class="center bold"> + By Courtney Ryley Cooper + </p> + +<p class="no-indent"> + <span class="smcap">The Cross-Cut</span><br> + <span class="smcap">The White Desert</span><br> + <span class="smcap">Under the Big Top</span><br> + <span class="smcap">The Last Frontier</span><br> + <span class="smcap">Lions ’N’ Tigers ’N’ Everything</span> +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<figure class="figcenter illowp85" id="i_f004" style="max-width: 43.25em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_f004.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <p class="center no-indent"> + SCOTTY, AND GRIT, THE LION SHE ADOPTED. FRONTISPIECE.<br> + <em>See Page <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</em></p> + </figcaption> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent wsp"> + <span class="fs200 bold">UNDER THE BIG TOP</span><br> + <br> + <em>By</em><br> + <span class="fs120">COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER</span><br> + <br> + <br> + <em>With Illustrations</em></p> + <br> + <br> + <figure class="figcenter illowp10" id="i_f005" style="max-width: 12.9375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_f005.jpg" alt=""> +</figure> + <br> + <br> +<p class="center no-indent wsp"> + BOSTON<br> + <span class="fs120">LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY</span><br> + <span class="fs90">1924</span> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent fs90"> + <em>Copyright, 1920, 1921, 1922, 1923</em>,<br> + <span class="smcap">By Courtney Ryley Cooper</span>.</p> + <hr class="r5"> +<p class="center no-indent fs90"> + <em>All rights reserved</em><br> + <br> + <br> + <br> + <span class="smcap fs90">Printed in the United States of America</span> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="center no-indent lh"> + <span class="fs80">TO</span><br> + <span class="smcap">Harry Tammen</span><br> + “With Love and Good Cheer” +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS"> + CONTENTS + </h2> +</div> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdr fs80"> +CHAPTER +</td> +<td class="tdl"> +</td> +<td class="tdr fs80"> +PAGE +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +I +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +<span class="smcap">The Why of the Circus</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_1">1</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +II +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +“<span class="smcap">Those Press Agents!</span>” +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_21">21</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +III +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +<span class="smcap">But We All Like It</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_48">48</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +IV +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +<span class="smcap">On Entering the Menagerie</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_75">75</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +V +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +<span class="smcap">Our Friends, the Elephants</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_93">93</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +VI +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +<span class="smcap">When the Animals Escape</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_115">115</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +VII +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +<span class="smcap">Mothers of the Menagerie</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_136">136</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +VIII +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +<span class="smcap">In the Steel Arena</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_161">161</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +IX +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +“<span class="smcap">The Circus Man’s Best Friend</span>” +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_180">180</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +X +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +<span class="smcap">The Children of the Big Tops</span> +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_193">193</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdr"> +XI +</td> +<td class="tdlx"> +“<span class="smcap">The Show Must Go On!</span>” +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#Page_212">212</a> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"> + LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + </h2> +</div> + +<table class="autotable"> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Scotty, and Grit, the lion she adopted +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_f004">Frontispiece</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +</td> +<td class="tdr fs80"> +PAGE +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +The circus unloads in a conspicuous place +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p010a">10</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +“Here comes the parade!” +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p010b">10</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +“To such Indians as Short Bull, Buffalo Bill was little less than a god” +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p046a">46</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +“And upon this platform—!” a side-show crowd +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p060a">60</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +An orang-outang husband and wife +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p092c">92</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Casey, who died of appendicitis +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p092d">92</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Kas and Mo practising their act +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p102c">102</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Moon and Snyder in the performing arena +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p102d">102</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +“Cap” Richards, who fights animals for a living +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p118c">118</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +One of those placid United States Government Hyneys +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p118d">118</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +“I’ve got him eating out of my hand!” +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p172a">172</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +The boys are counted upon as a part of the equipment +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p182c">182</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Enough seats must be put into place to accommodate a whole village +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p182d">182</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Children of the Big Tops. One is the daughter of a lion trainer, the other the cub of a trained lion +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p194a">194</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +The clowns are always ready to amuse a circus baby +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p198a">198</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +Stuck! +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p222d">222</a> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="tdl"> +A runaway circus wagon +</td> +<td class="tdr"> +<a href="#i_p222c">222</a> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> + + + <p class="center no-indent wsp fs200 bold"> + UNDER THE BIG TOP + </p> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I"> + CHAPTER I + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE WHY OF THE CIRCUS</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Snow</span> is flying. It is early March, and cold. +Hardly what one would call “circus” weather, +yet there under the train sheds it stands at the +end of a south-bound passenger train, a thing of +resplendency, of silver and gold lettering, of backgrounds +in which the main color is a beaming red, +while along the length of it is emblazoned the +caption:</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> + <div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“<span class="smcap">Biggest Circus on Earth</span>”</div> + <div class="verse indent1">“<span class="smcap">Advertising Car No. 1.</span>”</div> + </div> + </div> +</div> + +<p>From ahead the “highball signal.” A few quick +handshakes, a last recounting of orders from the +general agent who talks to his car manager until the +last possible moment. A rear platform, crowded +with strong-shouldered young men, milling and jostling. +A cheer. The train is moving. Soon only +the owner and his general agent remain on the +station platform, watching the red and gold car as +it travels far into the damp, cold haziness of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>railroad yards, finally to disappear. The circus +season has begun!</p> + +<p>Rather, the first physical demonstration of a beginning +has taken place. In reality, for the show +owner, the season begins when the season ends. +Paradoxical? Not a bit. To circus goers the circus +season concludes in the autumn. To circus makers +the next season begins at the same time. A big +show doesn’t “just go on the road.” Circuses, to +their makers, are an exact science. When the show +comes home in the autumn, they begin their preparations +to send it forth again in the spring. They +know what wagons to repair, what painting is necessary, +how many railroad cars must be discarded +and replaced by new ones; whether the “big top” or +main tent will stand another season and where the +show is to travel in the summer days to come. It +doesn’t “just happen” that a circus goes to a certain +town. The reason why has been studied out long +in advance, and the show arrives for one of two +reasons; either there is a surety of sufficient money +to make a profitable day’s business, or it is necessary +to play the town in order to reach one farther +on where the crowds are sure and the money certain.</p> + +<p>Circuses don’t “take all the money out of a +town”; neither do they always play at a certain +place “just because it’s a good show town.” Often +it isn’t, and the big organization loses money, leaving +more cash in the village than it took away. But a +show train can travel only about one hundred and +fifty miles a day, at the most, and if there isn’t sure +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>money within three hundred miles, it must take the +best it can get and be satisfied. I have seen “canvas +op’rys” exhibit in places where the traveling population +of the show was greater than that of the village +itself! And it is all carefully figured out in +advance, with every possible circumstance taken +into consideration; crops, money conditions, hard +or good times, floods, forest fires,—everything which +can affect a pocketbook. If Jonesville and Thomasville +lie within twenty miles of each other, and +Jonesville has had a disastrous flood in its surrounding +country while Thomasville has escaped, +the circus is routed to Thomasville. How +does the circus know? It must know, for knowing +is part of its life.</p> + +<p>There is no other business organization which +pays more attention to the various local conditions +of the United States. The informants +are the owners of the billboard privileges +in each town along the proposed route, playing a +good business policy by telling the truth about their +community; often a circus general agent has the +news of a crop failure even before the Department +of Agriculture! So every town is picked, every +town is known. If a State capital has only a small +population, when does a circus play it? When the +legislature is in session and the town is crowded! +Does a circus play a college town in July? Hardly, +but it will be glad to pay a visit in April, May or +late September. The students are there at those +times; in July they have gone home. The circus +knows! More, the circus prepares; long before the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>snows begin to melt, even the size of the show has +been decided upon, according to the money conditions +of the country.</p> + +<p>So the departure of the “bill car” or advertising +car is a carefully thought out, preconceived thing. +It is to arrive at a certain town in the far South +on a certain day, stay there so many hours and depart +at a certain time. All season it must live up to +a schedule,—that of being three weeks ahead of the +show. If it loses a day through storm or accident, +then its men must do double work, a “brigade” of +billposters being dropped at one town to look after +the billposting, banner tacking, country routes and +“programming,” while the car, short-handed, hurries +on to the next town and overtakes its schedule, +leaving the “brigade” to catch up as best it can.</p> + +<p>For the circus accepts no outside assistance; it +depends upon nothing but itself and its own finely +attuned organization. Theatrical companies leave +their billposting to local concerns. It has the time +to do so. A circus must move day by day; consequently +it has its own railroad cars, its own +equipment, its own men for everything. The “bill +car” carries its own boiler for making paste; its +lockers are filled with “paper” or billing sufficient +to last two months at a time. Above these are +berths where sleep the twenty or twenty-five men +who make up the car, the billposters, “tack spitters” +or banner men, the lithographers, the “squarers” +or men who obtain permission for the posting of +paper or the tacking of banners, and the manager. +It costs the world’s biggest show two thousand dollars +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>a day for its “advance” alone, for the mere +publicity and promotion which heralds the coming +of the circus!</p> + +<p>More than a hundred men travel ahead of the +show, merely to bring it to a town. There is the +general contracting agent, who makes all the primary +arrangements, who arranges contracts for the +circus grounds, for the billboards, for the exhibition +and parade licenses, for the banners which overnight +appear on the front of trolley cars, or flutter from +the span wires, for the ten tons of hay, the five +tons of straw, the three hundred bushels of oats, the +twelve hundred bushels of bran, the one hundred +and fifty bales of shavings which are used by the +show to sprinkle in entrances and rings and hippodrome +track—sawdust, in spite of tradition, is +not used about a circus—for the cord of wood +necessary to keep up steam in the calliope, the ton +of coal which will be consumed in the big traveling +ranges upon which is cooked the food for the +thousand or so persons of the show, and the nine +hundred loaves of fresh bread for humans and two +hundred loaves of stale for the polar bears. To +say nothing of a broken-down horse or two to be +killed for the lions, tigers and cat animals, and the +buying of ton after ton of beef from the divisional +supply houses of the big packing companies for the +human complement of the show.</p> + +<p>This completed, the agent hurries on, each day a +constant round of contracts. A single item may bring +its difficulties: suppose, in the year that has passed +since his last visit, the usual show grounds has been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>cut up into building lots! He must find another, +fully five hundred feet square, fairly level, rentable +at a reasonable price, not too far from the center +of town and easily reached by main trunk car lines. +It isn’t easy. But he does it.</p> + +<p>Then arrives the “Number 1” car, with its billposters, +banner men and “country routers.” Some +of the billboards are contracted for and are easily +covered with the brilliantly lettered advertising +posters. In which, you’ve perhaps noticed, is a predominance +of red. The reason is simply that red +is an elemental color. It is the children’s favorite. +The circus appeals to the elemental, to the child in +us all. Hence—red!</p> + +<p>Each man on the “bill car” has his job. It is +the duty of the “banner squarer” to argue the +owner of any building with a blank wall which can +be seen from a downtown street, into allowing that +wall to be covered by cloth announcements proclaiming +the coming of the circus—without payment in +actual money. The banner squarer who buys space +for anything except passes to the circus, and general +admission passes at that, is looked down upon by +his fellow workers as a coward and disloyal. Isn’t +a circus pass the most valuable thing there is?</p> + +<p>Once that permission is gained, the “tack spitters” +or banner men begin their work. No matter +how difficult the wall may be, they will cover it. +If it is too high to be reached by ladders, they will +swing a scaffold from the top and there, in hot sun +or chilling rain, fill their mouths with broad-headed +tacks and work their magnetized hammers at a speed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>of fully forty blows to the minute. And a “tack +spitter” actually spits tacks—or rather, blows +them—by rolling them one by one to his lips with +his tongue, flat side toward the waiting hammer, +then propelling them by air pressure to the magnet. +An expert can hit the magnetized end of his hammer +at two or three inches; others prefer to merely force +the tack through their lips on the end of their tongue +until it reaches the magnet. Thus, with one hand +holding the canvas in position, the other swinging +the hammer, and with nothing to hold them to their +scaffolding save their sense of balance, these men +work sometimes as high as two hundred feet above +the ground and brave the death of broken ropes, +a misstep or being literally blown from their dangerous +position,—to advertise a circus they never +see!</p> + +<p>Remember, the billposter and the banner man +must always be from a week to three weeks ahead +of the show, depending upon which of the three +advertising cars he accompanies. The result is +that all he actually knows of his own circus is what +he sees in the posters he daily distributes.</p> + +<p>Incidentally a circus isn’t content with merely billing +the city in which it is to show. Its territory +of potential patrons extends for a distance of forty +miles on every side of the show place, and these +forty miles must be covered by each bill car in a +single day. Hence men depart by rail, buggy and +automobile for the “country routes,” and if they +don’t get back in time,—sorry, but the car must +move, and they catch up as best they can.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span></p> + +<p>There are three such cars with the big shows, one +three weeks ahead, one two weeks and the last one +only a week. The job of the last two named is to +do everything that hasn’t been accounted for before, +to renew billing that has been torn by wind or washed +by rain,—and to fight!</p> + +<p>For circuses quarrel. It is a battle to a business +death once one circus crosses the trail of another. +Every big show carries in advance what is known +as an “opposition brigade” with no other duties +save to fight the like brigades of other shows. As +fast as one circus puts up a piece of billing, the +“opposition” attempts to cover it. The result is +flying paste brushes and buckets, faster flying fists, +broken noses, black eyes, police, jail, bail,—and +the same thing over again until one side tires and +quits, or circus day arrives to end the war of the +opposition crews. This part of the “advance” +knows no schedule, nothing, in fact, except to fight +until a battle is won or lost. Sometimes a billboard +will bear as many as ten or twelve layers of posters, +each alternate layer representing a different show; +the last and winning layer slapped into place a bare +twelve hours before the arrival of the contending +circuses!</p> + +<p>Then there are the press agents who flit here and +there, doubling on their tracks, dropping in at a +newspaper in one town during the morning, appearing +at another newspaper office fifty miles away in +the afternoon, and still a third or perhaps a fourth +farther on that night, according to the flexibility of +train schedules. To say nothing of the “checkers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span>up” who inspect the work of the various cars and +the “opposition brigade” and send each night a +report of good or bad work to the general agent. +And after all these are gone—</p> + +<p>There comes the twenty-four-hour man.</p> + +<p>They originally called him that because he came +to town twenty-four hours before the circus arrived. +A better reason might be because he works nearly +twenty-four hours of the day. His is the task of +seeing that every contract is ready to be fulfilled, +that the fire department will have a man stationed +at the fire plug nearest the circus lot to provide +water for the sprinkling carts, horses, elephants and +lemonade, that the circus grounds itself is in shape +to receive the big show, any high weeds cut away, +holes filled, hummocks leveled off; that the sidewalk +crossings are well provided with boardings to +protect them from the heavy wheels of the circus +wagons, all bridges safe on the parade route, and +on that which leads from the unloading point to +the circus lot, the licenses granted, food ready; and +after checking up on some twenty or thirty additional +items he can sleep until four o’clock in the +morning, when he must awaken to await the arrival +of the show trains, arouse the various crews, and +guide the cook-house wagon with its chefs, waiters +and flunkeys, to the circus lot that preparations may +be begun at once for breakfast. Yet there are +those who believe that a circus “merely comes and +goes!”</p> + +<p>Did you ever notice for instance that the show +trains are always “spotted” at the same place? +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>Did you ever seek the reason? There is one—rest +assured of that—a circus never does anything +without its consideration of cause and effect!</p> + +<p>A big show must record receipts of from $6,000 +to $14,000 a day in order to live, such are a single +day’s expenses according to the size. Often it exhibits +in towns which have barely more than twelve +thousand or fifteen thousand population and to gain +a livelihood, not a single opportunity must be missed, +not a solitary chance to get one more person into +the big tent passed by. Therefore, from the minute +that circus arrives in town, it must do its utmost to +flaunt itself before every available person and breed +the desire to visit the grounds where roar the lions +and the tigers, where the bands play and the bespangled +actors flash about the arena. It has one +message and one alone, that of the instillation of +the holiday spirit, the creating of an atmosphere by +which a person says involuntarily and then repeats:</p> + +<p>“Circus day—circus day—circus day!”</p> + +<p>So it chooses a spot to unload where it can be +seen by men going to work, by the early rising newsboy, +and found easily by those hundreds of +enthusiasts who set their alarm clocks for the gray +of dawn “to see the show come in.” It sends its +wagons to the circus grounds along routes selected +for the same purpose—a circus wagon never goes +up a side street when it can traverse one where a +greater number of persons can see it. Always must +that message be sent broadcast:</p> + +<p>“Circus day—circus day!”</p> + +<p>And did you ever notice that there is no conveyance +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>which makes exactly the same sort of noise +as a circus wagon? There’s a different truckling +about the wheels, a different, hollower resonance +as the axle flanges touch the steel of the hub rims. +It’s meant to be that way; a circus wagon wouldn’t +be such if it were like any other vehicle. It must +shout its announcement from curb to curb, so that +even the preoccupied citizen looks up and says to +himself, “Circus day!”</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p010a" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p010a.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + THE CIRCUS UNLOADS IN A CONSPICUOUS PLACE. <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p010b" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p010b.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + “HERE COMES THE PARADE!” <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>And it does seem that there are more and better +horses with the circuses nowadays than there once +were, though of course there were always plenty of +them. Is it because the wagons are heavier or—?</p> + +<p>Not at all. Simply because horses are going out +of fashion; draught horses are seen rarely on the +streets any more. Every one loves the sight of a +pretty horse. A good-looking equine exhibition on +the street to-day is almost as much of a curiosity as +an automobile once was. So the circus has plenty!</p> + +<p>Why—every one asks the question—are those +little red flags stuck about a circus ground before +ever a tent goes up? Do they mean anything? Or +are they there just so that the drivers will know +where to bring their wagons? Their meaning is +simply this,—that without them, there might not +be a circus. Those little red flags, fluttering at the +end of thin iron stakes stuck into the ground, are +the map of the big show. They have been placed +there by a hurrying lot superintendent, and to the +workmen, the canvas men, the roughnecks—</p> + +<p>Beg pardon? Not “roughnecks” in the general +acceptance of the term. The circus is a land of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>slang. Its people and workmen and departments +are designated by argot terms which mean a separate +division of the circus. “Roughnecks” are common +workmen. Plank men and seat men are those who +erect the seats to accommodate the thousands who +gather at the afternoon and night performances. +“Canvas men” load and unload the tents and aid +in their erection. The “big top gang” works nowhere +except on the “big top” or main tent.</p> + +<p>“Razorbacks” load and unload the cars. +“Kinkers” are performers; “flunkeys” those who +wait upon the people of the circus in the “cook +house” or eating tent. “Punks” indicate a boy, +an animal, anything not yet arrived at the age of +maturity. Those who work in the side show belong +to the “kid-show” crew. The entrance, where you +give your ticket to the bawling attendants, is the +“marquee.” The attendants of the menagerie are +“animal men.” The lions and tigers and leopards +are “cats.” Anything in the pony, goat, llama or +bovine class, which can be taken to the circus grounds +at the end of a rope or halter is “led stock.” And +the elephants are “bulls.” But to return to those +little red flags:</p> + +<p>They form a book of information. They tell the +drivers, the workmen and others just where the big +top will be, where the connections must be made to +lead to the menagerie at one end and the stables +and dressing tents at the other. They show the +position of the “midway” and the side show,—in +fact, every one of the fourteen or so tents which +go to make up the mushroom growth of canvas +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>which constitutes the circus. Once they make their +appearance, the rest is comparatively easy. The +long center poles are placed and raised into position. +The canvas travels upward. The tableau wagons +and animal dens are wheeled into line. A bugle +sounds—</p> + +<p>“Hold-d-d-d-d yoah ho’sses. The elly—phants +are coming-g-g-g-g!”</p> + +<p>There are few horses to hold these days as the +gleaming, resplendent parade turns into the main +street, with its crowded curbings, its balloon vendors, +its shouting fakirs and excited children. But a +circus lives to a certain degree in the past. That +bellowing warning has been a part of circusdom for +years. It is expected, and therefore it is given. A +parade wouldn’t really be a parade without it.</p> + +<p>Nor without the balloon vendors. Did you ever +stop to consider that they might be present along +the crowded streets to breed atmosphere as much as +anything else? Bright colors—cheery colors. +Remarks about the circus and the fact that this is +the glad holiday of them all:</p> + +<p>“Buy baby a bal-loon! Buy baby a nice red +bal-loon. Baby won’t be happy when she goes to +the circus without a bal-loon. Remember, when +baby goes to the circus—buy baby a bal-loon.”</p> + +<p>The old power of suggestion! <em>When</em> baby goes +to the circus! Baby may have been scheduled to +return home just as soon as she saw the parade. +But now it’s a different matter. Baby’s never seen +a circus; it might as well be now!</p> + +<p>And the parade is passing! Every one in it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span>seems happy. And bright. And cheerful. And +smiling. Seems impossible that some one out of +that long procession should not possess a grouch. +But they’re all smiling because—</p> + +<p>It’s part of their work to smile, in parade and +performance. Isn’t a circus the typification of happiness? +Isn’t it the bespangled fairyland which +drops out of the night, glories in the sunlight, then +fades with the gathering darkness? Smile—smile—smile! +That is the order, and it is carried +out.</p> + +<p>Three lions’ cages have passed, with the sideboards +down and the pacing animals displayed. +Then a cage which is closed. Certainly if they could +leave three cages open, they could leave a fourth. +Wonder what’s in that cage; it must be valuable, +something out of the ordinary or they would show it.</p> + +<p>There you stand and wonder, wonder at a game +that is as old as that of Adam and Eve and the +Serpent, old as the world itself,—that of Curiosity. +What’s in that wagon? What’s in that +wagon?</p> + +<p>Nor do you stop to consider that this may be the +purpose of the whole parade, this play upon curiosity +and upon the child-like credulity that is in all of us. +The billboards, with their big, red letters, have +announced a mile-long street parade, which will +present a sample of everything that is in the big, +wonderful circus.</p> + +<p>One little word has stuck in your mind. A +sample! From childhood days that has meant +something very, very small with which you raced +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>to the store, that you might return with a yard-length +match for it. The thing you got was so much +bigger than the sample. If it requires a mile to +display a <em>sample</em> of the circus’s charms, what must +the real thing be? You reason without considering. +Then—what were in those closed wagons? Besides, +if the lion trainer can sit in the cage with three +lions during parade, merely as a sample, what must +he do in the performance!</p> + +<p>Here comes a wagon with ten clowns atop it. +The billboards said there would be fifty clowns—count +’em—fifty, in the performance. That must +be true. There are ten here, just as a sample!</p> + +<p>How that one thought sticks! Then the band +plays. The horses prance, as though they were +dancing for sheer joy. Of course they aren’t trained +to dance in parade. Why should they be?</p> + +<p>Why? Just so that they will achieve the object +which that whole parade pursues, the embodiment +of joy, of light-heartedness, the appeal which touches +the hearts of us all when there is even a mention +of a cessation of work and worries, of a real, true +holiday. So the horses dance, and the clowns grimace, +and the big-footed policeman in the tiny +police patrol picks up an urchin for a half-block’s +ride, and the calliope player turns to the hundred +or so children trotting in his wake with the question:</p> + +<p>“Well, kids, what’ll it be next?”</p> + +<p>Oh, there’s joy about a circus parade, joy beyond +the gleam of the gold and silver, the blaring of the +bands, the glittering of the spangles upon the +dresses of the equestriennes,—the joy of a thing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>well done, of an experiment in psychology worked +out to the <em>nth</em> degree. There goes another closed +wagon. Perhaps it’s got the rhinoceros in it! Or—may +be—didn’t some one mention the fact that +the circus had a new sort of animal that no one +in town ever had seen before?</p> + +<p>Oh, well. Ho hum! Half the day gone. Nobody +at the office will be fit for work, anyway. +Guess you’ll go to the circus!</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>“Now-w-w-w-w, ladies and gentlemen-n-n-n, there +are yet fortay-y-y-five minutes before the big show +begins. Fortay-y-y-y-five minutes. A long time to +wait, ladies-s-s-s and gentlemen. So we have arranged +for your benefit a special exhibition in the +Grand Annex and Museum of Wonders to delight +the eye, please the brain and sharpen the intellect. +If you will just step a bit closer-r-r-r-r—r!”</p> + +<p>“I have brought out before you, ladies-s-s-s and +gentlemen, a few of the strange and curious-s-s-s +peo-ple who go to make up this Museum of Wonders. +Starting at the right—”</p> + +<p>Why have you stepped closer? You really hadn’t +intended to move at all. But you did, didn’t you? +Because some one jostled slightly; wasn’t that it? +The human is an obliging person. Some one jostled +and edged closer. The operation had started with +only four or five men, far out there at the edge of +the crowd. Naturally you haven’t seen them,—a +hundred other persons have jostled forward since +then. Could they have been men in the employ +of the side show, paid to move forward at the signal, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>and by one little movement cause a whole crowd +of hundreds and hundreds of persons to obey that +command from the “ballyhoo” man?</p> + +<p>Incidentally, he’s talking again, describing all the +“strange and curious-s-s-s peo-ple,” urging that you +become better acquainted with them inside. And +repeating:</p> + +<p>“Fortay-y-y-y-five minutes to wait. Don’t spend +your time on the hot, dusty, circus lot. Fortay-y-y-y-y-y-five +minutes to wait. Plenty of time before the +big show. Fortay-y-y-y-y-y-five minutes.”</p> + +<p>So you go in. Humans hate to wait. Circuses +learned that almost as soon as the humans. For +aren’t circuses human themselves? After that—</p> + +<p>“The B-e-e-g show! This a-way to the b-e-e-g +show! Performance starts in five min-utes! Buy +yoah tickets for the be-e-g show!”</p> + +<p>It’s crowded about the ticket wagon. Up at the +window the ticket seller is scooping in money with +both hands, apparently throwing it on the floor. +You’ve heard that about ticket wagons before,—about +how they throw silver and gold and paper bills +indiscriminately about them until they stand literally +knee-deep in money.</p> + +<p>But inside the ticket wagon all is orderly. The +silver passes into one drawer just below the marble +plate of the ticket window. The gold goes into +another. The currency travels into deep wicker +baskets, one for dollar bills, one for fives, one for +tens, and one for any denominations above that. A +circus isn’t so unbusiness-like, after all! Then you +go onward.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span></p> + +<p>Through those gates at last! What a crowd! +What a jam; why can’t they make them bigger?</p> + +<p>They could. But then that wouldn’t cause a +crowd. A crowd, you know, means popularity. +Like breeds like. There might be fully a hundred +dollars, even more, wandering about out there on +the circus grounds that would be lost if the front +gates didn’t indicate a rush on the part of all +humanity to get inside. Strange how they think of +those things!</p> + +<p>What was that the ticket taker said to the fat +woman who was trying to smuggle her ten-year-old +boy through by carrying him in her arms? Wasn’t +it:</p> + +<p>“Hey, Lady! Put down that there young man +an’ let him carry you! Twenty-five cents more for +the young man, Lady.”</p> + +<p>And what was it the manager had remarked to +himself as the protesting fat woman had paid the +extra money:</p> + +<p>“Put the most honest woman in the world on a +street car or at a circus gate with a kid, and she’ll +lie her head off to get him through for half-fare!”</p> + +<p>The menagerie. You’ve often wondered about +menageries, why circuses go to the expense of carrying +them. Yet—</p> + +<p>Perhaps you’ve never realized that were it not +for the circus menagerie, a great part of the youthful +population of the United States would be devoid of +an education in natural history. That most of the +towns which a circus visits are without a zoo, and +that the only chance which the population has to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>view jungle or strange beasts is when the show comes +to town?</p> + +<p>Also that the circus, utilizing everything, even as +a packing house makes some use of every by-product, +keeps its cost of operation down through that very +fact? That there are many municipalities which +would charge exorbitant licenses were it not for the +fact that the circus has certain educational features +in its menagerie that are necessary to the education +of its youth?</p> + +<p>More, the animal actors of the show are the +cheapest actors a circus can carry. They draw no +salaries and require no expensive food, and they +serve a triple purpose: they take part in the parade, +they form the menagerie and they work in the big +show—all without salary. And now:</p> + +<p>Now-w-w-w-w, the b-e-e-g show!</p> + +<p>Just like a great big family, isn’t it, going through +its stunts? But it isn’t.</p> + +<p>It’s a community, with community lines, class, +divisions and society!</p> + +<p>Every grade of performer belongs to a certain +Strata. The contortionist is not on the same plane +with the aerialist, nor is the aerialist as high in +social life as the equestrienne. Speaking of equestriennes, +why are they able to stay on those horses +so easily? And why are ring horses invariably +white, gray, or dappled?</p> + +<p>That’s why: so the equestriennes can stand on +their backs! But that’s no answer. Pardon, but +it is. Powdered resin, if you ever have seen it, is +white. Powdered resin prevents one from slipping. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>But it can’t be noticed when it is sprinkled on the +back of a white or gray horse!</p> + +<p>All but over! Into the hippodrome track go +the rumbling chariots, each with its horses four +abreast. They’re off! The whites are in the lead—if +they’ll only hold it! But the blacks have +gained! They’ve passed the whites! Now they’re +neck and neck again! A cheer! The whites are +ahead again! Neck and neck once more. Now +the blacks are in the lead! Now the whites! And +they cross the tape nose and nose!</p> + +<p>But it was a good race. If they could only have +gone around the track once more—</p> + +<p>They would have finished nose and nose again! +For a circus is in the game of pleasing every one, +those who want the blacks to win and those who +favor the whites! So, at every turn, at the end of +the track, the inside chariot veers to the outside +rail, while the outside chariot cuts across to the +inside track. The difference in distance brings +them neck and neck,—and so they might race forever!</p> + +<p>And that, really, is the secret and the why of the +circus; the pleasing of every one. After all, it’s +a simple task, for the circus has learned one great +thing,—that somewhere in our hearts is something +that never grows up, that old though we may be in +years, the child lives within us just the same, and +whether we be seven or seventy, that “something” +answers the call of happiness, invariably!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II"> + CHAPTER II + <br> + <span class="fs80">“THOSE PRESS AGENTS!”</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Once</span> upon a time, there was an elephant +which objected to going into a cage. Because +of that fact, a million dollars or so +was made, and he ceased to be “just an elephant.” +He formed a forerunner of national advertising, and +a synonym for everything that is big. He lives +to-day, nearly thirty years after his death, in Jumbo +peanuts, Jumbo soap, Jumbo shoes, Jumbo bananas, +Jumbo this, that and the other thing. All because +a press agent “slipped it over.”</p> + +<p>To you who are not familiar with the inside workings +of a newspaper, let it be known that there is +but one person in the entire newspaper world who +is to be feared. Public officials must either walk +the straight and narrow path, or be shown up for +their misdeeds. The rich and powerful “influence” +may exert his czarism over a newspaper office +for a certain length of time, but sooner or later, +the newspaper exposes him, and sets him right—or +wrong—in the eyes of the people. For everything +there is a remedy, except for the press agent, +the man who is employed by amusement enterprises, +hotels, railroads, and other forms of trade which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>live through the constant interest of the public, to +arouse that interest by more closely personal means +than the ordinary methods of the advertising +columns. The press agent has but one duty, one +desire, one god,—to outwit the newspaper. +What’s more, he does it.</p> + +<p>Incidentally, a press agent isn’t what his fiction +description would have him. He neither wears a +checked suit and red vest, nor talks in a loud voice. +Too often he is a college bred man, with a brain +which measures up to his salary. He is the high-finance +artist of newspaperdom, and his methods +are as diversified as the colors of the rainbow. All +too often he does not appear; when he is unseen +and unnoticed, then he is doing his hardest work. +He is the general in command of the forces of an +endless contest, and his army of ideas changes with +the moods of the public. The last time you ate a +Jumbo peanut, you paid homage to a press agent +who played his trick more than a quarter of a +century ago!</p> + +<p>All of which does not mean that the press agent +is a menace. Often he is a power for good. But +a newspaper likes to believe that it is printing facts, +not the output of an imagination. It likes to believe +that its news is legitimate and that it is not +some carefully concocted affair designed to make +persons hurry to a certain playhouse or a certain +circus. Therefore when an actress is robbed of her +jewels, the city editor cynically throws the story, +which has come through the regular channels of +a report to the police, into the wastebasket. When +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>a wildly dishevelled young lady hurries to headquarters +to tell of her suffering in the secret harem +of some modern Bluebeard, a reporter is assigned +rather hastily to discover whether a motion picture +of that sort is to be exhibited soon. When a society +burglar begins to operate in town, leaving peculiar +notes behind him, there is the question as to +whether it is the forerunner of a publicity plan for +a Raffles drama. Behind all this sort of thing, all +too often, is to be found some keen-witted young +man who never even goes near a newspaper, whose +name often is not known, who chuckles at his success, +and whom the city editor cusses long and +enthusiastically when the game works. It is a joyful +battle which never ends, which is carried on in +good nature—for the simple reason that there’s +no other way to combat it—and in which the honors +are even. Sometimes it is the newspaper which +wins, with the result that months of work are lost. +Sometimes it is the press agent who is victorious,—with +the result that history is made. In the light +of which you may remember the name of “Death +Valley Scotty,” who was supposed to own a mysterious +mine in the heat-ridden regions of Death +Valley. Scotty wanted to get rid of some of his +surplus wealth. He made a record-breaking trip +across the country on a special train, threw money +from the rear platform, turned Broadway upside +down, making his name—and the name of the +railroad which carried him across country—known +to every person in the United States. But +Scotty couldn’t do it again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> + +<p>All for the reason that hundreds of visages would +become sour. Hundreds of directing minds of +newspapers would remember the trip which Scotty +made once before and the delight of the publicity +department of a certain railroad. Hundreds of +lips would grunt: “Press-agent stuff!” and throw +the dispatch in the wastebasket.</p> + +<p>But to return to the elephant which didn’t care +to get into a cage, for it was then that the press +agent really started. Before that time he had been +a person who would glide into a newspaper office, +leave his “press stuff”, buy the editor a drink and +give him a few complimentary tickets to the circus +or the play, whichever it happened to be. Sometimes +too, just for the publicity it would cause, he +would engage in a duel with an opposing press agent, +or perpetrate some minor exploit which would get +the name of his show into the paper. But all +thought of national and even international publicity +was beyond him. Then an elephant lay down and +refused to budge; and the whole world sat up as a +result of it!</p> + +<p>His name was Jumbo, which, at that time, meant +nothing. A tremendous pachyderm of the African +species, he had been exhibited for years at the +London Zoölogical Gardens. Naturally, being an +elephant, Jumbo was a favorite with the children, +who gathered about him on every exhibition day, +to feed him peanuts and to watch his lumbering, +ungainly antics. That was the end of their interest. +Then along came P. T. Barnum.</p> + +<p>No circus in America, at that time, ever had possessed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>a menagerie that could be featured. In fact, +until this time—it was at the beginning of the +80’s—the freak had been the main advertising attraction. +Three-legged calves, double-headed +ladies, the “Horse with his Tail where his Head +Should Be”, and other exhibits of this nature had +been looked upon as the very last word in circus +exhibits. Even the “Cardiff Giant”—which was +the invention of George Hull, who lived at +Binghamton, New York, and who carved the +“prehistoric man” from a solid block of stone, +dotted him with pores, buried him for two years, and +then “discovered” him while making an excavation—had +become common enough for various enterprising +side-show attraction purveyors to advertise +“Cardiff Giants, guaranteed against cracking, peeling +or blistering”, at a very reasonable price. The +circus business, in fact, needed a rejuvenation, and +Barnum sent emissaries to Europe with instructions +to buy menagerie features, such as “twenty camels, +thirty ostriches, and other big stuff.” Naturally, +one of the agents saw Jumbo and cabled Barnum +regarding him. The reply was an order to buy.</p> + +<p>In Jumbo there was nothing unusual—to the +circus man—except that he was to be advertised +as the biggest elephant in the world. To carry this +thought, his name on the advertising bills had been +changed to “Mastodon”, and the posters already +printed. The directors of the Zoölogical Society +had set the price and agreed to the sale. The brief +announcement had been made in the London newspapers +that Jumbo, a favorite with the children at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>the Zoölogical Gardens, had been sold to P. T. +Barnum, the widely known American circus man. +There was nothing more to the transaction. Jumbo +was going to America, and while a great many +children felt sorry, that was the end of it. Then +the unexpected happened!</p> + +<p>Jumbo had been accustomed to a life of ease and +tranquillity. His quarters had been—to an elephantine +mind, at least—spacious and exceedingly +comfortable. Therefore, when strange men attempted +to prod him into the big, barred cage in +which he was to be confined on the journey to +America, Jumbo did exactly what any petted, pampered +elephant would do under the circumstances. +He refused to enter. More, when they sought to +force him, he flopped to the floor and with pachydermic +grunts announced that if he was going into that +cage, he’d have to be carried. Which was no small +job, considering the fact that Jumbo measured his +weight by the ton. Then came the inspiration.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, school children found themselves +listening to a tearful tale by a mournful appearing +gentleman, who told them in sympathetic fashion +how Jumbo, the pet elephant, had refused to leave +the little children whom he loved so well. Wasn’t +it cruel that a circus man should take away a loving, +kind-hearted pet like Jumbo? Poor old Jumbo, +who loved the children so that he could not bring +himself to leave them! Nice old Jumbo, who even +now was trumpeting and bellowing and resisting all +efforts to place him in the cage that would remove +him forever from his little playmates! It was just +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>about this time that the children began to realize +how much they loved Jumbo,—that Jumbo, in fact, +had been a great, wonderful thing in their lives. +A few of them cried for pity. It was the beginning +of the end.</p> + +<p>Would the dear little children care to circulate +petitions asking for the retention of their dear old +playmate? Of course, it was none of the affable +stranger’s business; he really didn’t care, one way +or the other, what happened to Jumbo. But he +really did hate to see a money-grabbing circus man +break up such a wonderful friendship as had existed +between dear old Jumbo and all the childhood of +London. Naturally, the fact that the London Zoölogical +Society had been glad to part with the beast +for the simple reason that its African blood made it +intractable, often surly, and sometimes dangerous, +was not mentioned. Nor the very apparent truth +that Jumbo’s refusal to enter that cage easily could +be traced to a streak of ugly temper. The very +soft-hearted men who went about London, interesting +children, teachers—and of course, parents—in +the sad fate of Jumbo, and the blank lives of +London’s childhood once the pachyderm had been +kidnapped from their midst by a cold-hearted, calloused +circus man who didn’t and couldn’t +understand the tenderness of an elephant’s heart, +said nothing to indicate that they were connected +in any manner with the brutal circus man whom +they berated. Child after child took the petitions +and began to circulate them. Boys and girls who +never had seen even a picture of Jumbo wept over +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>the elephant’s fate,—and circulated more petitions. +Teachers began to talk about the horrible affair +and wonder where they were to take their wards +on holidays when Jumbo, dear old Jumbo, was torn +from them forever. Parents, excited by the red +eyes and woeful mien of their offspring, began writing +letters to the papers, and every day the circus +men tried and tried and tried to get dear old Jumbo +into the cage. But Jumbo wouldn’t go; he loved +the little children with such fervor that he simply +refused to leave the old home fireside. Strangely +enough, the circus men used very crude and uncouth +methods. They pushed Jumbo and struck him and +mistreated him and cursed him. Hard-hearted +circus men!</p> + +<p>By this time, the newspapers had placed Jumbo +in the position of honor upon the first page. They +had been forced to it. Jumbo had become news, +real news. The Humane Society had begun to fight +the cruel circus men, impelled by influences which +had back of them those same hard-hearted beasts +who were trying to tear Jumbo from his happy +home. Suits were started, in the effort to gain injunctions +against the removal of the pachyderm. +Guiding spirits appeared, who suggested that there +should be parades of children in protestation +against the removal of the beast. They were held. +The whole city of London now was in a ferment +over Jumbo. More, what interested London at that +time, interested the whole world, with the result +that the cables soon were carrying their burden of +the troubles of “the biggest elephant on earth.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> + +<p>Back in America printing orders hastily were +rescinded and remodeled. The name of “Mastodon” +now meant nothing. The word “Jumbo” +had become a household affair; day after day the +cables carried the news of London’s uproar. Day +after day passed without the circus men succeeding +in getting Jumbo into his cage.</p> + +<p>The directors of the Zoölogical Garden were attacked +and threatened with removal from office. +The sadness of Jumbo’s departure even found its +way into Parliament, where a speech was made, full +of tears and pleading, in the hope that something +might be done to prevent the removal of the most +beloved thing of childhood, the dear old elephant +Jumbo. Even Queen Victoria was appealed to, in +the hope that she might be able to devise some way +to save the mammoth elephant. More, the Queen +even took the time to give her views on the subject, to +sympathize both with the children and with the +elephant,—but Jumbo was sold. Into slavery he +must go.</p> + +<p>But this was not the end. Jumbo had a wife—Alice. +Soon the cables were buzzing with sympathetic +stories regarding her. Every sob sister +that London possessed was at work on the Jumbo +story now; every organization which was interested +in the slightest manner in dumb animals was protesting, +petitioning, even threatening. Nor could +the repeated assertion of the Zoölogical directors +to the effect that they had sold Jumbo because he +was intractable, unmanageable and possibly dangerous +make the slightest patter in the sea of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>disapproval. Day after day,—then the circus men +took inventory of their accomplishments.</p> + +<p>To date, figured at space rates, the Jumbo excitement +had brought them exactly a half million +dollars in advertising. The peak had been reached. +The decision was made to transport Jumbo. And +strangest of the strange! Once that decision came, +Jumbo entered his cage! The circus men simply +changed his food from its accustomed place to the +shipping den, and in went Jumbo. But even then +London didn’t awaken.</p> + +<p>They followed him to the docks, thousands of +children, and as many women and men. Banners +were carried protesting, even to the minute of the +ship’s sailing. The cables that day buzzed the news +that Jumbo had been taken away just in time to +evade the mob spirit and to escape a concerted attack +of thousands which would have resulted in +bloodshed—and the retention of Jumbo in London, +thus leading to international complications and a +possibility of diplomatic correspondence—over an +elephant! When Jumbo landed in America, the +police reserves were needed to keep clear the docks. +Such is the value of publicity.</p> + +<p>Is it any wonder therefore, that even to-day +Jumbo is a trade name in a hundred diversified +branches? Jumbo did a good many things for +national advertising. More, he gave one of the +first great lessons in a good name properly exploited. +Yet Jumbo was the result of a press-agent inspiration! +More, the strangest part of it all is the +fact that years later, Jumbo lived up to the high-mindedness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>and spirit of good-heartedness with +which he had been credited. He died a hero!</p> + +<p>It was at a grade crossing, and the circus was +“loading out.” Jumbo, slightly in the lead of a +baby elephant, had crossed a railroad track, then +turned just in time to see that the life of the calf +was endangered by the swift approach of a switch +engine. The great beast turned; with head lowered, +he butted the baby out of the way of the engine and +into a zone of safety, only to be struck himself and +killed,—while saving a life! But this really wonderful +thing brought but little publicity. Jumbo +was dead; the press agents were busy on more live +and more useful things.</p> + +<p>Thus goes the story of the press agent; look +behind some of the best remembered things of +America, and you will find him pulling the strings. +For instance, even to-day it is a common expression +to say that a person has a white elephant on his +hands. It came from a press agent. More, the +really queer thing about it was the fact that the +man who had the white elephant really and truly on +his hands possessed a genuine white pachyderm, +while the one who caused the trouble had only—</p> + +<p>Perhaps the whole story can be repeated. It is +known only to showmen, and it is the story of a +fight between a genuine white elephant and one +which—well, which wasn’t. Again Barnum was +one of the participants, while on the other end of +the contest was Adam Forepaugh, a rival circus +owner. Both were to exhibit in Philadelphia at +the same time, and for that exhibition, Barnum had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>saved his greatest trump. He had actually procured +the thing which, at that time, was the dream of +every circus owner,—a sacred white elephant from +India. Almost simultaneously there came a dispatch +from Algiers saying that the Barnum elephant +was a leprous imitation, and that the real white +elephant of sacred descent was being shipped, not +to Barnum, but to Adam Forepaugh. It was the +beginning of a white elephant war.</p> + +<p>Again did elephants become news. The city was +plastered with posters, while billposters engaged in +fist fights and the police patrols were kept busy. +The curiosity of the public had become aroused. +The papers did the only possible thing,—printed +the news. The rival exhibitions came, with the +result that both shows did an overwhelming business. +The Barnum circus displayed an elephant with +a cream-colored blaze down its trunk and light +spotted legs, as real a white elephant as ever a white +elephant could be. But at the other show was “The +Light of Asia,” a great beast covered by a large +velvet-spangled cloth, with a head, trunk and legs +of purest white. Moreover, the audience was invited +to step up and touch it! Which the audience +did.</p> + +<p>In the performance, “The Light of Asia” was +brought in, stripped of its velvet trappings and +placed on a large stage, where a “professor” lectured +upon its life, history and habits, meanwhile +dodging dexterously that the affectionate beast +might not rub against him. The head and trunk +and legs of the beast had been carefully enameled, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>but that was as far as the risk could be taken. +More enameling might have clogged the pores of +the skin and killed the beast; hence the rest of the +body had been kalsomined only. But to the public, +this was the real white elephant, while the other, +possessed by Barnum, was only a poor imitation. +The result was that when interest in white elephants +waned, Adam Forepaugh washed the paint from +his pachyderm and again became the owner of an +ordinary elephant. Barnum wasn’t as lucky. +Nature had given his beast its coloring, with the +result that he had “a white elephant on his hands,” +about which the public cared nothing, because it was +considered only a poor imitation!</p> + +<p>Nor is this the only time when the real has been +forgotten and the bogus become the real. Nor the +only instance when an elephant has figured in “press +stuff.” For in a certain portion of the Middle +West, the name of Rajah is a household affair, while +in the newspaper offices of that section of the +country the same name recalls some pleasure and +a good measure of chagrin. Rajah formed the +basis of many a column of free publicity, which +explains much, especially why the press agent exists, +why the newspaper editor cocks his head and narrows +his eyes at the slightest hint of “press stuff”, +and why the actress who loses her jewels doesn’t +get her name in the paper. It is what might be +called “insidious promotion.”</p> + +<p>When a newspaper prints an advertisement +stating certain things, and displayed in advertising +type and in an advertising manner, the person who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>reads it knows it to be an advertisement and takes +the statement as that of an interested person who +desires to sell his wares. Naturally, he understands +that this person wants to sell what he offers and that +he is telling its good points to the exclusion of +all else. It is an equitable affair in which the +seller talks to the buyer through the medium of +print.</p> + +<p>But when a press-agent story is printed, the basis +is different. Now, it is not the seller who is striving +to arouse interest; it is the newspaper itself which +is speaking as a third party. The seller himself has +ceased to exist. An outside person is doing the +talking, and in a confidential manner which causes +more interest than all the advertising in the world. +More, that newspaper is responsible, and the person +who reaps the benefit isn’t. Hence the press agent, +whose job is to get into the newspapers what the +newspapers do not desire to print. All of which +rounds out the prelude to Rajah.</p> + +<p>There wasn’t anything marvelous about him. +He was only an elephant which belonged to the +Lemon Brothers Circus, which, at that time, maintained +its winter quarters in Argentine, Kansas, +about seven miles from Kansas City, Missouri, and +its several large newspapers. One day the press +agent of the circus looked long and seriously at +Rajah. However, once his idea had come into being, +he didn’t seek the newspapers. In fact, he kept +as far away as possible. Instead, he went to the +menagerie superintendent and with him held a long +and confidential conversation. That night, a riot +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span>call rang in from Argentine. Rajah had escaped!</p> + +<p>What really had happened was the mere fact that +the menagerie superintendent had loosened Rajah’s +chain and kicked him out the door of the menagerie +house, leaving him to wander at will. Which Rajah +did. The unexpected always causes excitement, +with the result that when Rajah poked an inquisitive +trunk into the front door of a grocery store that +was keeping late hours, it formed the beginning +of a young panic.</p> + +<p>The word spread. Persons sought the tops of +their porches, barricaded their doors and telephoned +for the police. Those who happened to be on the +sidewalk at the time the big pachyderm wobbled +up the middle of the street, took to trees and telephone +poles. The police arrived, looked at Rajah, +held a consultation, decided that an elephant was +too large to be arrested, and put in a hurry call for +the fire department. The fire department arrived, +looked for a fire, couldn’t find any, and turned the +hose on Rajah. Which Rajah didn’t relish. So +he leaned against a barn or two, smashed them, +walked through a few fences, and the panic was on +again with renewed excitement.</p> + +<p>Rajah had become a “story” now. He had interested +the multitude and stampeded his way into +print. A riot call is news. The next day, Rajah +and the fact that he belonged to the Lemon Brothers +Circus was on the front page of every paper—with +pictures of the scene of the rampage. Which +meant just this to the press agent: without cost, +the press agent, simply by kicking poor old Rajah +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>out of the menagerie house, had obtained the usually +unattainable.</p> + +<p>Back in his stall, Rajah existed in peace until +another inspiration came. It was during flood +times, when the Kaw and Missouri rivers were far +out of their banks and overflowing the “bottoms” +regions of Kansas City, Armourdale, Argentine and +other suburbs. Naturally, the newspapers were +printing every line that hard-working reporters +could obtain. And on the first page was Rajah!</p> + +<p>He had become news again. A train had been +stalled in the danger zone; the locomotive was dead, +and there was no switch engine available. It was +then that Rajah had come to the rescue, to act as a +switch engine and save human lives. After that, +Rajah became an influential elephant.</p> + +<p>Every few weeks his trainer would be dangerously +injured and taken to his home. Just why he +wasn’t taken to a hospital wasn’t explained. Then, +at intervals of a month or so, Rajah would break +loose again, until at last Argentine became somewhat +accustomed to see a lost elephant loping up the +street, and the news value departed. But there still +remained hope, even in a shopworn performance.</p> + +<p>Early one morning—just when Argentine was +doing its best sleeping—mysterious telephone calls +began to shoot about the little town. Rajah was +loose again, and this time he was dangerous! He +had mangled an assistant keeper, broken down the +door of the menagerie house and was out for blood!</p> + +<p>Things seem worse at two o’clock in the morning +than they do at two o’clock in the afternoon. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>Again the riot calls went in, and when the police +arrived, it was to find a number of circus men patrolling +the streets, all armed with rifles.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got our orders to kill him!” they announced +grimly, and went on searching for Rajah.</p> + +<p>But Rajah was lost. Parties of police, determined +circus men, all looked for Rajah in vain. +The menagerie house was empty; the doors were +broken. Rajah was gone, and Argentine perspired +with excitement. Every barn was suspected, every +vacant lot. Houses were locked and barred, lest +Rajah, coming suddenly out of hiding, should move +in that direction.</p> + +<p>Two days went by, in which Argentine forgot +everything else and looked for Rajah, in which the +newspapers of Kansas City sent special representatives +to write the story of a lost elephant and a +terror-ridden town, and in which hurrying circus +owners went about from one detachment of searchers +to another, sorrowfully but grimly repeating the +order:</p> + +<p>“This is the end. If you see that elephant, +shoot, and shoot to kill! We’d rather see him dead +than endangering lives and property this way. Kill +him!”</p> + +<p>But there was no Rajah to kill!</p> + +<p>Another day slid by and into gloaming. Then +the word went forth. Rajah had been found! He +had waded out through the Kaw River to a small +island, and there he had established his little empire. +Again was shouted the order:</p> + +<p>“Shoot and shoot to kill!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span></p> + +<p>Round after round banged forth from the rifles. +But two things prohibited Rajah being killed. One +was the fact that it was dark now, and that Rajah +couldn’t be seen. Another was a matter which +wasn’t mentioned at the time: the cartridges which +were being fired contained no bullets!</p> + +<p>It was all very exciting and melodramatic: the +shouts of the hunters, the blaze of the rifles as they +spat forth their yellow flare into the night, the sorrow +of the circus owners over the loss of their +prized elephant, the fear of the townspeople; it was +news of a different and thrilling sort, and the melodrama +lasted until the morning papers had passed +their press time. Then the firing ceased, in the +hope that Rajah was dead. Dawn revealed the fact +that he wasn’t, and with the knowledge, the last card +was played.</p> + +<p>“Men,” it was the menagerie superintendent +speaking, “I hate to give up like this. Rajah’s always +liked me, and I’ve—I’ve always thought a +lot of him. I think just enough of him to—to risk +my life to bring him back again.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t permit it!” A terribly frightened circus +owner had interrupted. “I’m not going to have +you killed just to—”</p> + +<p>“I’ll sign an agreement, if you want me to, +that you won’t be responsible if I’m killed.” +The menagerie superintendent was bent glumly +on suicide. “But, whether you want me to or +not, I’m going after Rajah! And I’m going +alone!”</p> + +<p>Whereupon, midst the gasps of the multitude, in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>the gray and cheerless dawn, he rowed out into the +Kaw, straight toward the terrible beast which awaited +him there on the island. Two or three thousand +hearts halted in their beating. Two or three thousand +pairs of lungs labored in their breathing while +the trainer cut down the distance with slow, steady +strokes of the oars, passed out of earshot of those +who waited, hoping that he wouldn’t be killed, yet +reflecting upon the fact that they’d never seen a man +murdered by an elephant. On he went, fearless, +intrepid. The boat grated on the sand of the island, +the trainer leaped forth, grasped his bull-hook +a bit tighter, and headed straight toward the +elephant.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Rajah,” he announced.</p> + +<p>Rajah, not being gifted with conversational powers, +couldn’t answer. So he did the next best thing, +the kneeling salaam which he had learned in the +ring. The trainer sunk the bull-hook gently behind +one ear.</p> + +<p>“Come on home, Old Kid,” was his command. +“Guess we’ve pulled enough excitement to last ’em +awhile.”</p> + +<p>Far across the river, on the bank, it all looked very +stagey and thrilling. It appeared even worse when +the trainer, with shouts and dramatics, forced the +poor old elephant to wade the river. Then the +crowd scattered as Rajah ran up the bank, back to +that dear old menagerie house and the hay he knew +would be awaiting him.</p> + +<p>A few weeks later, some one told the true story +of Rajah’s horrible escape, and grumbling newspaper +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span>men put the elephant’s name on the office +blacklist.</p> + +<p>“No more fakes about that elephant!” Such +was the word that went forth.</p> + +<p>It was night a few months later. The telegraph +editor of the <em>Kansas City Star</em> looked up from his +desk, toward the night editor. Scorn was implanted +heavily upon his features.</p> + +<p>“They’re still faking Rajah,” he announced. +“Here’s a query from Texas.”</p> + +<p>“What’s it say?”</p> + +<p>“Plenty.” Then the telegraph editor read: +“Frank Fisher, trainer of Rajah, killed while trying +to subdue the beast while on rampage. How +much?”</p> + +<p>Then both of them grinned. The query was +crumpled into a ball. A swerving arc, it traveled +under the lights, half across the room, into the +wastebasket.</p> + +<p>While down in Texas a bit of canvas covered the +torn, broken form of what once had been a man. +Far in a corner of the menagerie tent sulked a huge +beast, Rajah, gone bad at last,—Rajah, the elephant +who had simulated viciousness until at last he had +become vicious; Rajah, who finally had become the +basic force of a real news story.</p> + +<p>That never was printed! But it wasn’t the newspaper’s +fault. The two editors merely were trying +to guard the public from what seemed to be another +Rajah hoax. The guard had been raised at the +wrong time; that was all.</p> + +<p>And indeed it is a good guard which can stand +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>against the every assault of him who desires to +“make” the columns of a newspaper with something +that will advertise his wares. Out in Denver +one summer night a few years ago, a black-garbed +woman sauntered slowly down Seventeenth Street. +Suddenly she staggered and fell. When the police +ambulance arrived, she was, to all appearances, unconscious. +An hour later, in the county hospital, +she awoke, to stare about her in non-understanding +manner, to look dazedly at the attendants, then to +ask:</p> + +<p>“Who am I?”</p> + +<p>It was a plain case of amnesia. The doctors applied +every test known to produce the symptoms of +true amnesia—non-response to tickling the soles +of the feet; no evidence of pain by being pricked +with a needle at certain points of the anatomy. +Test after test—every evidence of amnesia, or forgetfulness +of self—was present. Question after +question was asked, finally to bring a slight flicker of +memory:</p> + +<p>“Yes, that was it. I was going somewhere. +Where was I going?” The face became blank. +“Where—where was I going?”</p> + +<p>Hours passed. There came no answer to supply +the destination of the woman. It was on her mind, +that question, even in greater strength than curiosity +as to her own identity. Where was she going?</p> + +<p>It was a strange case. The woman was well, +even richly dressed. She had every appearance of +having come from a good home and being of aristocratic +stock. In the parlance of the newspaper +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span>office it was a “good talk yarn.” The newspapers, +doing their level best to aid some one in distress, +printed pictures of the woman, with descriptions of +height, weight, color of eyes and hair, and did everything +possible to obtain some clue to her identity. +Persons by the hundreds hurried to the hospital to +see her, in an effort to furnish some clue that might +lead to her identity. It was impossible. For three +days it continued, and then—</p> + +<p>“I know where I was going!”</p> + +<p>The woman had raised herself in bed, weirdly, +excitedly, just at the moment when all the newspaper +reporters were there. Hurriedly they clustered +about the bed.</p> + +<p>“Yes—where were you going? Do you remember?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly.” Still the excited voice went on. +“I was going to the downtown box office to buy a +ticket to the show that starts to-morrow at Elitch’s +Gardens. I was—”</p> + +<p>Most of the reporters began taking notes. But +out of the number was a man who himself had been +a press agent.</p> + +<p>“Junk!” he snorted and started in search of the +press agent of the summer resort. He found him. +That night, after much sweating, the agent confessed. +Later he became the city editor of the biggest +newspaper in Denver, but it was after he had +“reformed.” For the newspaper had its revenge. +It didn’t even mention the fact that the woman had +regained consciousness. The public, seeing nothing, +naturally supposed that she still was in a state of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>amnesia. Another day went by, with still no mention, +and a part of the public forgot. By the fourth +day, there were even no inquiries over the telephone. +The public’s mind had turned to the latest murder, +a press agent was swearing under his breath—just +as city editors were swearing at him—a fair amount +of expense money was gone to naught, and the mystery +of “The Woman in Black” remained a +mystery.</p> + +<p>But more often the rewards lie on the other side. +More, when you think of the ingenuity, the scheming, +the knowledge of psychological values and the +mass mind-reading which has been his, you’re just +a bit glad that the press agent has won and “slipped +over his story.” To wit, one Jimmy Fitzpatrick, +and an adroit little move which accomplished many +things.</p> + +<p>Jimmy was in Detroit, and he wasn’t especially +fortunate. The Detroit newspapers seemed to care +nothing for the fact that he was appearing in the +interests of the Young Buffalo Wild West Show. +There were other shows of the same type that were +vastly better, which charged no more and which gave +a much superior performance. So, coolly and candidly, +the Detroit editors announced to Jimmy the +fact that, so far as they were concerned, there was +too much real news awaiting publication. Young +Buffalo must struggle along without their aid.</p> + +<p>Jimmy bowed his way tearfully out of the offices. +He went to his hotel. He thought, long and hard. +He figured the population of Detroit, then divided +it by five in an effort to gain some hazy idea as to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>the number of small boys the town contained. The +result evidently was satisfactory. Jimmy returned +to the newspaper offices.</p> + +<p>But this time he went no farther than the want-ad +counter. There he wrote an advertisement, paid +for it and departed. It read simply:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -2em;">WANTED—Five dogs for Indian Feast. Must +be fat, clean and healthy. Will pay five dollars +apiece for right dogs. Apply Thursday morning +at 9 o’clock.</p> + +<p class="right"> + <span style="padding-right: 3em"><span class="smcap">James Fitzpatrick</span>, <em>Agent</em>,</span><br> + Young Buffalo Wild West Show,<br> + Blank Hotel. +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Into every newspaper went the advertisement. +The next morning Jimmy purposely slept late, +only to be awakened. There were dogs in the +lobby of the hotel, dogs in the elevators, dogs in the +halls, dogs in the office, in the lounges—everywhere. +There were dogs in the street, in the alleys +and on the car tracks. When the number reached +five hundred, the police were called. When the aggregate +went to two thousand, out came the reserves. +Every mongrel pup in Detroit, it seemed, +had been collared by some one who needed five dollars, +and hurried to Jimmy’s hotel. The street became +blocked with small boys, dog catchers, hobos +with prospective five-dollar bills whining at the end +of a string, women, girls, fox-terriers, Skye terriers, +Newfoundlands, collies and just plain dogs. Every +few feet a fight was in progress, with boys yelling, +dogs snapping and snarling, and policemen vaguely +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>attempting to stop the unstoppable. Two thousand +kinds of barking echoed through the business district. +Downtown Detroit simply stopped work and +watched a conglomerate dog fight. No longer was +Jimmy Fitzpatrick an outcast of the news columns. +He had become the creator of the funniest story of +months. That night he glowed with happiness and +pride; the account of his two thousand dogs, the +police and a canine-blocked street was on the first +page of every paper. More—</p> + +<p>He hadn’t even been forced to part with the +twenty-five dollars. For the Humane Society, +aroused by the thought of a dog feast, had threatened +to put him under arrest if he even attempted +it. Certainly James Fitzpatrick did not care for +arrest. He only wanted the name of his show in +the paper, the glowing title of Young Buffalo where +he desired to see it.</p> + +<p>Incidentally, the name of “Buffalo” brings memories,—and +perhaps a confession. I once was a +press agent myself.</p> + +<p>Colonel William Frederick Cody (Buffalo Bill) +was the man in whom my sun of work and endeavor +rose and set. More, Buffalo Bill, big, bluff, good-hearted, +roaring Buffalo Bill, realized that had it +not been for the first press stories which appeared +in the guise of fiction and through which Buffalo Bill +rode, shot, scalped Indians, saved fair maidens in +distress and did everything else that a godlike hero +should have done, his life might have been in vain +as regarded public recognition.</p> + +<p>Not, understand, that Buffalo Bill was not every +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>inch the man that Young America believed him to be. +For he was, and as the years go by his place in the +history of western civilization, will grow constantly +bigger, constantly more important. Far out upon +the Sioux reservations I have seen Indian squaws +who have come a hundred miles overland, carrying +their papooses, that these Indian babies might look +upon the great Pahaska, the man who had fought +their fathers and grandfathers, and who was brave +enough to be honored, even by the children of an +enemy! To such Indians as Short Bull, to Woman +Dress, who saved the life of General Sheridan, to +No Neck and Horn Cloud and others who really +knew an Indian fighter when they saw one, Buffalo +Bill was little less than a god. But of what use is +all the traditional glory in the world from a monetary +standpoint, if the public doesn’t know it, and +the public isn’t constantly reminded of the fact? +Buffalo Bill was a showman, and I was his press +agent, for a time, at least.</p> + +<p>Which perhaps may explain several things. A +certain mayor of Chicago, for instance, may remember +a telegram from Colonel William Frederick +Cody (Buffalo Bill) congratulating him upon being +the executive of the second largest city in the United +States and asking permission to salute him, with his +assembled cowboys, vaqueros and rough riders of +the world, from the saddle on the steps of the city +hall. If the mayor does remember it, and if the +mayor has prized that as a tribute, I’m sorry, but +I’m in the confessional now. A bald, long-nosed +press agent was behind it. There was a reason.</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp85" id="i_p046a" style="max-width: 44.9375em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p046a.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + “<span class="allsmcap">TO SUCH INDIANS AS SHORT BULL, BUFFALO BILL WAS + LITTLE LESS THAN A GOD.</span>” <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> + +<p>Buffalo Bill was to exhibit at White City. There +is an ordinance in Chicago which prohibits circus +parades in the loop section. But could I but have +arranged that salute from the saddle on the steps +of the city hall, it would have ceased to have been +a circus parade, but a compliment to the mayor of +a great city. Through the loop district the entire +cavalcade would have gone, while the Chicago’s +downtown section would have seen the first circus +parade in years without police interference,—in fact, +one actually sanctioned by the city! But the mayor +was out of town, darn it!</p> + +<p>Or perhaps the King of England may remember +the fact that he received a cablegram in the early +days of the war with Germany. I know it was an +enthusiastic thing, because I wrote it myself. It offered +the services of Buffalo Bill and his Congress +of Rough Riders of the World to go through the +German lines like rain water through a gutter. If +I’m not mistaken, His Majesty replied. I guess +my apologies are due the King. Buffalo Bill didn’t +O. K. that cablegram until after it was sent. But let +this be known: the “Old Man”, as he was known to +the ones who worked for him, fought for him, quarreled +with him and loved him, was just enough of a +fighter, just enough of a youth in spite of his white +hairs and three-score-and-more years, to have gone!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III"> + CHAPTER III + <br> + <span class="fs80">BUT WE ALL LIKE IT</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">And</span> now for just a little confidential chat between +ourselves, regarding some of the +things which make us happy.</p> + +<p>Nearly everything else in the world has changed. +In the last fifty years we’ve had a topsy-turvy affair +of progress and education, sophistication, and advancement. +Everything has gone forward; this old +globe has become a swift-moving, wiseacre thing, in +which only one relic remains of a previous time:</p> + +<p>We still like to be bunked!</p> + +<p>Not only like it, but love it, and demand it. Not +only bunked in new ways and new methods, but in +the old, familiar ways as well; in fact, by the identical +tricks which were in vogue in the days when +Barnum hurt the feelings of our sophisticated grandparents +by announcing frankly that one of their real +wants was the want to be humbugged!</p> + +<p>In fact, so far as amusement is concerned, there +is practically no change in human nature as regards +its desire to be flimflammed. Customs may change; +moral laws grow more flexible or rigid, as the case +may be; wars come and go while diplomats change +the whole face of the earth; and psycho-analysts declare +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>that the human race has gone through a crucible, +to emerge a newer, different thing. But just +the same, deep down in the hearts of all of us, there +is one thing which remains the same, calling incessantly:</p> + +<p>“Bunk me again; I like it!”</p> + +<p>Understand, however, when the term “bunk” is +used, bunk is meant, and not bunco. The shorter +word may be a derivative of the other, but in its new +form it means something vastly different from the +older and more vicious expression. Bunco is reminiscent +of gold bricks, green goods, sewing-machine +promissory-note contracts, the selling of the Woolworth +Building, the three-shell game, short change +and three-card monte. Bunk is something entirely +different, a more innocent manner of getting the +money and at the same time pleasing the person +who has done the paying. Bunco cannot be worked +without arousing one certain thing in the victim,—cupidity. +He believes he is going to get something +for nothing, by cheating the other fellow. He ends +up by being cheated himself and by racing to the police +station to tell what thieves the other men were. +Bunk requires also one ingredient, that of curiosity, +and ends in an entirely different manner; the bunker +is pleased, the bunkee is pleased, perhaps knowing +all the time that his enjoyment was gained by +his susceptibility to the attractions of a palpable +fake. But perhaps an illustration would serve +better.</p> + +<p>In the “personal columns” of lax newspapers, +one often sees such advertisements as the following:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="fs90">Will some gallant gentleman take pity on the +loneliness of a young, pretty widow of 35, +possessed of a fair fortune bequeathed by her +former husband? Will make wonderful wife to +right man. Widow, Box 188.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Now, if you’re “the right man,” you won’t answer. +In the first place, you know that no pretty +widow possessed of a fortune need advertise for a +husband. But if you have a strain of cupidity uppermost +in your nature, you’ll see only one line in +that advertisement: “possessed of a fair fortune, +bequeathed by her former husband.” You can see +yourself with that fortune; and you know very well +that if you’re lucky enough to get that widow, it +won’t be long before that fortune is in your hands. +So you answer the advertisement, telling some ten +or twenty lies about yourself to make an impression. +Then you receive a reply!</p> + +<p>However, it doesn’t come from the widow. It is +signed by her agent, who regrets to state that there +have been so many answers to the advertisement that +it is impossible for the young woman to answer each +one personally. However, your letter has shown +such sterling qualities, that he would like to have +further correspondence with you, with a view to settling +the matter for the widow and arranging the +marriage. You answer that letter. He answers +yours. More correspondence ensues. It finally +comes to a point where, if you can satisfy the agent +that you are not a fortune hunter, but a good, honest +young man looking for a loving wife, he is absolutely +sure that the wedding is the same as settled. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>All that is necessary is for you to put a thousand +dollars in his hands, as a guarantee of your +good faith, and everything’s arranged.</p> + +<p>The fortune is in your grasp! You get that thousand +dollars some way. You are so busy thinking +about the fact that you are going to cheat that widow +of her fortune that you forget entirely that other +cheats may be at work. You deposit the thousand +dollars—and wait. And wait and wait and wait. +Then you report to the police that you’ve been +robbed. That’s bunco.</p> + +<p>Bunk is something entirely different, a far more +innocent game in which no one is really injured, and +in which the components are curiosity, amiability, a +self-hypnotism which makes the victim believe he’s +happier for the bunking, and which often, through +its sheer foolishness, results in amusement for every +one concerned. Just as an example:</p> + +<p>Two rival ice companies operate in a fair-sized +town on one of the Great Lakes. One of them +deals in artificial ice, the other in natural. And one +of them—it wouldn’t be fair to state which—made +the discovery that its ice was harder and lasted +longer than the product of the rival firm.</p> + +<p>The man at the head of the company was well-versed +in bunk. He didn’t do the usual thing—that +of advertising the hardness and long-lasting +qualities of his ice in the newspapers. Instead he +hired a few judicious persons to start a series of +vile rumors against his own company! The product +of the other ice manufacturer was far superior; +it would last twice as long! Not until these rumors +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>were well circulated did the shrewd ice manufacturer +do his advertising. Then he answered the +charges in a page advertisement and challenged his +rival to an “ice contest.”</p> + +<p>No one in town ever had heard of an ice contest. +Neither had the promoter, for that matter, until the +idea occurred to him. The plan was for each company +to place a chunk of ice of the same weight in +the public square, and let the sun do its worst. The +ice that lasted the longest naturally would be the +best.</p> + +<p>The other company fell into the snare. The +plans were made, and the town gathered to see the +ice contest! Now, of all amusements that might be +imagined, a race between two cakes of ice for the +longevity championship belt hardly could be called +the most exciting. Yet it is a matter of record that +on the day of that ice race, half the town thronged +the square to watch two pieces of water crystal melt +slowly away, and bets were made, running as high +as fifty dollars a side! More interest was created +in ice during that one day than in all the previous +history of the town! Naturally, the promoter’s +cake came under the wire an easy winner, +and the proceeds of his business jumped a hundred +per cent. overnight! He might have used the usual +methods forever without more than a gradual increase. +But he understood the fine art of bunk, +profited thereby and every one was happy,—except +the rival concern.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, the practise of bunk has become +one of the allied arts in American promotion. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span>Time was when only such men as P. T. Barnum +practised it. To-day, however, it is a widespread +affair that takes in nearly every business, every enterprise +in the country. Nine out of ten fire-and-closing-out +sales are bunk,—simply another manner +of turning old stock which could not be sold at an +ordinary sale, but which travels over the counters +quickly when the buying public believes that necessity +forces the owners to place it on sale. The motion-picture +companies are bunk artists extraordinary, +with their personal appearances, their +“blurbs” in the various trade magazines, their +super this and super-super that, and their inevitable +romance of everything. Did you ever stop to think +that nearly every one who amounts to anything in +pictures is simply saturated with romance? There’s +not a marriage that isn’t romantic, not a family that +isn’t the happiest on earth; superlatives of a land of +enchantment are everywhere in the world of the motion +picture. All for one purpose: to create romantic +thoughts in the minds of readers, and a desire, +now that they have read romance, to see it. +Whereupon they go to the pictures.</p> + +<p>Politicians use it; you know they’re not going to +keep their campaign promises when you vote. But +you smile in forgiving fashion and tell yourself that +it’s just part of the game. It is; part of the bunk +of being a politician! The preacher who tells his +congregation that the church must be abreast of the +times and puts a jazz band in his church on Sunday +is practising the game of bunk. The hotels which +call pork and beans by a French name and double +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>their prices for same are merely “slipping over the +bunk.” Only pork and beans, it is true, but the +name seems to add something to the taste, and you +pay the extra price gladly. The society woman who +“consents” to go into the movies,—bunk again. +More, it is simply a revival of that old, old trick +practised years ago on the stage until it became worn +out in that field, dressed up and refurnished for a +new line of endeavor. What’s more, it works! +For that matter, even the railroads are not immune.</p> + +<p>You’ve perhaps ridden from New York to Chicago +on an “extra fare” train. You’ve paid eight +perfectly good dollars for the privilege and lolled in +your seat in the supreme satisfaction of knowing that +if the train is more than fifty-five minutes late, the +railroad will be forced to give you back a dollar an +hour for every hour of delay. Therein lies the secret +of the success of the extra fare train,—that +refund. If the ordinary passenger didn’t know he +was going to force the railroad into giving back part +of his money, should the train be late, the popularity +of paying eight dollars more for a ride between New +York and Chicago might pall. Railroads are +looked upon as octopi—or puses, whichever you +choose. The public has paid them much money, +and the public is tickled when it can make them pay +some of it back. So the public rushes for the extra fare +train, feeling that even should the thing be late, +there’ll be a lot of satisfaction in that refund. Nor +does the public stop for a moment to consider that +it’s a rare, rare thing that a fast train is more than +thirty minutes late, and that the railroad company +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span>can count on every cent of its extra fare money +ninety-nine times out of a hundred! More, that +even should the train be a full eight hours late—or +even twenty hours late—what would the payee +have gained over the slow train? Nothing at all, +except the disappointment of believing he was going +to reach a certain town eight hours ahead of another +train, and failing to do it! Of course, the +railroads merely classify it all as shrewd business. +But a showman would call it bunk.</p> + +<p>It even invades restaurants, this practise of the +bunk. Not long ago I sat in a big New York night +café which caters largely to the out-of-town trade. +I had with me as a guest a man from Kansas City. +The waiter approached and took the order. Then, +with a furtive glance about the big room, he placed +the menu card to his lips, and from its protection +asked, sotto voce:</p> + +<p>“What’ll it be to drink?”</p> + +<p>I’d been there before,—and ordered coffee. But +the eyes of the man from Kansas City glowed with +the light of adventure.</p> + +<p>“What can we get?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Leave it to me,” came the guarded answer from +behind the menu card. The Kansas City man “left +it.” Ten minutes later, the waiter returned with +something in a cocktail glass,—something that +looked like a Bronx, but which was merely a mixture +of a dash of pepper and a conglomeration of +non-alcoholic “make-believes.” The Kansas City +man drank it greedily and motioned the waiter +nearer.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span></p> + +<p>“Do it again,” he ordered. But the glum-faced +servant shook his head.</p> + +<p>“Sorry,” he announced in the saddest of sad +tones, “but we can serve only one to a patron. +Supply’s pretty short, you know.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon the Kansas City man went home, proclaiming +loudly that he had been served a cocktail +right out in the open at the so-and-so restaurant and +that the place had protection that a battleship +couldn’t break through. If the waiter had served +him three or four of the things, enough to produce +a well-formulated “kick,” and if the “kick” had +not appeared, there might have been a different +story. But the waiter didn’t; he served one ten-cent +drink, told not a single lie, gave the man a +thrill and charged him a dollar. With the result +that every one was happy. So goeth the bunk!</p> + +<p>Naturally, however, since the practise of bunkery +originated in the outdoor show business, it is there +that it thrives to its greatest extent, and there it has +achieved some of its biggest victories. Once the +disease has seized its victims, there is nothing that +can compete against it. Art, science, business,—everything +must fall before it. Just as an example, +let’s go back into history for one comparison, then +face the present for another. In the days of P. T. +Barnum, this showman became the possessor of one +Charles Stratton, a midget whose height was only +thirty-one inches, and whose name he changed to +“General” Tom Thumb. Then he took him to +London for an exhibition in Egyptian Hall. About +the same time, Robert Benjamin Haydon, one of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>England’s greatest painters, placed the last brush-touch +upon his masterpiece, “The Banishment of +Aristides,” and decided to exhibit it in another part +of Egyptian Hall. It became a contest between art +and bunk, between a masterpiece and a person who +had no other claim to public interest than that he +was not quite half as large as the ordinary human +being. The title of “General” was a fake; the +name of Tom Thumb was a fake. Whatever was +told of his history, lineage and accomplishments was +largely fakery, simply because there never was a lecture +on a freak that was otherwise. But—</p> + +<p>A week passed in the battle of the midget and +the masterpiece. At the end of that time, there was +an accounting in which it was found that “General” +Tom Thumb had held the public interest to the extent +of three thousand dollars in admissions, while +the “Banishment of Aristides” had brought in exactly +thirty-four dollars and sixty cents. Whereupon +the painter went out and shot himself, while +General Tom Thumb continued to roll in the shekels.</p> + +<p>That, of course, was many years ago. But have +times changed since then? Have they? Two +years ago I was in a fair-sized city of the Middle +West, and happened in on a quarrelsome meeting +of a Chautauqua committee. It all resolved itself +into the fact that the city council had allowed a small +five-car carnival company the privilege of exhibiting +in town on the same days as the Chautauqua, and +while the educational entertainment was literally +starving, the carnival was reaping a harvest because +of the exhibition of a “pit show” containing four +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>“pigmy cannibals” which were supposed to live on +raw dog. I went to the Chautauqua. Then I went +to the carnival, where the “pit show” of the “pigmy +cannibals” was a thing of constant crowds. Under +a new name and a new ballyhoo, the cannibals were +reaping a harvest. The year before they had been +the “last four survivors of the Ancient Aztec tribe.” +To the show world they were what is known as +“pinheads,” and a pin head is nothing more than +a certain type of idiot, whose lack of development +shows in stature and in the head, which is barely +larger than an orange. Circus and carnival men +obtain them for the most part in Mexican and half-breed +settlements, paying a royalty for them to the +parents instead of the customary wages. Heartless? +In a manner, yes. But on the other hand it +often is more humane than otherwise. They are +better treated, perhaps, than in the home they left. +They are well fed, well cared for and clothed in the +winter, and what is most important, the very thing +which takes away their earning power forms their +means of livelihood! However, the fact remains +that they are idiots, nothing more, not persons with +undeveloped brains, but with practically no brains +whatever. This accounts for the small, conical +shape of their heads and their slanting features; +much more room is occupied by their jaws than by +their cerebrum and cerebellum. They speak no +English, for the reason that they have the brain capacity +to utter only a few guttural sounds. The +“dog feast” was Belgian hare. So there you are!</p> + +<p>The whole thing is that art or enlightenment or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>anything else hasn’t a chance against a good freak, +whether it be human or a freak of achievement; +once you’re in the humor for being bunked, you don’t +desire any one to interfere with your enjoyment!</p> + +<p>Therein lies one of the secrets of bunk as it is +practised in the amusement world. There are +others, several of them, but they all are aided and +abetted by that desire, which, like the measles, or +the pip, attacks the rich and poor, educated and uneducated +alike. I’ve been in the show game since +I was a boy of sixteen. I’m a bit old and bald now. +Last year, in Chicago, I had a very important engagement. +One block from my destination was a +“store show” with an “exact reproduction of the +assassination of the Russian Czar and his family in +wax figures.” This was the first true account ever +given of this mysterious, yet historical thing. The +“spieler” said so. The inside lecturer, who talked +through an interpreter, was Ivan Pietrovitch, one +of the very members of the firing squad which had +ended the life of Czar Nicholas. For the first time +in history, the truth could become known!</p> + +<p>Did I stop to think what would have happened if +a member of that firing squad really had come to +America,—if he could have gotten past the immigration +authorities? Did I even consider the fact +that his picture would have been in every paper in +the country, that a half dozen syndicates would have +been struggling for his story, that news-reel photographers +would have put him into the movies the minute +he landed, and that his true account, supplemented +by photographs and documents, would have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>been a matter of real, live news? Did I think of +it? I did not. I just wanted to be bunked about +that time, so I forgot my engagement and went in!</p> + +<p>Nor is it all done without thinking beforehand. +More often it happens when the victim knows that +he is paying his money to see a fake, and does it +deliberately, joyously, “just to see what it will be +like.” For instance, the gypsy fortune teller.</p> + +<p>If you don’t know that a gypsy fortune teller is +a fake of the first water, it’s because you’re either +too superstitious to be comfortable, or just plain +ignorant. But you’ve had your fortune told. +You’ve gone away happy and satisfied.</p> + +<p>At more than one fair, I have seen a couple halt +before a “mitt joint” where a greasy Mexican or +Syrian or anything else but a gypsy stands, dressed +in dirty red calico, and announcing in broken English +that she can tell your past, present and future. A +moment of hesitancy. Then:</p> + +<p>“Let’s have our fortunes told!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, she’s just a fake.”</p> + +<p>“I know, but she might tell us something!”</p> + +<p>So in they go. The fortune teller asks them +when they were born,—and then tells them how old +they are. She then asks for a piece of money—which +she keeps in addition to the fee paid—and +places it upon the bunkee’s forehead.</p> + +<p>“You will live ver’ long,” she announces. “You +will be ver’ hap’. You will have three children. +You will mar’ the girl you love. You will succeed +in business. You will lose a lit’ mon’, but make +much more back. Zat is all.”</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p060a" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p060a.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + “<span class="allsmcap">AND UPON THIS PLATFORM—!” A SIDE-SHOW CROWD.</span> + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span></p> + +<p>All that for fifty cents. The other member gets +the same thing. Out they go, pleased. They’re +going to marry, have money, three children—</p> + +<p>There’s the sticking point. They don’t want +three children. Well, maybe that gypsy was wrong. +Anyway, there’s another “mitt joint” just a few +feet ahead. In they go. This time they’re going +to have a family of eight! For an additional fifty +cents apiece, they’ve gotten five more children! +Cheap at that.</p> + +<p>On to the next. And the next. Time and again +on fair and carnival lots, I have seen persons make +the rounds of absolutely every palmist, or “mitt +joint,” pay from fifty cents to a dollar in each place, +everywhere be told a “fortune” that was different +in every detail, and go home perfectly satisfied! +And because of that, I once asked one of the biggest +carnival men in the country the reason.</p> + +<p>“Plain, everyday curiosity,” came his answer. +“The average person is more curious than cats. +If curiosity killed human beings, as it is supposed +to dispose of felines, we’d all be dead. +Curiosity made Franklin fly his kite, you know. +Curiosity made Newton find out why the apple hit +him on the head. Curiosity sent Columbus across +the ocean,—and when you sit down and figure it +out, curiosity is really the thing that keeps us going. +When we’re kids, we bust open the watch to see +what’s inside. When we’re grown up, we listen to +some bird with adenoids tell how the wild man was +captured by seventeen burly sailors on the Isle of +Madagascar, and then pay our money to go in and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>see if he’s really as vicious as the spieler says he is. +And when we get a strong suspicion that the wild man +is only a South Carolina negro with a wig and a +false set of tusks and a bum leopard rug wrapped +around him, we don’t get mad about it. We’ve +found out what we’ve started to find out, haven’t +we? Yep, I guess that answers the question. +Curiosity.”</p> + +<p>“For instance, I’ve seen a chump stand at a ‘set’ +or crooked ‘slum spindle’ at a county fair, where +every other prize is a watch and every other one a +little red celluloid rose, and turn the thing three hundred +and fifty times at ten cents a copy and win nothing +but a red rose every time. Three hundred and +fifty little red celluloid roses for thirty-five dollars. +Curiosity. He wants to see if he really can win +one of those watches. When he finds out he can’t, +he doesn’t get sore, he’s satisfied!”</p> + +<p>“And if you don’t believe that the human race is +eaten up with curiosity, just take a slant at those +two Oregon John shows. Got in a jam with one +of the fellows over his contract and thought he was +going to cancel. So we booked another. Then the +other fellow came on. Both of ’em set up their +shows on the lot, advertising the original Oregon +John, and it looked kind of bad for awhile until they +opened up. After that, we tied ’em both up for the +whole season!”</p> + +<p>I followed his direction and observed two “pit +shows.” There I saw, beyond the black mass of +“lookers” who were surrounding the ballyhoo +stands, two banners, almost identical, displaying the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>hold-up of a train by a lone bandit and the proclamation +that within the pit was the one and only +and original Oregon John, the bandit.</p> + +<p>The “bandit” incidentally, in this sort of an exhibition, +consists of the half-mummified cadaver of +some unfortunate that has kicked around an undertaking +shop for two or three years unclaimed by +any one who will pay the funeral expenses. Then +along comes a showman, who buys the body and +takes it out on the road, exhibiting it as the remains +of Oregon John, or California Pete, or Mexican +Querto, or whomever he desires. The poor cadaver +cannot talk back. The bullet holes produced artificially, +are shown to prove just how he died at the +hands of a posse. The lecture details a list of crime +that would have made Oregon John or California +Pete or whoever he happens to be a first-page feature +in every paper in the country for months. But +that never is considered. The crowd looks, gets a +good, morbid sort of thrill, a few shivers and a couple +of shocks and calls it a wonderful amusement. +In real life, the poor mummy may have been a Sunday-school +superintendent. In death he is the worst +of the worst, and the more horrible his make-believe +past, the more anxious the crowd is to take a look +at him. In fact, the “push” in front of the two +shows which the carnival owner indicated was tremendous. +The showman smiled:</p> + +<p>“First they go into one show and look at the only +and original Oregon John and listen to the lecturer +announce the fact that his rival across the way is a +faker, a crook and seven different kinds of a liar. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>Then they go out—and hurry to the show across +the way, just to see what the fake looks like. There +they hear the same thing,—that the other man is a +faker. And I’ve seen ’em go back to the first show +a second time, just to take another look so they can +make up their minds about the thing. After which, +they go home, and ‘a fine time was had by all.’”</p> + +<p>So, after all, perhaps the carnival man was right. +It’s curiosity which lures forth the dime, where solid +business couldn’t even drag it out! Curiosity first, +and then the desire to see some one else become a +bunkee also. For in this latter phase lies a gold +mine.</p> + +<p>It started, as a great many other things started, +in the days of P. T. Barnum. It has continued, +with very little variation, ever since. I know one +man who makes a living by exhibiting, year in and +year out, a flock of “petrified bats.” Of course, +it is a “pit show,” you go up the stairs and look +down a sort of well-like arrangement where you behold +a dozen or so ordinary bricks, or “brick-bats.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon you’re mad as Hades for a moment, +sheepish for five minutes more, then determined, +until you have hurried out, found a friend and +steered him toward the most wonderful show that +he ever saw,—the “Petrified Bat.” He pays his +money, and goes in, and your laugh comes when he +finds he’s been fooled. So out <em>he</em> goes to find some +one else,—and the showman makes a living!</p> + +<p>Incidentally, it may be surprising to know that +the very tricks of this sort, originated by Barnum +and others of his type, still are running to-day, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span>making money. Fifty years is a long time. In fact, +when you come to consider, the world has absolutely +turned over in that time. The airplane has come, +electricity been developed, this, that and the other +thing done, and you’d think—</p> + +<p>But just the same, last summer, I was wandering +over the lot of a small circus in a Kansas town. +Aside from the side-show tent was a smaller “black +top,” or tent made of black canvas, in front of which +stood a talker, speaking very confidentially to the +crowd before him.</p> + +<p>“Now, I hope the ladies won’t take any offense,” +he was announcing, “but what we have to show in +there is for men only. It wouldn’t be wise for me +to describe it out here; I know you boys don’t want +me to go into details. Anyway, a word to the wise +is sufficient. So, I’m not going to talk you to death, +and I’m going to make my apologies to the ladies. +For men only—for men only—and only twenty-five +cents!”</p> + +<p>Near me stood a man and a woman. The man +hesitated, but the woman nudged him.</p> + +<p>“Go on in,” she tempted, “and see what it is. +Then you can tell me.”</p> + +<p>Curiosity! In went Husband. Out he came, a +sickly green.</p> + +<p>“Nothing but a darned pair of suspenders!” he +snorted. The woman giggled.</p> + +<p>“That’s one on you! That’s one on you, all +right. Wait ’til I tell—”</p> + +<p>“Sh-h-h-h-h!” He had caught her arm. +“Don’t tell anybody! Wait until I get hold of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>Tom and steer him in there! Won’t he be mad?”</p> + +<p>Thus the endless chain was started, and several +hundred persons paid their money in tribute to a +trick which has existed unchanged since long before +the Civil War! The “For Men Only” show, with +variations, has been running now for three generations,—and +there are few times that it fails.</p> + +<p>So it goes. Away back in the last century, Barnum +exhibited the “horse with his tail where his +head should be.” There was nothing untruthful in +it. The exhibit was a horse standing in a stall with +his tail instead of his head, at the feed box. They +came, they saw, then they went out and got others +to come and see. That was in the 40’s. I have +seen the very same trick doing a “turn-away” business +within the last four months!</p> + +<p>In fact, the list is endless. I can make an excellent +pair of Siamese Twins in fifteen minutes, by +the application of a double belt of rubber, made to +resemble human flesh, which passes around both +bodies and joins by a heavy strip, which connects the +two torsos. After that, all that is necessary is to +teach the “twins” to walk together, so that when +one is going forward, the other is traveling backward, +and to arrange the “patter”, which always +begins:</p> + +<p>“And now, my dear friends, if you will gather a +bit closer, I will endeavor to explain to you the +strange history of these queer people. Born on the +Island of Hootchi, fifty-eight miles west of the Isle +of Pataloochin, they were discovered by the king of +the tribe and raised to a position which almost +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>equaled royalty, where they were found by a roving +sea captain, etc.—”</p> + +<p>Always get the sea captain in. Why? Because +of the romance of it! He travels in strange places. +He sees strange things. Isn’t it natural therefore +that he would be the one to bring these weird +people to this country,—for your edification?</p> + +<p>An elastic-skinned man may be manufactured by +the same method, and those “strange people” are +useful as well as ornamental. More than one side-show +exhibit helps to “put up” and “tear down” +the show, a perfectly healthy, normal human being, +when he isn’t at his job of being one of “these queer +people.”</p> + +<p>For a two-headed man, all you have to do is find +a person with a large wen on his forehead. There +are twenty concerns that will make a mask and wig +which will fit that face, in exact miniature of the +man’s own physiognomy. And if you don’t care +about expense, that face can be made to open and +close its eyes, move its ears, move its mouth and even +smoke a cigarette, simply through the application of +“pull cords” such as are used for ventriloquist’s +figures, and by a suction tube attached to a bulb for +the smoking stunt.</p> + +<p>In fact, for the purpose of the showman—and +for the purpose of the spectator—a fake is always +better than the real thing. It’s more along the lines +of what the public wants. The statement sounds +queer, but just the same—</p> + +<p>Perhaps you’ve heard of “Jo-Jo, the Dog-Faced +Boy?” There was a real Jo-Jo, it is true, who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>lived in Russia and through some freak of misfortune +possessed a face which was remarkably like that +of a dog. But that isn’t the Jo-Jo which lives in +your memory. The one of whom you think was a +fake!</p> + +<p>He was nothing more than an English variety performer +who was an adept at imitating the barking +of dogs. An American showman procured somewhere +a picture of the original Jo-Jo and had an expensive +wig made to imitate him. Then the Englishman +was dressed in the garb of a Russian peasant, +and for months, in Boston, in New York, and +in practically every other city of the East, thousands +of persons struggled to see this “strange man with +the face of a dog.”</p> + +<p>Over in Russia, the original Jo-Jo heard of his +rival and hastened for America, hoping for a fortune. +Wasn’t he the real thing? He was, but that +mattered little. Jo-Jo, the real Dog-Faced Boy, +couldn’t bark like the faker could. Hence he drew +a fair salary at a museum, but that was about all!</p> + +<p>The list of fakery can go on, through nearly every +historical freak that lives in memory. The Dahomey +Giant, an account of which you can find in +nearly every encyclopedia, was a bit of bunk,—merely +a seven-foot negro. The “missing link” +was only a hairy child. And even the first “Wild +Man” was a fake, just as every wild man from +Borneo, Siam, Yonkers or the Bronx, since then, has +been a fake. But you’ve seen the wild man, haven’t +you? So have I!</p> + +<p>What’s more, even the genuine is often a fake. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>A few seasons ago, the only real, living adult gorilla +ever shown in captivity toured America, and made, +oh, many dollars for his owner. He was genuine. +There was no doubt about it. On every side were +documents to show that he was genuine; as many as +ten famous blood specialists and microscopists said +that he was genuine. In fact, they almost went so +far as to call him the missing link and to swear that +at last Darwin’s theory had been proven. Yet he +was only an overgrown black-faced chimpanzee!</p> + +<p>How simple it had been. We simply selected ten +men whom we knew were not hunters of gorillas, +or showmen, or students of animal life. We went +to them with the chimpanzee, and we were very +frank, and very, very earnest.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” we announced, “we think we’ve +got a gorilla here, but we’re not sure. Nobody +knows very much about gorillas, because they’re so +rare. We’ve been wondering whether you could +make a blood test and tell us by the corpuscles of +this animal whether or not it really is a gorilla?”</p> + +<p>They believed they could. They made the tests. +Then they gave their announcement. This was a +gorilla! A real, live, adult gorilla! How did they +know? Simply because a gorilla is an anthropoidal +ape, belonging to the same species, in a way, as a +human being. The blood corpuscles nearly correspond. +The corpuscles of this beast conformed +more closely to those of a human being than anything +else they ever had examined. Therefore, it +must be a gorilla!</p> + +<p>So, with the documentary evidence signed by ten +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>famous men, with micro-photographic pictures of the +blood corpuscles to prove it, out we went with our +gorilla! And in the people came to see it; didn’t +ten famous doctors who should know, proclaim it a +gorilla? The fact that they had no real gorilla +blood by which to make comparisons had something +to do with their statements, of course. But we +didn’t mention that.</p> + +<p>Again, we received the news that a baby elephant +was about to be born to one of the herd. At the +head of our show was a little, Napoleonic appearing +man who could have given P. T. Barnum a night-school +education in shrewdness, and still left him a +babe in arms. He received the news. Then he +reached for the telephone.</p> + +<p>Would a certain physician, who then was the +mayor of the city, like to attend an unusual thing +like the birth of a baby elephant? The physician +would. And would fifteen other doctors—as he +called them, one by one—be interested? Certainly. +Why? Curiosity! They had brought +many a human baby into the world, but never had +they seen a baby elephant born. So out they went. +And they stood in a line beside the baby elephant, +after it had been introduced to this world, and allowed +their photographs to be taken. Then—</p> + +<p>Out to a waiting, gasping, bunk-loving amusement +world went a baby elephant which had required the +attendance of sixteen of the biggest doctors of the +West to start it in life. One baby elephant—sixteen +doctors. There were the pictures. There +were the signatures:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="fs90">This is to certify that I, this day, did attend at +the birth of Cutie, the baby elephant, that she was +born at 8:22 A. M., and that there is every indication +that she will live to be a healthy adult +pachyderm.</p> + +<p class="right fs90"> + <span style="padding-right: 2em">Signed, this day and date.</span> +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>With this evidence before them, through the admission +gates there crowded some fifty thousand persons +before Cutie decided to curl up her toes and +die,—fifty thousand persons eager and riotous to +see a baby so wonderful that sixteen famous doctors +were required to bring her into the world. Nor did +they stop to consider that Cutie’s mother was born +without a doctor within a thousand miles of her, and +that, since the world began, a million elephants more +or less have entered into this life without even knowing +what a doctor looked like!</p> + +<p>Once, on a circus with which I was connected, our +feature act of the side show was Prince Biji, the +Wild Man from Tasmania. Prince Biji was born +and lived on Clark Street in Chicago, where his +tailor-made clothing was the envy of every other +negro in the neighborhood. On the circus, Prince +Biji dressed himself in an imitation plush leopard +skin, carried a spear and shield, wore tusks, and +hung about his throat a necklace of human teeth, +souvenirs of his victims, killed in battle in the wilds +of Tasmania. In fact, Prince Biji was an excellent +feature. He looked wild. He acted wild. Within +the side show, the lecturer would speak as follows:</p> + +<p>“Now, ladies and gentlemen, we come to one of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span>the greatest educational features of this vast collection +of strange and unusual creatures,—Prince Biji, +the wild man from Tasmania. Now, we make no +claims for Prince Biji, such that he eats raw meat +or devours serpents alive, or anything foolish like +that. Prince Biji is merely here as an example of +his warlike tribe, being obtained under bond from +the government of Tasmania as an exhibit of the +fiendish races which inhabit its strange and fearsome +jungles. Now, Prince Biji can neither +speak nor understand a word of English. Can you, +Biji?”</p> + +<p>Whereupon Biji would shake his head violently. +He could not understand a single word of English. +Perhaps it was mind reading which made him shake +his head in answer to a question in English. The +lecturer went on.</p> + +<p>“You see, he cannot understand or speak a word +of English. Now, Prince Biji, for your edification, +will do his native sword dance, as performed in the +jungles of Tasmania. Do your sword dance, +Biji.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon, Biji, not understanding a word of +English, would do his sword dance and sing one of +the songs of his wild and native land, a conglomeration +of guttural sounds composed of whatever +popped into his head. Then the lecturer would go +on with his speech.</p> + +<p>But about this time, Biji would look down into +the audience. And every few days, he would see +there some negro whom he either had met in his +show days or around Chicago. About the time the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span>lecturer would be repeating the fact that poor +Biji had never been able to master the English +tongue, Biji would beam down at his friend, and exclaim:</p> + +<p>“Wha’, hello, Big Sly! Where yo’ been at all +dis yere time?”</p> + +<p>Big Sly would greet him effusively. The lecturer +would never even glance in Biji’s direction. On he +would go with his talk, while Prince Biji and Big Sly +carried on an animated conversation, asked about +each other’s relatives and made arrangements to +meet after the show. Then Biji would straighten +again, while the lecturer would draw the crowd confidentially +nearer him, and announce:</p> + +<p>“Now Prince Biji has brought with him to this +country a limited number of a small, queer-shaped +pod which grows in his native jungles of Tasmania, +and which, upon being blessed by the savage priests +of his strange and warlike tribe, are supposed to +prevent forever evil spirits, illness and bad luck. +As I have mentioned, he has only a limited amount +of these, and as a special favor this afternoon, he +has decided to allow a small number to be sold and +will consent to pass these little lucky beans out among +you, at the small and reasonable price of twenty-five +cents, a quarter of a dollar.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon, Prince Biji, who could not speak a +single word of English, would reach immediately for +an old cigar box, half-filled with hard, black affairs, +such as we knew in kidhood days as “yonkypin +nuts.” And the crowd would step up and buy until +the supply was gone!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span></p> + +<p>In which case, even curiosity cannot be saddled +with the weight of the explanation. Nor can psychology, +nor showmanship, nor anything else, save +one fact:</p> + +<p>We just like to be bunked!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV"> + CHAPTER IV + <br> + <span class="fs80">ON ENTERING THE MENAGERIE——</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Back</span> in my kidhood days, when, as a runaway +youngster, I was achieving a life ambition—and +five dollars a week—as “the clowns” +of a tatterdemalion little circus which clattered about +through the Middle West, there was a magnet beneath +the ragged old menagerie top which compelled +me, day after day, to contemplative attention. It +was a lion, old and blind and toothless, dragging +out the final days of its existence as the “star” of +a “collection of beasts of the plain and jungle”, +which appeared ferociously numerous on our billing, +but which consistently failed to appear when the +gates were open and the great or small crowd +thronged through to the big top and its moth-eaten, +amateurish performance. In fact, old Duke, with +the exception of a few goats, a monkey cage, a cinnamon +bear and a couple of anæmic native deer, was +about all the menagerie we had, and certainly, to me, +the most interesting of the lot.</p> + +<p>So, in that time of rest between the matinée and +the night show, I would wander to the aged Nubian’s +cage, to stand staring at the black-maned, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>toothless creature, majestic even in its senility; wondering +what it thought about this life it led, and +whether it ever longed for the glorious days of the +veldt it never again would see.</p> + +<p>One day as I pondered youthfully on the problem +of lion psychology, an old animal man came beside +me, and we began to talk, one with the romance of +youth, the other with the wisdom of experience. +And I said:</p> + +<p>“Poor old thing. It must be awful.”</p> + +<p>“How so?” The trainer looked up quizzically. +“’Cause he’s locked up? Don’t you ever think it. +Wouldn’t get out if he could.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean that. He’s taken care of, all +right. But everything’s different for him; he +doesn’t understand anything that’s going on, and +he’s away from everything that has anything in +common with him or—”</p> + +<p>Then it was that Experience interrupted. The +trainer spat disgustedly and poked forth an emphatic +finger.</p> + +<p>“Shucks! Listen, kid, when you’ve been around +animals as long as I have, you’ll find out that a lot +of this theory stuff is the bunk. Us humans ain’t +the only ones that can use their brains. Get that? +And something more; the trouble with us is we’ve +got the swell head. We think that because we can +talk and use our hands and build houses and do a lot +of fool things to our digestions; we think that because +we’re what we are, that we’re the real and +only McCoy. That’s just where we’re wrong. I +never saw a wild animal yet that didn’t show some +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>basic characteristic of the human being. The only +trouble is that most of us don’t have the chance or +the desire to watch ’em long enough. And I know! +I’ve nursed lions with the toothache and carried +baby tigers in my arms before their eyes were +opened. And I’m saying that the dividing line between +animals and humans is mighty thin, that +they’re just like us!”</p> + +<p>That was fifteen years ago. I’ve traveled with +some big shows since then; I’ve known many a +trainer, and once I spent twenty years in as many +minutes one afternoon as the guest of three lions +and three tigers in the arena during the performance +of their act. Long ago I forgot what the old animal +man looked like, but I’ve never forgotten his +words. What’s more, in the years that have gone, +instance after instance has piled up, in story and actual +experience, to emphasize it all. Under the +great spread of a circus menagerie top, from the +heavy steel dens, the big tanks, the strong enclosures +which house the various animals have come examples +of every human emotion: love, hate, jealousy, +fear, deceit, faith and all the others which we humans +possess; envy, malice, forgiveness, humor, self-sacrifice, +gratitude; on and on the list runs until there +are times when I wonder if there is any dividing line +at all! Why, among animals there’s even nationality!</p> + +<p>It all happened long before the war, so the fact +that it was a “made in Germany” affair is permissible. +We wanted a new elephant, and the order +naturally was sent to Carl Hagenbeck, from whom +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>most circus animals were then procured, and who +reared, trained and acclimated his beasts at his +“Tierpark” on the outskirts of Hamburg, Germany. +The answer to the order was an almost tearful +letter from Hagenbeck.</p> + +<p>Because of his friendship for the owner of the +show, he was giving up his greatest prize, Old +Mamma, his pet elephant!</p> + +<p>She was more than just a mere trained beast, he +wrote. The children played with her, and she was +all but a nursemaid to them. She did the work +about the park; she was gentle and kind and understanding. +It was as though Carl Hagenbeck were +parting with some dearly beloved relative or a faithful +servant, instead of a circus animal. And the +show awaited the coming of the new pachyderm +with a constantly growing interest. Then Mamma +arrived!</p> + +<p>The first report came with the sight of a sweating, +cussing animal man who plodded wearily to the circus +lot, disheveled, disturbed in body and temper. +He sought the owner.</p> + +<p>“Of all the rotten, no-good bulls I ever seen in +my life,” he growled, “that new Hagenbeck elephant’s +the worst! She won’t do nothing!”</p> + +<p>“But Hagenbeck wrote me—”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care what he wrote you; I’m talking +about what he handed you! That elephant’s a +lemon! We can’t get it to do nothing; it acts like +it ain’t even got good sense! Come on down and +look for yourself.”</p> + +<p>Harry Tammen—he was the owner—went, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span>and Harry Tammen looked. He retired to his circus +car that night disappointed and disgusted. The +wonderful elephant about which Carl Hagenbeck +had written so enthusiastically either could not, or +would not, do anything that would indicate former +training. Only by sheer tugging with “bull-hooks” +and pushing with two-by-fours had it been shunted +from its car, and then, once on the ground, it trumpeted +and squealed and stared blankly at the shouting +animal men,—but obeyed not a single command. +Such was Mamma’s arrival on the circus, and such +was the daily programme. She was literally pushed +and pulled to the lot each day, and pulled and pushed +back to the circus train at night, an aimless, useless +old beast that was more of a liability to the circus +than an asset. Then Hagenbeck came to America +and Tammen met him in St. Louis.</p> + +<p>“A fine elephant you sold me!” he blurted. “It +hasn’t got a brain in its head!”</p> + +<p>Hagenbeck almost wept.</p> + +<p>“<em>Ach gott</em>, Harry!” came excitedly. “Dot old +Mamma elephant—she iss human! All day long +she played with the children, unt ven day gif her a +piece of cinnamon cake—<em>ach gott</em>, she’d get on her +knees to thank them! I come along to her unt I +say: ‘<em>Wie gehts</em>, Mamma,’ and—”</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute!” A great light was beginning +to break in on Harry Tammen. “What would you +say?”</p> + +<p>“<em>Wie gehts!</em> or <em>Vas ist lohse?</em> Or—”</p> + +<p>“That’s enough!” came from the circus owner. +“You win! We’ve been trying to talk English to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span>something that doesn’t understand any language but +German!”</p> + +<p>The next day Tammen returned to his circus, and +seeking the picket line in the menagerie where the +great, hulking elephants were tethered, he approached +the supposedly imbecilic Hagenbeck importation.</p> + +<p>“<em>Wie gehts</em>, Mamma!” he exclaimed. “<em>Vas ist +lohse?</em>”</p> + +<p>You’ve seen a dog welcome his master after long +absence,—the frenzy of joy, the unbounded happiness? +Magnify that dog into a poor, lost, three-ton +elephant in a strange land, among strange people, +hearing only a strange tongue—then suddenly +finding a familiar tone of speech—and you have +Old Mamma when she caught that sentence in German. +She trumpeted, she sank to her knees and +rose again, she wrapped her trunk about the little +circus owner and tried in her elephantine way to caress +him. She squealed and jumped about and +pulled at her picket pin; then Tammen called one of +the “bull-tenders.”</p> + +<p>“Dig up some one around this show who can talk +German,” he ordered. “We’ve got to translate +everything for a while to this poor old bull. She’s +in a foreign country—and we’ve got to teach her +English!”</p> + +<p>And that was the explanation of Old Mamma’s +apparent imbecility. She had been captured by +German-speaking members of a Hagenbeck expedition, +trained by a German, kept on a German animal +reservation and received her every command in German. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>She never had heard any other language, and +it was not until patient animal men, giving first the +command in German and then repeating it in English, +had “taught” her the language of her new +home that she became of value. That was a good +many years ago. To-day it is Mamma who leads +the elephant herd of the big circus, who tests the +bridges before her followers step upon it, who trumpets +her orders to the rest of the great pachyderms +on parade, who is first to catch the trainer’s command +in the ring. She is the head of the herd, and +she has become Americanized. What’s more, she’s +forgotten German now, in spite of the fact that they +say an elephant never forgets.</p> + +<p>I’m afraid that story about elephants who never +forget is one of the traditions of the circus which +can be contraverted, and I think it’s another evidence +that there’s the human strain in animals or +the animal strain in humans, whichever way you +want to put it. I personally once defied the old +tradition by feeding an elephant a nice hunk of tobacco +one afternoon and going back the next day, +expecting to be killed, only to find that the chocolate +and sweetening in the plug had been particularly +pleasing, and that a second offering was gratefully +accepted. I’ve seen elephants forget real injuries, +cruel treatment, for instance, and then, on the other +hand, I know of an old “bull” which recognized, +after some eight years, the man who had trained +him in India. Which leads to the fact that memory +represents the same quality among elephants that it +does in human beings. It’s a matter of personality; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>some remember, some forget. In the language of +the old trainer: “They’re just the same as us!”</p> + +<p>Forgive me for being garrulous about elephants; +it’s the innate fault of any one who ever has trouped +beneath the white tops; there is no circus man who +does not love them. But there are other animals +and other traits. Among them—jealousy!</p> + +<p>Not envy, understand, though I’ve seen that too, +but pure jealousy, borne of blighted love, jealousy +that once almost led to animal infanticide.</p> + +<p>Prince was his name and he was an inbred. +That meant he had been under suspicion from the +day of his birth, first for illness resultant from his +bad breeding, that would rob the circus of a parade +animal, then for the evidences of an evil temper +which might at any day turn Prince into a “killer.” +Prince was the son of a brother and sister, and in +the animal world there are the same inflexible rules +of progeneration regarding the union of relatives too +closely associated that there are among humans. +Therefore Prince was not a select specimen of the +menagerie, and certainly, in the opinion of the animal +men, he was not to be mated with any of the +thoroughbred lionesses which the show possessed.</p> + +<p>But Prince thought otherwise. Prince selected +his mate, Beauty, and roared and growled to be +placed in the same cage with her. The animal men +refused, and gave Beauty her natural mate, Duke, +a great, thoroughbred, black-maned Nubian lion. +And that day the trouble began.</p> + +<p>Prince became mean and vicious. He tried to attack +his trainer. He was sullen and treacherous +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>and grouchy; and he became more so as time progressed. +Often, in the arena, when the lions were +working together in their act, Prince sought to sink +his heavy claws in the form of Duke as that animal +passed his pedestal. Once he leaped at the other +lion, and only the bull-whip and flaring revolver of +Captain Dutch Ricardo, the trainer, drove him off. +Prince was jealous—plain, downright jealous—and +he was willing to kill to vent the anger that was +in him.</p> + +<p>Finally, Beauty presented the circus with four +little lion cubs, and day after day we would see +Prince watching the babies between the bars of his +cage, hissing and growling at them. As they grew +older, they shared the happiness of every cub around +a tent show; they were allowed to wander about the +menagerie, or were carried around and petted by the +circus children; cubs—lion, tiger or bear—are the +most pampered things around the “big top.” But +Prince never lost his hate for them.</p> + +<p>In fact, that hatred grew. One day the animal +act was on, and Beauty was in the big arena with +the other lions, while the cubs played about outside. +The “leaps” were on, that part of the act where +the animals jump through a ring of fire above a +hurdle, and the whole great mass of beasts was +tumbling and plunging about the enclosure. Suddenly +Prince, about to take a hurdle, saw that one +of the cubs had come close to the steel bars. He +changed his course, a great roar rumbled from his +throat, and with a quick swerve, he was at the side +of the arena, his heavy paws extended between the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>bars, trying his best to claw to death the fluffy, +scrambling little creature which barely had eluded +him. Animal men beat the inbred back, and he +turned on Duke. Again a fight between lions was +almost an unadvertised feature of the show. Again +Ricardo separated them. Soon after that, Prince +was relegated to his cage, to be, in the future, only +a parade and menagerie feature. Jealousy had +made him too dangerous a beast to be trusted in the +arena.</p> + +<p>Human traits? They’re everywhere about a circus +menagerie. Every old animal trainer is full of +stories concerning them. The more a person is in +the proximity of animals, the more he hears of their +attitude toward life, the more he is convinced that in +make-up we’re basically just about the same; different +only in physical appearance. For instance, +you’d hardly expect to find humorists among the +savage occupants of a lion’s den, but they’re present +just the same. I know of one case in particular.</p> + +<p>On one of the big circuses is an “untameable lion” +act which works as a special feature of the side show. +Never was there a fiercer animal than the crouching, +hissing, roaring beast which lunges and plunges at +its trainer, fighting away the stinging whip as he +seeks to penetrate its fusillade and leap upon the +grim-faced man before him. Time after time he +lunges, only to recoil before the barking roar of the +trainer’s revolver; effort after effort is made in vain +to force him to the obedience of a single command, +and as the trainer glides from the cage, the roaring +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span>beast leaps, claws extended, his great body crashing +against the steel door which is closed just in time.</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later a big “group” animal act +is shown in the main show. The various stunts are +gone through and then comes an announcement:</p> + +<p>“Ladies-s-s and ge’llmun. I beg t’introduce the +tamest, best-trained lion ever shown in captivity—Old +Solomon. Watch him!”</p> + +<p>The trainer approaches Solomon, pets him, +teases him, mauls him about, pulls his tail, and +finally puts his head in his mouth, all without one +bit of resistance from the amiable old fellow. And +the strange part of it all is the fact that the fierce +beast of the side show and the complacent old pet +of the main tent are the same! Yet they say that +humor is missing in animaldom. Often I have seen +a trainer feeding tigers and lions strips of meat with +his bare hands, while ten minutes before those same +animals were in the arena, hissing and growling and +clawing at his every approach. And there is a difference +even in the tone of their growls; a trainer +can tell in an instant whether the beast is in earnest +or whether he is just playing.</p> + +<p>So it goes. There’s a story for every cage and a +human trait for every story. Some time when you +look into a hippopotamus den, at the heavy, hoggish +body, at the small, senseless eyes, the big snout and +general imbecilic appearance of the beast, just remember +that even this hulking thing of the River +Nile has its human attributes, and that it can even +become lonely.</p> + +<p>The evidence of it came while a big western circus +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>was starting forth on its long trip of the spring from +the winter quarters at Denver, Colorado, to its opening +stand at Albuquerque, New Mexico, several +years ago. The run from Denver to Trinidad had +been made by daylight, and at the “feeding stop” +the animal men made the rounds of the various +cages and dens to assure themselves of the comfort +of their charges: it would be cold that night; the +long trains would travel over the mountains. Cage +by cage they visited, then one after another they reported +to the manager:</p> + +<p>“That baby hippopotamus is sure raising a rumpus. +Don’t know what’s wrong with it. We’ve +put two extra bales of straw in there, and it certainly +can’t be cold. We’ve given it plenty to eat, and it +can’t be hungry. But it sure is raising the roof!”</p> + +<p>The manager summoned the menagerie superintendent, +and together they went to the hippopotamus +den. The unwieldy, wobbly thing was backed up +against one end of its den, its heavy head sagging, +its eyes cocked like those of a dog when it is awaiting +its master’s forgiveness. It was whining,—a +sort of a drooling whimper that added to the atmosphere +of dejection, a full ton of fat sadness, crying +for something it could not name. Long the two +men watched. Finally the superintendent scratched +his head.</p> + +<p>“I wonder—” he began. Then, with a sudden +impulse, he climbed upon the wagon and, unlocking +the door of the cage, went within. There he seated +himself on the straw and waited.</p> + +<p>For a moment the hippopotamus regarded him in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>lubberly surprise. Then gradually the whimpering +died away as the big animal crawled to the animal +man and laid down beside him. The superintendent +grinned.</p> + +<p>“Nothing wrong with this hip!” he announced. +“It’s just a poor, lonesome baby. We’ll get one of +the ‘razorbacks’ to come in and stay with him to-night. +He’ll be all right.”</p> + +<p>The train was canvassed for a razor-back, or +train loader, who desired to sleep with a hippopotamus. +It was a long search which ended in success +only after a promise of double wages. The +man clambered into the den where the infant river +hog was whimpering again and gingerly touched +the beast’s head. The hippopotamus seemed to +like it,—and thereby began a strange friendship of +the circus.</p> + +<p>The “blood-sweating behemoth” did not cry that +night, nor the next, nor the next after that; for the +razor-back had found that a hippopotamus is an +aimless, usually gentle beast, too lazy most of the +time to think about anything save his own comfort, +and that there was no danger in remaining in his +den. More than that, he was earning double +money for “doing nothing”, which was agreeable. +The razor-back had found a new vocation, that of +being a nursemaid to a baby hippopotamus, and he +stuck with the job. And, when the “situation” +ended, it was in death: he was killed in fighting a +fire, born of a flying engine spark, in the straw of +his companion’s den as the circus ground along +on its night’s journey in the northwest a year or so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>later. The fire extinguished, the razor-back turned +from the top of the den where he had crawled to +investigate the damage, and, slipping, fell from the +train. Again the hippopotamus whimpered, but this +time it was in loneliness for a specific thing, his +friend and companion who was gone. Nor could +he be satisfied by a substitute.</p> + +<p>For grief exists among animals, caged as well as +domestic. True, it displays itself more forcibly in +some animals than others, but its manifestation is +present in them all. I have seen a tiger grieve for +its mate, a leopard for her cubs, an elephant for its +trainer. And when it comes to simians—</p> + +<p>When you lose a simian on the circus, usually +through the ravages of that man-made disease, tuberculosis, +you almost infallibly lose two. A few +pitiful days of grieving, in which the mate grows +weaker and weaker, in which its cries almost resemble +a human sob, then an animal man takes a +little burden out behind the big top and buries it. +The second death has come,—to the mate who has +grieved itself into the grave.</p> + +<p>Particularly is this true of the mated orang-outangs +and chimpanzees. In life they seem to be +all that is required of a perfectly wedded pair. +Clinging to her mate, dependent upon him for everything, +the orang-outang “wife”—if Darwin’s theory +counts for anything—goes to show that the +days of the cave man were perverted ones. For +certainly, as representatives of the jungle, the orang-outang’s +wedded life is the model for which all human +standards strive. Faithful, kind, protecting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>and gentle, the male constantly cares for the weaker +mate, and more than once I have seen an orang-outang +“husband” sorting out the choicer bits of +food—and, cooing gently, hand them to his wife.</p> + +<p>Then, when illness comes, the mate seems to realize +the danger. It sits by the side of the stricken +companion, moving closer when it whines, even +stroking it gently, as though to soothe its pain. +Few orang-outang keepers are there who do not +stand by their task twenty-four hours of the day, +when illness comes to their charges. For it is as +though some dumb but understanding human were +dying, while a mate sits beside, ready to give its +life also in grief. And that is almost inevitable, +once death strikes. Refusing food, covering its face +now and then as it piteously whines out its grief, it +waits for the time when death will take it, too,—and +the end usually comes within a week. Out in +the West, I know a circus owner who has two stuffed +and mounted figures of orang-outangs that he does +not want for ornamental purposes, and that he certainly +doesn’t need for a study in natural history, +since he has a living menagerie that he can watch +any time he chooses.</p> + +<p>“But I saw them die,” he explains. “The male +went first, and it was just like a good husband dying +in the arms of his wife. She seemed to know, +seemed to realize what death meant, and that her +mate never could be with her again. Then she began +to waste; soon she was dead, too. And—well, +maybe I’m soft-hearted, but I just figured that affection +like theirs deserved something better than +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>burial on a circus lot. So I had ’em stuffed so they +could be together, in semblance, at least.”</p> + +<p>And that is the story of more than one pair of +Orangs and chimpanzees. There are few humans +who can love more tenderly and more truly than +they. So much for the love of man and wife.</p> + +<p>But of all the animals that displayed the traits +of humanity—at least, of all I’ve seen—it remained +for Casey to display nearly every one possible.</p> + +<p>More than seven feet tall, with his hands extended +over his head, strong enough to seize a man +by his feet and simply rip him apart, a three-ton +lunge chain constantly about his neck to check him +should his nature ever change, Casey was as amiable +and boyishly playful as a kid just out of school. +He appeared to take a delight in being a show feature; +it was fun to him. And he <em>was</em> a feature!</p> + +<p>In his heavy cage, he would sit looking aimlessly +at the crowds, until his trainer or you or I or any +one who knew him would approach with the signal +for the ballyhoo:</p> + +<p>“All right, Casey! Big mouth!”</p> + +<p>The result would be a hideous grimace, heavy +fangs showing, skin furled back from the yellow +teeth, eyes narrowed, a growling, drooling sound +issuing from the heavily muscled throat. Then +would come the second command:</p> + +<p>“Casey! Go mad!”</p> + +<p>He would leap about the cage, screaming and +shrilling, pounding the top and bottom almost simultaneously, +rocking the big, steel-barred structure, biting +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>and tearing at everything which came in his +way, a perfect specimen of an animal maniac. And +it was after such a performance as this that the +trainer—on the first day of his arrival on the circus +at Del Rio, Texas,—suggested that the cage be +opened and Casey brought out at the end of his +heavy chain for a “lecture” at close range. A side +show “talker”—for Casey was being exhibited +as a special attraction—moved hastily away.</p> + +<p>“Not me!” he exclaimed. “Not with that +thing! I’ll lecture on the Aztec Midgets and I’ll +even let a bull-snake curl around my neck! But I +won’t be caught around that monk!”</p> + +<p>And it was the same with the others. They had +seen Casey “go mad.” That was enough; they +had engagements elsewhere. Fox, the owner, +looked at me, a visitor to the show.</p> + +<p>“Want to make the talk?” he asked.</p> + +<p>I laughed and assented, for I thought I knew +Casey. I had played with him at winter quarters, +I had seen him under a good many conditions, and +I knew him to be an amiable, good-hearted, friendly +beast who didn’t know his own power. I went to +the platform and started my speech.</p> + +<p>It must have been a fizzle. Certainly, I knew +nothing about the art of being a side-show talker. +And when, halting and struggling for words, I +finally ceased, I felt a warm, soft hand glide into +mine. It was Casey’s, and he was looking up at +me with eyes I know were sympathetic. Even he +knew that as a “spieler” I had failed.</p> + +<p>Casey ate from a bucket, with a spoon. He wore +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>trousers most of the time, with a penchant for letting +the suspenders hang. He smoked a cigar or a pipe +and lighted it himself. He could use a hammer and +saw to a certain extent, and his chief toy was a +heavy block of wood made far heavier by the hundreds +of nails he had driven into it, like a child at +play. He drank beer—it was before prohibition—and +now and then he would become mildly intoxicated +and sit in his cage grinning at his trainer, or +snoring away the effects of alcohol. He could make +a noise that sounded like “no” when he really +meant “no.”</p> + +<p>Fox, his trainer, found him one day in his heavy +cage, doubled in pain. He called a physician, and +after the diagnosis had been made, the doctor +turned excitedly.</p> + +<p>“I can hardly believe it in a monkey! But there +are all the symptoms. There is only one chance—an +operation!”</p> + +<p>Casey was hurried to a hospital and placed under +an anesthetic, with all the conditions pertaining to a +human being in the same circumstances. The incision +was made, the doctor’s theory proven correct, +but too late. Things had gone too far. Casey +died, and from the effects of that intensely human +ailment,—acute appendicitis!</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p092c" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p092c.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">AN ORANG-OUTANG HUSBAND AND WIFE.</span> <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p092d" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p092d.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">CASEY, WHO DIED OF APPENDICITIS.</span> <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V"> + CHAPTER V + <br> + <span class="fs80">OUR FRIENDS, THE ELEPHANTS</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Personality</span>, as has been remarked before, +has its part in the animal kingdom, just as +with the human family. The hyena is a +sneak, an animal tramp, ready to seize upon that +which the richer have left behind; a filthy vagrant, +ostracized even among his own co-occupants of the +animal kingdom. The lion is a sluggard, a poser, +a sort of motion-picture actor among animals, perhaps +a bit big-headed because his looks have given +him the title of the king of beasts. The leopard +is a cat, just as a mean, vicious-tongued gossip is a +cat; both wait for the psychological moment to +strike, fawning and docile and even friendly until +that moment shall come. Of course, the leopard is +dumb. It therefore strikes with its teeth, instead +of by words. The tiger is pugnacious, even as a +man who knows his strength is pugnacious; place +one tiger and three lions in the same arena, and the +tiger will come forth bloody, but alive. The lions +will stay behind, dead. The chimpanzee, the Koolakamba, +the marmoset and others of the monkey and +ape breeds are buffoons. The rhinoceros is a sulking +dunce. Throughout the whole list, each has his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>one element of personality, his one characteristic of +echoed human nature which stands forth and identifies +him,—all but the elephant. And he has everything!</p> + +<p>You don’t like tigers, do you? Or hyenas? Or +lions? You wouldn’t care to make a pet of a rhinoceros, +or have a giraffe running his neck over the +transom of the kitchen door when the grass in the +back yard had become too short for cropping? But +haven’t you said more than once, as you stood in +front of the picket line, punching forth peanuts, that +“you just loved elephants?” If you haven’t, +you’re different from ninety-nine per cent. of the +persons who attend a circus. The reason all lies in +that one fact of personality.</p> + +<p>For the personality of an elephant is everything +that is contained in the personality of a magnetic human +being. He is a buffoon,—yet he can be a +tragedian. He is a child, yet an age-old sage; an +ardent lover, still as ardent a hater; strong-minded, +but possessing weaknesses; stolid, and at the same +time shrewd with a shrewdness one might believe +impossible in a beast; honest, yet a thief; faithful, +but tricky as a coquette; a clown with a serious +mind; and a wrecker, with the heart of a saint.</p> + +<p>It’s a long list. Yet I’ve seen every phase of it +exemplified in elephants, even to the extent of temperament! +Of course, that sounds impossible; +only opera stars and long-haired poets and motion-picture +stars are temperamental. Very well then, +consider this:</p> + +<p>On a certain circus to which I happened to be attached +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>for several years were Kas and Mo, twin +baby elephants, and named respectively for Kansas +and Missouri. They were young; naturally the +training which usually is given elephants in the compounds +of India, or the European Zoölogical gardens +before shipment to America, had been missing, and +the two youngsters were forced to receive their education +as the circus trouped along through the summer +months, or waited away the snowy weeks in +winter quarters until the sun shone again. One day, +after they had been with the circus several seasons, +I happened to notice them in the winter quarters +yard, where they had been picketed for an hour or +two of sunshine.</p> + +<p>No one was near. No one was giving orders. +Yet those elephants were acting in the same manner +as I had seen them perform that morning in the +practise ring. They raised their feet in unison, they +knelt in unison, they trumpeted in unison and did the +“hootchie-kootchie” together. An accident? Not +at all. They simply were practising their act, even +as a human performer would practise. And they +were in earnest! A moment later, Kas floundered +in the midst of a number and stopped, with his attention +on something far more important than acting: +a wisp of hay, dropped by an animal man as he +passed. His trunk went forth to grasp the food +greedily, while Mo, intent upon his practise, continued +his work. But a second later came a squeal, +a grunt, a whirling trunk which caught Kas just back +of the ears and sent him reeling dizzily. He recovered; +and the fight was on, while “bull men”, or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>elephant keepers, tumbled out of the animal house, +while hooks sought flesh and the two squealing, +angry elephants were parted. At last came peace +and the head bull tender grinned as he passed.</p> + +<p>“Got in a scrap over their act,” he explained. +“Worse’n a ham song an’ dance team. But they’ll +make up. Watch ’em.”</p> + +<p>I watched the two hulking beasts; they were six +feet tall, in spite of their “babyhood.” For fully +five minutes neither knew that the other was on +earth; each sulking, each looking in the opposite direction, +each appearing to be thinking up uncomplimentary +remarks about the other. Then gradually +the air cleared. Fifteen minutes later, they were +back on the job once more, again going through the +new number of their act,—and without a trainer +in sight. If that isn’t temperament!</p> + +<p>Of course, as has been mentioned before, it is +sure death to give tobacco to an elephant. He’ll +remember you for years and years, and a few more +years after that, and then, when you finally show +up, proceed to commit murder. It sounds logical.</p> + +<p>But Kas and Mo are two of the best little tobacco +chewers I know. If you’ll feed them tobacco, +they’ll remember it,—and stick out their trunks for +more. All for the reason that they like it, just as +nearly every other elephant likes it, for the licorice +and sugar it contains. The tobacco itself may be +bitter, if it is chewed long enough, as is the case with +the human family. But the elephant differs. He +gets only the taste of the licorice and sugar and +syrup as it goes down. And he wants more!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></p> + +<p>For an elephant’s appetite is his most childish +trait. In age he may be at the possible time of discretion +which should attend the passage of some hundred +years of growth; but in appetite, he still is a +kid of the all day sucker stage. That’s why he +likes peanuts, simply because while his leathery brow +may be wrinkled and old, his stomach is blessed with +eternal youth. Give him hay, and he will look upon +you as a friend. Give him sugar cane, lollypops, +marshmallows, peanuts, popcorn, chew-w-w-wi-n-g +gum an’ candy and he will love you like a flock of +brothers. And watermelon! If there is an elephant +heaven, it consists of watermelons everywhere, +and not a guard in sight!</p> + +<p>Everything goes down—just so it is sweet and +gummy and of the type that the small boy crams +into his face on the way home from school. Perhaps +that is why there is such an affinity between +the urchin and the elephant. Also, there is another +trait which might indicate that the elephant, no +matter what its age, is perpetually in a stage of +second childhood. It gets the colic!</p> + +<p>“It rarely fails,” said Henry Boucher, an elephant +trainer one night in Chicago, as he strove to +rescue old one hundred and twenty-five year +“Mamma” from an onslaught of colic. “Get ’em +in these big towns where the crowds are heavy, and +where there’s plenty of time for the bunch to stand +in front of the elephant line, and sure as shootin’, +one of the blamed fools will show up with the colic! +When it comes to sweet stuff, they ain’t got as much +sense as a two-year-old kid. Look at that blamed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span>old fool, now! Swelled up like a poisoned pup! +And she’s the head of the herd and supposed to +have some brains!”</p> + +<p>But Mamma was beyond the stage where she +could be insulted or reproached. Her piglike eyes +were bulging, while her stomach was bulging even +more. Within that stomach was a conglomeration +of peanuts, candy, chewing gum, popcorn, gumdrops, +hay, apples, bananas and whatever else in the line of +sweets had come her way; Mamma had refused +nothing, and now she was paying the penalty. Yet, +as Boucher had said, she was the head of the herd, +the most sagacious, most thoughtful old elephant of +the whole thirty-ton bunch. That means a great +deal.</p> + +<p>Many a time I had seen Old Mamma stop the +procession from the train to the circus lot, that she +might test the strength of a bridge before allowing +her herd to venture upon it. Carefully, slowly, one +ponderous forefoot raised, she would take every +possible precaution before allowing her weight to +come upon the span, easing her tremendous bulk +upon the structure with a shrewd conception of +avoirdupois that was almost human. Nor did she +move until she was certain that there came no creak +of weakness, no crackle of bending timbers. Then, +just as slowly, the other foot came forward,—and +gradually she moved upon the bridge, while the +whole herd waited for her signal that all was safe.</p> + +<p>Once, too, I was on the circus when two lions +broke loose. The elephants became panicky; they +milled and circled, breaking from their picket pins, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>and lunging wildly in their attempts at escape.</p> + +<p>A shrill, trumpeting blast from Mamma and they +ceased their excitement. They waited, even as a +well-trained military company awaits the command +of a superior, while their leader went to the side-wall, +raised it with her trunk, and signaled them to +come on. One by one, hurrying, it is true, but +orderly, they went into the open, to be corralled by +the wily old commander, trotted across the lot to +safety, and held there until the animal men could +cease capturing the lions long enough to cajole the +elephants back to the menagerie tent.</p> + +<p>Again have I seen her with an obstreperous +“rogue” chained to her side, and seemingly aware +of what it all meant. Only one thing will hold +down an elephant when it is “going bad.” That is +work, work and more work. Give Mamma that +“rogue” in time, and her percentage of failures +would be few. Hour after hour would she work +him, leading him to the rear of wagons, pretending +herself to push, but shunting all the labor upon him, +until, from sheer fatigue, he was ready to go back +to the picket line and be a good boy.</p> + +<p>Yet this was the beast which lay on the ground +in Chicago, bulging like an overgrown balloon, +squealing her pain, wiggling her trunk, rolling her +piglike eyes, and waiting until the attendants should +arrive with the whisky, Jamaica ginger and paregoric!</p> + +<p>Which, one would say, was a childish thing. +True, and there are many other traits about an elephant +that are equally paradoxical. We once had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>an elephant whose regular, accepted job was to save +the show. His occupation in circus life was the +same as that of some strong-shouldered, slow-thinking +day laborer whose mind never was above his +task, and who was paid for his muscles and not his +brains. When rain came, it was Barney for whom +the lot superintendent yelped, that the big, hulking +elephant might place his gigantic forehead against +the rear end of a wagon and succeed in removing it +from the mire after twenty and even thirty horses, +hook-roped to every available part of the vehicle, +had failed. He helped to unload the show in the +brisk, keen air of early morning, shunting the +wagons into position for the draft teams after the +pull-up horses had brought them to the runs; and +more than once, when a switch engine wasn’t handy, +I’ve seen old Barney hitched to a freight car or two, +to drag them out of the way when they projected +too far upon the team tracks, thus making the turning +of the six and eight and ten-horse teams a difficult +matter as they hooked up for the trip to the +show lot. After all this was done, the bosses magnanimously +would allow him to be attached to a +string of three or four wagons, the “clean-up” of +unloading, that he might drag them to the circus +grounds, clustered with every workman who desired +a free ride.</p> + +<p>After this came the work of the show lot itself. +Barney carried “quarter poles” for the canvas men +of the big top. He moved the property wagons +here, there and the other place, and “spotted” +them conveniently for the work of the performance. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>When the heavy, three-ton tractor became stuck in +the mud, it was old Barney who yanked it back to +solid earth. When night came, he got the wagons +off the lot, then, the cry of “mule-up!” echoing +from his keeper, shambled to the glaring lights of +the circus train that he might assist in the loading. +From dawn until midnight, the constant cry was for +Barney, with only one bit of respite. That was +when he accompanied the rest of the herd into the +ring for their performance.</p> + +<p>Not that Barney did the various tricks which had +been taught the others. Far from it. The good +old beast always had been too busy for such things. +But there was one stunt which had come upon him +naturally, which seemed to carry for him all the +amusement and joy and recompense necessary for +his life of hard work, and that was the fact that he +did the hootchie-kootchie!</p> + +<p>No one, about the show at least, had taught him. +No one knew that he possessed the “art” of the +Egyptian dance until one day when the side show +happened to be backed up against the menagerie tent +in such a way that the squealing music which accompanied +the contortions of “La Belle Fatima” +sounded directly behind the elephant picket line. As +soon as that music began surprised “bull-men” saw +a peculiar glint come into Barney’s eyes. His head +began to sway, and his trunk curled high in the air +with delight. Then ponderously, one hind foot was +raised and swung far across the other, to be swept +back again and planted on the earth while the other +rear hoof was jerked up into a comical sweep. It +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span>was an elephantine interpretation of the “kootch”, +danced with a verve and spirit which few elephants +possess, in spite of the fact that they seem to take +a delight in it—a “kootch” with a bit of a shimmy +thrown in for good measure—and laughing bull-tenders +sought the menagerie superintendent to tell +him of Barney’s newest accomplishment.</p> + +<p>Whether or not it was self-taught remains a +mystery. For ten years Barney had been a working +elephant, nothing else. His duties were too manifold +to allow him the vacation of the parade; even +in winter quarters he was hauling hay or dragging +the wagons about while the other elephants practised +their acts. He had been a working elephant long +before he came, to the show; if ever he had been +trained, that time had been at least fifteen or twenty +years in the past. Yet as long as that music lasted, +just so long did Barney perform his imitation of the +dances of the streets of Cairo. And the next day, +Barney went into performance!</p> + +<p>That was his sole stunt for a long time. He +needed no cue. When the music played, he danced. +That was all there was to it. And how he danced! +Finally the head bull-man got an idea, and working +with Barney on bright days, or when the jobs about +the lot were slack, taught him to blow a huge mouth +organ, so that he could furnish his own music. +However, there was only one difficulty. Barney +wouldn’t stop playing!</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p102c" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p102c.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">KAS AND MO PRACTISING THEIR ACT.</span> + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p102d" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p102d.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">MOON AND SNYDER IN THE PERFORMING ARENA.</span> + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>He had an ear for music, that elephant! True, +the only notes he could play consisted of the general +conglomeration as he blew through the harp, then +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>sucked in the air again, but it seemed to be enough +for Barney. Then came a night in the mud, when +the poor old elephant was squealing with fright as +he sank to his belly in the mire, yet struggled faithfully +on at his task of rescue, where the men and +tractors and horses had failed.</p> + +<p>The work was grueling. It was almost cruel. +Not that Barney protested, not that he sought to +quit,—but simply through the horrible strain of +self-inflicted punishment as the big beast went from +one task to another, willingly, gladly, his muscles +straining, the huge veins standing forth about his +ears like knotted cords. The lot superintendent +drew a muddy hand across his forehead.</p> + +<p>“Wish we could let him rest!” came whole-heartedly, +“but there ain’t a chance. If he don’t +work—we don’t get off this lot!”</p> + +<p>The bull-tender frowned. He scratched his head. +Then suddenly he grinned and hurried away.</p> + +<p>“Got an idea,” he announced, over his shoulder. +“Maybe it’ll cheer him up.”</p> + +<p>He was gone a moment, only to slosh back +through the mud, carrying a bulky object which he +held forth toward the tired, faithful, old elephant.</p> + +<p>“Here, Barney,” he said, “make a little music +for yourself as you go along.”</p> + +<p>It was the mouth harp. The elephant trumpeted, +then projected his trunk. A moment more and he +was working harder than ever, the big harp curled +in his proboscis, and the exhaust of his tremendous +lungs bringing from it strange, sonorous discords. +But Barney liked them, which was all that was necessary. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span>When dawn came and the last of the wagons +was trundled off the lot, they led Barney to the elephant +cars, trotting placidly and serenely,—still +blowing on his harp. After that, the instrument became +a regular accompaniment. I have seen, more +than once, in the gray light of dawn, a tremendous +hulk of an elephant pushing circus wagons about as +they came from the steel runways of the flat cars, +a big mouth-harp curled in his trunk, playing his +own particular style of music as he worked!</p> + +<p>But to return to Mamma and her colic and the +paregoric. Sounds foolish, doesn’t it—paregoric +for an elephant? Or Jamaica ginger, or whiskey? +Yet it is a fact that paregoric is carried by the gallon +with more than one circus, merely to cure colic in elephants. +The same once was true of whiskey—with +the exception of the fact that it came by the +barrel. Of course, that was in the days before the +Eighteenth Amendment,—an amendment, by the +way, which once, at least, brought its complications +in the elephant world. And all because of the fact +that Jerry, a seventy-year-old kid, was a toper.</p> + +<p>At the same time, Jerry had two other afflictions. +One was the fact that he was a chronic addictee of +the colic. The other was that he hated the hippopotamus.</p> + +<p>When a circus is in winter quarters, a certain +amount of laxity is allowed among the animals. +There is not the danger of panics, or squeamish +visitors, and more than once I have seen a two-year-old +lion, known to be harmless to the circus workmen, +wandering about, perfectly free and perfectly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span>at peace with the world, being shunted out of the +way should he amble into the blacksmith shop, and +often kicked, as a big dog would be kicked, when +he decided to make his bed on the piles of canvas +where the “sailors” were repairing various bits of +tenting for the summer. So it was perfectly natural +that Jerry, who was somewhat of a clown, should +not be constantly picketed with the rest of the elephants +in their big cemented space at the end of the +menagerie house. The result was that Jerry spent +most of his time at the hippopotamus tank.</p> + +<p>It was a rough life that he led for the hippo, +which, you must understand, is not the really fierce, +open-mouthed thing that you see on the circus billboards +in the act of swallowing several boatloads +of scrambling Africans, but a slothful, slow-thinking +water hog, with no thought other than the warmth +of his tank and a sufficiency of hay from one day to +the next.</p> + +<p>Just why Jerry disliked him isn’t known. Perhaps +it started in mere playfulness. Perhaps too, it +began at some far distant time, back in the dim days +of ancestry, for such things happen in the animal +kingdom. I once saw a young chimpanzee become +hysterical with fright when it was forced, for press-agent +picture purposes, to pose on the back of a +stuffed baby elephant! The chimpanzee couldn’t +forget,—and this in spite of the fact that the baby +elephant had been an object of taxidermy for more +than five years! Therefore, there is no need to +seek the reason for Jerry’s dislike. It simply existed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span></p> + +<p>All day long he would stand beside the high, steel +grating which surrounded the hippopotamus tank, +waiting for the big river hog to raise his head from +the water. The minute that happened, the elephant’s +trunk would shoot forth as sinuously as a +snake, and with a smacking blow descend upon the +pop-eyed, flat head of the hippo. There was little +force to the assault; it would correspond to a human +slap, more than the striking of a fist. Yet it was +enough to worry that poor old hippopotamus into a +state of almost constant submersion. Hour after +hour Jerry would await his chance, while the hippopotamus +would sulk beneath water, his nostrils +barely visible at a far and safe end of the tank. +Then would come a moment of forgetfulness,—but +never for Jerry. His trunk always was ready. +The moment that hippo came into view, out went +that stinging, smacking slap, and the poor, persecuted +old hip would seek the depths again. Month +after month it continued, then Jerry contracted one +of his usual attacks of colic.</p> + +<p>Rather, faked it, for that was one of Jerry’s best +little tricks. He liked the remedy—whiskey—and +knew that there was but one way to obtain it. +It’s comparatively easy to tell when a human being +is a malingerer, but with an animal it is different, +and Jerry had all the fine points of the colic well rehearsed. +His belly would distend, his eyes pop, and +his squeals and grunts become piteous, with the result +that the animal men, rather than take the +chance of neglecting an elephant which really was ill, +would pour a couple of quarts of whiskey or Jamaica +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>ginger down him, mark it up on the expense account, +and go back to their other work. Either suited +Jerry, for each contained alcohol, and that was all +he desired. A short time after the administration +of the dose, he again would be on his feet, a bit +bleary-eyed and immensely pleased with the world, +mildly intoxicated, and too happy even to bother his +pet enemy, the hippopotamus. But this time conditions +were different.</p> + +<p>In the first place, Jerry hadn’t tasted a good drink +for a long while. With the coming of prohibition, +the usual barrels of whisky had vanished. Jamaica +ginger also had become scarcer, owing to an increase +in cost. The last few attempts at illness on the part +of the elephant had been met by concoctions that +were bad-tasting, red-peppery and containing but a +small amount of alcohol, incidentally of but small +aid in curing elephantine colic. The stomach of an +elephant seems built for alcohol; it will respond +quicker to whisky than any other remedy.</p> + +<p>The result was that the head animal man had +prevailed upon the police department to transfer to +him, for elephant medicinal purposes, a small barrel +of moonshine which had been captured in a raid and +contained more of living fire than alcohol. And it +was about this time that Jerry keeled over.</p> + +<p>The high-proof remedy was brought forth and +poured down him. Jerry gulped, and continued to +be ill. They tried it again, and Jerry got another +drink. Evidently his pachydermic mind was working +fast: drinks had been few and far between, and +he intended to get as many as possible while the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>supply lasted. Twice more they poured the concoction +down him. Then Jerry rose.</p> + +<p>But it was a different Jerry. His eyes had a far-away +look. There was a sort of wavering gait to +his lumbering walk, and an angular curl to his trunk +which denoted that his sense of direction was a bit +awry. For a few moments he trundled about the +menagerie house, sniffing at the hay, scratching his +back against the heavy posts, and squealing delightedly. +Then his blinking eyes fastened upon the +bulky form of the hippopotamus, just coming out of +his tank for an airing.</p> + +<p>A trumpet blast, and Jerry loped across the menagerie +house. He leaned against the iron grating—and +went through. A half hour later, when +sweating animal men, with ropes, chains, other elephants +and bull-hooks dragged Jerry away, the +hippopotamus tank was a wreck, the hip himself +had broken away, rampaged through a double +door and was shivering in the snow of the outside +yard, while the whole animal house had gone +wild. Here and there through the cat cages, +sporadic fights were breaking forth. The monkeys +were squealing and shrilling with fright. The ostriches +were holding pugilistic contests; the sacred +cattle were milling and horning, and trouble was +everywhere. Let one fight start in a menagerie, +and they all get the fever. Jerry had started his +fight,—and finished it; the poor old hippopotamus +was a mass of bruises, cuts and trunk marks, while +Jerry, bellowing and leering, strove his best to +break away and finish the job. With a larger elephant +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>chained to each side of him, they dragged him +to the picket line and imprisoned him there, nor was +he ever again allowed the freedom of the animal +house. What is more, Jerry now belongs to the +temperance forces,—by request. And his attacks +of colic have become far fewer, for now he receives +only one half of one per cent. remedies.</p> + +<p>Surprising that an elephant should get drunk and +then attack his worst enemy? Not at all. I have +seen them do far more surprising things, and things +which would indicate that the scientist who says that +an animal cannot reason never studied elephants. +When a three-ton beast can display the fact that he +knows he is committing theft, that he must choose +his time for criminality and then, the deed accomplished, +cover up his trail so that no incriminating +evidence be left behind, something beyond mere accident +must be responsible. It sounds impossible, +yet it happened on the Ferrari Wild Animal show +some years ago,—and the “criminal” was an elephant.</p> + +<p>There is only one time of the day when the menagerie +tent of a circus is deserted, and that is the +hour shortly before opening time, when, after everything +has been made in readiness for the reception +of the afternoon crowds, the menagerie and candy +force hurries to the cook-house for the noonday +meal. It was upon the return from this one day +that a complaint came from the menagerie candy +stand. Some one had stolen a barrel of lemonade!</p> + +<p>“Anybody let them elephants loose?” the menagerie +superintendent asked, as the report was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>made to him. But no one had. The picket line +then was examined. Every elephant was in place, +every chain safely about the stake in a half-hitch. +Suspicion then turned to canvas men and “roughnecks”, +who might have sneaked into the tent, stolen +the contents of the barrel, and carried the “juice” +away for sale at reduced prices to the purveyors at +outside “snack stands”, those inevitable booths +which are set up about every circus by the townspeople. +But investigation along this line also resulted +in failure. And the next day the contents of +another barrel disappeared!</p> + +<p>Now was the time for action, and a guard was +set during the noon hour. Nothing happened! +The next day, the guard remained, and for four days +after that. The lemonade continued to repose undisturbed +in the barrel. Then, believing that the +danger had passed, the guard was removed,—with +the result that the refreshments disappeared once +more, lemons, sugar and all! This time Bill Rice, +one of the managers of the show, and now a circus +owner himself, decided to stand guard, but not in the +open.</p> + +<p>Hidden behind the side wall, he took his place +when the rest of the menagerie crew departed and +began his vigil. For a long time there was not a +movement, not an indication that the mystery of the +disappearing lemonade would be solved. Suddenly, +however, his attention centered upon a peculiar +clanking noise which emanated from the elephant +line. There, one of the largest of the herd was +working at his chain with his trunk, raising and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>lowering the loose end of the chain, drawing it forward, +throwing it back; stopping to look about him +in fear of discovery, then hurrying to his work again. +A moment more, and the elephant stepped forth +free, then, picking up the loose chain, so that it +would not betray him by its noise in dragging, he +hurried to the lemonade barrel, deposited the chain +gently on the ground, drank the lemonade, ate the +lemons, scooped up what remaining sugar had become +deposited on the bottom of the barrel, and the +job finished, once more raised the chain and returned +to his post in line. There Rice saw the thing which +made him gasp. For that elephant had curled the +chain in his trunk, and with a single deft movement +had placed the “half-hitch” upon the stake again! +And even a human must take a lesson or two before +he becomes an adept in the “half-hitch!”</p> + +<p>This is the sort of thing which gives a circus man +a feeling of almost reverence for elephants. Once +in the circus business, once aware of the strange +things that the beasts will do, nothing seems impossible +for them. Perhaps the circus man gives them +credit for too much brain power. And perhaps, on +the other hand, even he underestimates them. For +there are things which are not easily explained.</p> + +<p>I have known an elephant to kill his trainer while +in a rage, and then later mourn for him, displaying +all the remorse, all the evidences of conscience that +could possibly be shown by a human murderer. I +have known elephants to work with their worst +enemies in performance, to exert every possible +effort to “put on a good show”, to be friendly and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>even helpful with those enemies in the ring,—yet +once outside the big top, to refuse utterly to abide +them. A dog, for instance, is an object of dislike +to an elephant, but he will go into performance with +one and appear absolutely satisfied. But let that +dog come within his range while he stands in the +picket line!</p> + +<p>I once saw the execution of a “killer” elephant, +while visiting a small show in South Dakota. For +twenty-four hours, ever since the murder, the brute +had been a prisoner in the big elephant car, surly and +sulky and defiant. Yet when the show management +ordered a switch engine to each end of the car, when +the beast’s hind legs were being fastened to heavy, +hempen ropes, leading through the opening of the +rear end of the car to one switch engine, and a steel-cable +noose, attached to the other engine, was being +fashioned for his neck, that beast ceased his angry +trumpeting and sullen grumbling. Instead, a piteous +note came into his call. He curled his trunk +in, and when they beat it away with their bull-hooks, +he sank to his knees and begged! What was the +explanation? Why should that elephant have +ceased his defiance, to become friendly, even piteously +supplicating as they prepared for his death? +A circus man will tell you he knew that his time had +come, and knew he was begging—and begging in +vain—that they spare his life! I still can hear +the cries of that elephant as the noose was placed +about his neck and the signal given to the engineers +to tighten the ropes; it was like the cry of a soul in +terror! To a circus man it is explainable. That +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>elephant knew. Some innate sense of right and +wrong told him that he had committed a crime and +that he was to be punished. But here is a happening +which even a circus man will not attempt to explain, +for it goes into something deeper, something +more subtle even than intuition:</p> + +<p>Last year, on a western circus, Snyder, the biggest +elephant of the herd, went bad. The story of his +killing has been told and retold, for it was a dramatic +affair which included even the wrecking of a +menagerie. But there is one angle which has not +been touched upon:</p> + +<p>Snyder’s whole venom that day had been centered +upon another member of the herd, Floto, whose sole +offense, it seemed, was that he was the most docile +of the herd. Hard-working animal men had kept +them apart by a bulwark of elephants; to attack +Floto, Snyder first must attack in turn Mamma, and +Frieda and Alice, all nearly as large as he, all capable +of giving him a good fight, and not one afraid. +Snyder seemed to understand. A few sallies, a few +rebuffs in the shape of swift-lashing trunks, and he +confined himself to attempts to sneak around the +end of the herd, or to catch Floto at a moment when +he was unguarded. But this was impossible. Then +came the time of execution.</p> + +<p>The rifles were ready. Fingers were at the triggers. +But humanity on the part of the animal men +demanded that first the swiftness of poison be attempted. +The heart was cut from an apple, and the +space crammed with cyanide of potassium, enough, +in fact, to kill several elephants. Then, cajoling +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>and tempting him with the fruit, the superintendent +went as near the mad beast as possible and tossed +him the poison-laden sphere. Snyder stepped forward +eagerly; he had not been fed for twenty-four +hours. He stretched his trunk to raise the fruit, +sniffed at it, stopped, and drew away. Then with a +sudden movement, he grasped it again, and whirling, +tossed it over the backs of the protecting herd, +straight in front of the hated Floto. Only the +swiftness of an animal man, who darted under the +elephants and seized the apple before the greedy, +slothful pachyderm in the rear could grasp it, saved +the show from the loss of a second and innocent +brute.</p> + +<p>How did Snyder learn in that brief second of +sniffing that the red, alluring apple was in reality a +thing of death? And did he seize the chance to accomplish +through strategy what he could not achieve +by physical force?</p> + +<p>You may answer the question yourself!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI"> + CHAPTER VI + <br> + <span class="fs80">WHEN THE ANIMALS ESCAPE</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Perhaps</span> at some time in your life you’ve +stood in front of a lion’s cage at a circus, +watching the pacing beast within and speculating +upon what is happening in the mind of the +shifting, uneasy creature as he makes the rounds +from one end of the den to the other, poking his +heavy nose against the bars, leaping upon the partition +at one end, rebounding, growling, then springing +at the heavily barred, double-locked door before +taking up his pacing step once more.</p> + +<p>Presumably it is easy to read that mind. He +wants to get out. There is murder in those deep +eyes; you can see it. The gruff growl is one of hate +and malice and enmity toward all those about him, +toward the trainers with their feeding forks, toward +the massing crowds flooding through from the marquee +for their look at the menagerie before traveling +on to the seats of the big show. You can see +viciousness there, and bloody desire and determination. +You know that only one thought occupies that +bestial brain,—to escape those steel bars, to break +forth upon the humans he hates, to destroy, to devour.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span></p> + +<p>And the only discrepancy about the meditation is +the fact that you are entirely wrong! If that lion +is thinking at all, he’s wondering whether he’s going +to get a bone for breakfast the next morning, or +whether it will be lean meat. As for escaping,—why +should he leave a good home and make a lot +of trouble for himself? That pacing and leaping +is merely obedience to a natural law which commands +that he take a certain amount of exercise, +nothing more.</p> + +<p>Not that jungle animals often do not commit murder +when they escape. But when this happens it +usually is the result of long waiting for a specific +object. A leopard, for instance, will take its chance +at death that it may kill a trainer it hates. But +ordinarily the jungle animal that you see within a +cage at a circus has no idea and no desire to leave. +If it does, it isn’t happy until it gets back into its +dear old cage once more, back home where there is +safety and comfort and where the world isn’t rough +and uneven and decidedly unpleasant,—as it is outside +the bars. Queer, but it’s true; the escape of an +animal about a circus is often funnier than it is +serious.</p> + +<p>There must be a reason, and there is. The usual +animal that you see in the circus isn’t a product of +the jungle. He wouldn’t recognize his “native +heath” if he should be introduced to it. His world +from cubhood has been a cage; he was born in one, +he was reared in one, and he knows absolutely nothing +about the other life. He regards his cage as his +home, as his natural habitat, and is lost without it. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>True, give a lion or tiger or leopard even a day in +the open country, and he will revert to type. The +old instincts will come upon him, he will kill his +food in the same manner that his ancestors killed, +when they were wild, free creatures, knowing nothing +else. He will become the savage beast that his +instincts command him to be. He will fall as naturally +into the stealth, the sagacity and the cunning +of the jungle as though he had been bred to that +life. But he can’t do this in a few minutes. The +result is that when he does escape, through innate +animal curiosity which leads him to investigate why +his cage door should be open instead of closed, or +why a lock or bar should give beneath his weight +when he leaps, he finds himself in an unkind, noisy, +excited sphere full of troubles and annoyance, and +wishes that he’d never wandered from the old fireside.</p> + +<p>It’s a sort of animal psychology. A beast may +be mean within an arena. He may even be a killer. +Yet once on the outside, he may be a poor, befuddled +thing, happy to find again the open door +leading to his cage, and glad to get away from the +hurly-burly into which a misstep of curiosity led him. +His mind leads no more naturally to thoughts of +escape than it would to tatting or embroidery. If +you doubt the fact, watch closely the next time you +witness a wild animal act. You will see that the +arena is of steel, that the door is safely trussed and +laced with heavy leather straps. But that the entire +top of the great, metal enclosure is covered with +nothing more than a broad expanse of woven hemp +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>netting! And as an illustration of that little remark +about the “killer”:</p> + +<p>One time, Ed Warner, general agent of a circus, +and myself stood in the wings of a theater in Denver. +We were making the lions and tigers of the +circus pay for their winter feed by a short tour of +vaudeville performances, and out upon the stage +Captain Ricardo, the trainer, high-booted, gold-laced, +was sending the tawny beasts through their +category of tricks, meanwhile keeping a weather eye +trained upon a vicious, murderous, inbred lion, +whose sole desire seemed to consist of an ambition +to separate “Cap” from his internal arrangements. +Day after day, week after week, and month after +month, through the summer season of the circus they +had fought and sparred, the lion snarling and roaring +on his pedestal, his claw-fringed forefeet striking +out in vicious circles as the whip of the trainer +curled toward him, the lips drawn back from the +ugly, yellow teeth, the evil eyes narrowed and +squinted, his whole being one of fierce animosity +toward this one hated personage, his trainer.</p> + +<p>The act was nearing its finish, the leaping of the +hurdles by the various trained beasts and “Cap” +was putting the barricades in place. One of them +stuck; the trainer yanked at it in an effort to +straighten it and failed. With a leap, he then +rushed forward to correct the position of the hurdle, +and in doing so cramped himself between the “turntable” +and the steel walls of the arena, with his back +half-turned toward the killer.</p> + +<p>“Cap! <em>Cap!</em> Look out!”</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p118c" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p118c.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">“CAP” RICHARDS, WHO FIGHTS ANIMALS FOR A LIVING.</span> + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_118">118</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p118d" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p118d.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">ONE OF THOSE PLACID UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT HYNEYS.</span> + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> + +<p>Ed and I were shouting from the wings, regardless +of what the audience might think. For the +killer had jumped from his pedestal and was creeping +forward with all the sinuosity of a snake, toward +the victim for whom he had waited. The +trainer turned to find the ugly, open jaws of the lion +not three feet away!</p> + +<p>An instantaneous action and he had drawn his +revolver, with its heavily wadded blank cartridges, +sending shot after shot straight into the eyes of +the malicious beast, the powder singeing the hair of +the broad, flat forehead, the wadding stinging and +disconcerting him. The lion whirled dazedly and +pawed with the pain of the attack. The instant +was enough for the trainer to jump clear and bring +his bull-whip into action, while Ed and I—it was +in the days before the Eighteenth Amendment—hurried +out to get something that would put the +strength back into our knees.</p> + +<p>A week later, we were in another theater. It +was just before the performance, and the three of +us were in the trainer’s dressing room listening to +a recital by the lion-man of how he inadvertently +allowed one finger to rest too long near a lion’s +mouth,—hence the missing digit. Above us was +scuffling and noise, bumping and shouts, and Warner +grunted.</p> + +<p>“They sure make plenty of noise when they set +a stage at this show shop, don’t they?”</p> + +<p>“You said it.”</p> + +<p>We continued our talk, while the noise above +grew greater, finally to still. There came the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>sound of clanging steps on the iron stairs leading +from the stage. Then the door was thrown open, +and a belligerent stage carpenter faced the animal +trainer.</p> + +<p>“I wish you’d keep them toothless ole lions o’ +yours locked up,” he blurted. “I’ve had a helluva +time with ’em!”</p> + +<p>“You?”</p> + +<p>“Yeh. Came on the stage just now and found +three of ’em wandering around. I gave two of +’em a kick and they jumped back in their cage, but +the third one tried to get funny with me. So I +whaled the tar out of him with a stage prop and +made a cut alongside his head. Better get up there. +He’s bleedin’. But I couldn’t help it; we can’t have +them things runnin’ loose when we’re trying to set +a stage.”</p> + +<p>We went upstairs, to find, half-sitting, half-leaning +against the side of the cage, a disconsolate, +amazed lion, staring dejectedly through the bars +and licking the blood which ran down his nose from +a cut just in front of one ear. He had the appearance +of some one who had encountered a very, very +rough time, and who had not yet recovered from +his fright and his surprise. We simply stood and +stared. It was the inbred, the killer! Nor did we +tell the stage carpenter his record.</p> + +<p>The explanation is simple. In his cage, that +lion was a bully and a ruffian because that was his +element, that his stamping ground, that his home. +But once outside, he had lost his bearing, the attack +of the stage carpenter literally had swept him +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>from his feet, and he had turned from a killer to +a coward.</p> + +<p>Nor is this the only instance. There is in the +carnival business a personage known as Bill Rice. +Every one in the circus or carnival business knows +Bill. They don’t know his shows, for the simple +reason that he changes his mind about every season +and puts out a new one. This was one of the years +when he was running a circus and, of course, presenting +each day a street parade.</p> + +<p>Among his animals was a vicious lion. And one +day as the den was being cleaned for the parade, +the animal man forgot to put into place the bar +which held tight the steel door.</p> + +<p>The cage went out on parade. The lion began +to pace its prison. A jolt, and it struck the door. +A second later, while telephone poles became clustered +with human fruit, while horses reared and +plunged, while women reached for baby buggies +and hurriedly got them out of the way, forgetting +entirely the fact that the babies themselves had +been placed on the curbing, while men seized wives +in their arms and hustled them to safety, without +looking to see whether they were their own wives +or the wives of some one else, the lion plumped to +the pavement and stared dizzily about him for an +instant, while he tried to fathom what had happened.</p> + +<p>Then came panic. On all sides, including that +of the lion. The cage had gone on. The horses +pulling the den immediately in the rear had engaged +in a runaway. Everywhere, people were shouting, +milling, running and climbing trees and telephone +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>poles. The lion scrambled vaguely, made a false +start or two, whirled, then dived straight for a small +negro restaurant across the street.</p> + +<p>The restaurant had been full when things started. +But its windows had opened automatically, through +the simple method of persons going through glass, +sash and all. At the instant the lion entered the +door, a negro waiter was just arriving at one of the +front tables with a tray of food. He saw the lion. +One wild toss and the leonine beast found himself +in the midst of a shower of soup, ham bones, chitlins +and whatnot, while the waiter, screaming, made for +the kitchen.</p> + +<p>It was a bit disconcerting. For one excited, panicky +second the lion fought the clattering dishes, +clawing at them and biting vaguely at the atmosphere. +Then stung by hot soup, half blinded by the +pounding of crockery as it descended upon his eye +and skull bones, he leaped at random and ran for +a new place of hiding. And his path led toward the +kitchen also!</p> + +<p>The chef went out a window. Also the waiter. +The dishwasher, deafened by the clattering of the +crockery which he was massaging, had not received +the warning in time to avail himself of a method of +exit. He turned, saw a lion entering his domain, +and did the only natural thing, opened a small door +leading to the drain pipes beneath the sink, and +dived in. Just then, some excited person appeared +in the front of the restaurant with a shotgun, and +fired.</p> + +<p>The charge went wild except for a few shots +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>which did no more than sting the lion’s hide, but the +noise was enough. Befuddled, bewildered, in the +midst of a strange world and a conglomeration of +annoying surroundings, the beast leaped again and +sought retreat.</p> + +<p>Happiness! A hole! Something to crawl into, +some place where he might hide! It was the opening +beneath the sink. And there the animal men of +the circus found them, a fear-whitened, speechless +negro, and an amazement-stricken lion, wedged in +together, side by side, and neither making the first +move to come out. The lion didn’t want to. He +was safe in a hole. The negro dishwasher couldn’t. +Even after the lion had been lassoed, pulled forth +and dragged like some great, shaggy, recalcitrant +dog into a shifting den, the dishwasher could do +nothing but gasp and sit there beneath the sink. +And between the two the lion was perhaps the more +frightened!</p> + +<p>Talk to the animal trainer, and he will tell you +that as a rule it is not the maliciousness of an escaped +animal which causes trouble. It’s the panic +of the crowd about him and the fright of the animal +himself. The fear in a beast’s mind when he suddenly +becomes free is all pervading. He does not +know that every one else is afraid of him; he believes +that he is in a world surrounded by enemies, +that the safety of the cage has vanished, and that he +must fight—if fight there be—for his very existence. +It was during such a case as this that a tiger +which escaped from a circus at Twin Falls, Idaho, +a number of years ago, killed a child, and was in turn +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>killed by Frank Tammen, the manager of the show, +with a revolver. In his native state, a revolver +shot would mean nothing to an eight-foot, four-hundred-pound +tiger. It would simply bring a +charge and the death of the hunter. But in the +circus, the tiger was killed simply because he was out +of his element, he was frightened, dazed, and he had +not been loose sufficiently long to gain the natural +savagery which time would bring him by the sheer +command of instinct.</p> + +<p>In fact, panic is the ruling power of the suddenly +loosed animal. In elephants this is almost invariably +true. Yet in spite of it, there is always an indication +that the ruling sense of humor which appears +always to be present in the elephantine mind, +is there even in the frenzy of flight. And when the +elephants break loose, there is this to remember: +keep out of the way! For an elephant does not +know how to go around anything. His ideas run +along straight lines, and his paths follow his ideas.</p> + +<p>In Winnipeg, for instance, several years ago, a +circus was showing on the fair grounds. A severe +storm came up, and the elephants became frightened. +They decided to run, the whole herd of them, and +some thirty tons of elephantine flesh suddenly broke +loose and headed for new and open fields where +there was no thunder, no lightning and no wind.</p> + +<p>Before them was one of the buildings of the fair +association. It was a solid structure, built to stand +year after year. At least, that was the idea in the +minds of those who had erected it. But the path +of the escaping pachyderms was on a line that included +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>the building! The head of the herd, leading +the chase, could have turned to the right some fifty +or seventy-five feet and gone on without an obstruction. +Was it done? It was not. A building +showed ahead of her; she lowered her head, and +hunching her shoulders, went on. A crash, the +splintering of wood, the flying dust of mortar and +the clattering of brick. Where the wall had been +was now a hole, with the rear end of an elephant +disappearing within, followed closely by the rest of +the thundering herd, each one taking out a bit more +as it went through.</p> + +<p>The other side—and a repetition. When the +runaway was over, the building contained a perfect +tunnel. As for the elephants, they ran until they +became tired, breaking down a few fences and +wooden sheds and other inconsequential impediments +which had arisen in their path; then they +stopped at a haystack and gorged themselves until +the trainers arrived, gave them all a good berating +and hustled them back to the show again.</p> + +<p>The same was true in Riverside, California. +There it was the same herd, led by the same old elephant, +old enough, one would think, to have better +sense, since one hundred and twenty-five circus seasons +had passed since she was a bouncing baby of +some three hundred pounds. This time Old +Mamma led the way through a barber shop, taking +with her, draped over her shoulders, the mug rack +which hung at one end, and distributing along the +street the vari-colored shaving-soap receptacles with +their gaudy lettering and resplendent flowers, while +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>the rest of the herd, trumpeting and bellowing, +clattered along in the rear. From there the course +led down the street, where, a bit tired, Mamma +stopped at a fruit stand, the rest of the herd nudging +up beside her, while the proprietors yelled for +the police,—and departed.</p> + +<p>The oranges and apples were great. Mamma +enjoyed ’em. Also Alice and Floto and Frieda and +the rest of the bulky runaways. In the rear the +crowd, recovering a bit from its fright, began to +close in. Just then, however, Mamma happened +to notice that within the store hung a beautiful bunch +of bananas. So she went in, taking the door with +her. After that a new panic, for the floor was +breaking, and an elephant hates an unsound footing. +So she and the rest of the herd went out again,—through +the wall on the other side!</p> + +<p>Once more a runaway, which led to the free and +open country. An hour or so of wandering about. +Then the herd grew tired. Back into town it came, +and a few minutes later, a yelping livery stable +owner scurried down the street with the announcement +that his place of business had just been visited +by a flock of elephants that was eating up everything +in the barn!</p> + +<p>There the animal men found them, peaceable, +glad to obey their commands, happy and squealing +and grunting as they answered the shout of “mule +up” and trudged back once more to the circus. +And the animal men will tell you that when the elephants +dropped in at that livery stable they were doing +their pachydermic best to get back to the show. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>They were through with their panic, they realized +that they were lost, and they had but one thing to +guide them,—the smell of fresh hay which would +indicate to them the menagerie. They found that +odor in a livery stable, and there they stopped. It +wasn’t exactly home, but it was a good substitute.</p> + +<p>It is indeed seldom that the escape of any animal +in a circus is a premeditated thing. The accidental +opening of a door, the breaking of bars, or a wreck +of some sort is the thing which usually leads to the +cry “Th’ lions is loose!” or the scurrying of a wild +beast through the menagerie. But premeditated +escapes have happened, and among them is the story +of Fuller, a gigantic black-faced chimpanzee, whose +mind, according to the scientists, was but a few +notches below that of the human.</p> + +<p>Fuller once had been the pet of a Pasadena millionaire +and had been allowed to run loose about +the estate. However, that brought complications. +Residents of the neighborhood began to complain +that their houses were being burglarized, ice boxes +robbed, and in one instance an elderly man who +affected a silk hat, Prince Albert and cane, investigated +a noise in the hallway to find a six-foot chimpanzee +just making his exit with his cane in one +hand and the silk topper slanted over one eye. +Then Fuller began to invite himself to breakfast +rooms, even bedrooms, loping in the windows at inopportune +times and causing everything from hysteria +to riot calls, with the result that he ceased to +be a pampered pet and became a circus exhibit. +And there, for the first time, Fuller found out what +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>it meant to hate. Not a hundred feet away, in the +winter quarters, was the elephant line and that, to +Fuller, meant trouble.</p> + +<p>The elephant and the chimpanzee are natural +enemies. That enmity came into being in the circus +winter quarters, and the gigantic Fuller spent most +of his time sitting crouched in his cage, grimacing +and yowling at the hulking beasts, even repeating +one of his tricks of other days,—that of wiggling +his fingers at his nose. Day after day he worked +at his chains, loosing them, only to have them replaced +by the animal men. Then one night the telephone +in the winter home of Henry Boucher, head +animal trainer of the circus, whirred viciously. He +answered to find the night watchman at the other +end of the line:</p> + +<p>“Get over here as quick as you can!” came the +excited message. “Fuller’s loose and he’s whipping +all the elephants! They’re about to bust through +the building. Hurry!”</p> + +<p>Boucher hurried,—to find that the watchman’s +report had been correct. The herd had broken +loose from its picket pins and was crowded in one +corner of the building, milling and trumpeting. +Only one elephant still was showing fight, a great +tusker, and he was about ready to quit. His rushes +had availed him nothing; Fuller merely ducked out +of the way, and chattering, returned to the attack. +The long, heavy tusks had been useless. Their +thrusts struck only air as Fuller dodged them. The +great blows of the forefeet, aimed at Fuller, had hit +nothingness. The sweep of the heavy trunk had inevitably +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>been met by the chimpanzee, who grasped +it with his great hands as it circled toward him, then +swung upon it until it had lost the force of the blow. +Without inflicting a single injury, Fuller had won a +“moral” victory simply by tantalizing the great +beasts until their frenzy had reached the point of +panic. And then Boucher approached him.</p> + +<p>A kick, a cuff and a few cusswords. Fuller—his +weight was close to two hundred and fifty pounds, +and the strength of his great shoulders sufficient to +tear a man limb from limb—merely squealed, +raised one arm in front of his face like a child afraid +of a slapping, then, in obedience to the command, +trundled back to his cage. He had achieved his +aim. He had wanted to whip those elephants, and +he had done it. The object accomplished, he went +back to captivity in peace.</p> + +<p>But things do not always end as amiably when the +circus animals get loose. As is the case with disease, +the complications following the escape of jungle +beasts often causes more excitement than the escape +itself. To wit, the story of Bad Axe, Michigan, +and an “escape yarn” that has become laughing +history in circusdom. The recital requires a bit +of an introduction.</p> + +<p>Kaiser and Sultan, two of the lions of the show, +were a bit different from the usual run of beasts, +inasmuch as they had been led about as pets until +almost the last possible moment when their catlike +natures could be trusted. Strange as it may be, this +often leads to bad temper when the beasts have +reached the adult age, and certainly in the case of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>the two lions, there was little of fear and little of bewilderment +when an animal man inadvertently left +open a door of their cage and allowed them to wander +forth.</p> + +<p>The show at this time possessed what it once had +believed to be a wonderful feature,—the result of +a government experiment which had resulted in the +cross-breeding of a Grevy’s zebra, from Africa, and +a Rocky Mountain “Canary”, or burro, from Colorado. +The result had been a strange and fearsome +beast, possessing the striped body of a zebra, the +uncertainty, the viciousness, the meanness and wildness +of a jungle animal, combined with the head of +a Missouri mule and all that goes with that contrary +creature. Long months had been spent in +training the things, with the result that they did +wonderfully well in rehearsals, and the opposite +during the performances. It was nothing at all for +the “Five United States Government Hyneys” as +they were called, to enter the show tent at a trot,—and +keep on trotting. You could find Hyneys +scattered all about the circus grounds—and about +the town for that matter—trampling gardens, eating +up flower beds, kicking the stuffing out of poor, +innocent country horses who didn’t know enough to +kick back, running up damage suits, attachments and +causing trouble in general for the circus fixer. It +was a dull week indeed when the Hyneys didn’t run +away at least three times. Often they batted a +thousand by pulling a runaway once a day. The result +of which was a change in the circus program, +from a glowing announcement of these wonderful +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>beasts and the astonishing category of tricks which +they had mastered, to the simple announcement:</p> + +<p class="center no-indent"> + <span class="smcap">The Five United States Government Hyneys</span><br> + <span class="smcap">Will Now Proceed</span><br> + TO DO AS THEY PLEASE! +</p> + +<p>Which they did. And which leads to the opening +of the drama of Bad Axe, Michigan. It all +happened before the show. The parade had just +returned to the lot, the cages had been “spotted” +in their regular places in the menagerie, and in the +big top, or main tent, the canvas men, the roughnecks, +the seat and plank men, the property men and +“punks” were busily engaged in putting on the final +touches before the opening of the doors for the +matinée performance.</p> + +<p>Everywhere was the well-greased, smooth-working +activity of a circus in its final moment of preparation. +From the padroom, a “pony punk” was +leading the five recalcitrant Hyneys back to the menagerie +from a short and eventful runaway. At +one of the forward center poles, “Cow”, an assistant +boss canvas man, was holding an iron stake +which “Fullhouse”, a workman, was about to pound +into the ground with a sixteen-pound sledge. Everything +was traveling along smoothly, beautifully. +Then a streaking figure shot from the “connection” +or entrance to the menagerie, his arms waving, his +eyes wild.</p> + +<p>“F’r Gawd’s sake, run!” he yelled. “Th’ lions +is loose! They’re right behind me!”</p> + +<p>And they were,—Sultan and Kaiser, entering on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>a trot, perfectly composed through the experience of +others days when they had been led about at the end +of a leash as cubs, and looking for trouble. The +center poles became alive with property men and +seat-workers. Two-hundred-pound “Fat”, a plank +man, made a three-foot leap for a trapeze tape and +clambered up it in a far more agile manner than +the acrobat himself could have done. Fullhouse +dropped his sledge and ran a half mile to a tree +where he was found roosting an hour later. +“Cow”, still holding his iron stake, looked around +somewhat hazily, saw Sultan only a few feet away, +swung high the stake, walloped the lion in the forehead, +knocked him flat and all but unconscious, then +did a bit of running himself. Just then Kaiser saw +the Hyneys with their zebra stripes, and a new angle +of activity started. The zebra forms the lion’s +natural meat in the wild state.</p> + +<p>It all seemed to come back to Kaiser,—the old +call of the veldt. He roared, with a note strange +to the circus menagerie. Then he leaped, claws extended, +mouth wide, straight for the rumps of the +nearest Hyney.</p> + +<p>But that was all. Out came vicious heels that +caught the beast in the chest and knocked him back. +He came on once more, only to find the world filled +with kicking, sharp hoofs that battled him in the +face and head and chest, that knocked the wind out +of his lungs, that cut and whanged and battered him +until at last, whimpering and bleeding, he turned +and sought flight, the animal men after him, leaving +behind a mulish, contrary creature that allowed his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>ears to go flat, and his raucous voice to raise in a +long hee-haw of victory.</p> + +<p>One lion was blinking in the daze of returning +consciousness, the other was whipped and cowering +in a clump of brush near the tent. Both of them +were more than willing to quit. But the excitement +still went on, for the elephants had decided to become +panic-stricken.</p> + +<p>The lions had passed the elephant line before the +hulking beasts seemed to realize that the right and +proper thing for an occasion like this should be a +runaway. Whereupon the head of the herd emitted +a bellow of excitement, pulled her stake from the +ground, and made a hole in the side wall of the +tent for the general exodus. One by one the big +creatures ambled forth, squealing and trumpeting, +the noise of their exit calling a small contingent of +the animal men from the primary business of catching +lions. Only one arrived in time, Boucher, the +menagerie superintendent, and he got there just as +the rear of the last elephant was disappearing.</p> + +<p>A leap and he caught the hulking, squealing beast +by its piglike tail and sought to run along behind it +until his shouts could bring the head of the herd to +her senses. He was wrong. The elephant herd +merely rounded into express-train speed and kept +going, while Boucher, his feet touching the ground +once in a while, still clung to the last elephant’s tail +and yelled himself hoarse, in vain. Then—more +complications!</p> + +<p>An eight-horse team, harnessed to an empty pole +wagon, was just crossing the lot, quietly, peaceably, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span>without any knowledge of what had gone on in the +tent. Then came the elephants! Swarms of elephants, +trumpeting, squealing, and thundering, as +they came up from behind, alongside the wagon and +its eight horses. It was too much. The driver +pulled and tugged his best. It was useless. The +horses, all eight of them, with the pole wagon clattering +along behind, ran away also. Their idea was +to evade the elephants. The result was that they +stayed side by side, neither gaining on the other, +while in the rear, Boucher still hung to an elephant’s +tail.</p> + +<p>Half across the lot and another element entered,—a +man in an automobile. Glancing over his +shoulder, he saw a world full of elephants and +horses, all coming toward him at once. So he decided +to move faster than they. He didn’t. Just +as his machine got into its speed on the rough, rutty +ground, the elephants and horses came alongside.</p> + +<p>And side by side the race began, the queerest race, +so circus men say, in history,—a herd of elephants, +an eight-horse team attached to a wagon, and a human +being in an automobile. The elephants bellowed. +The horses did all but scream. The man +on the pole wagon yelled, and so did Boucher and +the driver of the automobile.</p> + +<p>Just before them stood the cook house. The +automobile, under the guidance of a human being, +ran halfway through the tent before it could be +stopped. The elephants slid on their haunches and +decided to quit. The horses, with a sudden swerve, +ran around the end and finally came to a halt. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>race was over. And the queer part of it all was +that by this time the lions were back in their cages, +both of them whipped to a standstill, and both of +them glad to be home again where there were no +hoofs or iron bars, and where life ran on the level!</p> + +<p>And so goes the usual animal escape. There is +often more to cause laughter than tragedy. For it +is the good luck of the circus that most escapes happen +when the tent is empty, during the cleaning time +of the cages, or during a storm when the performance +has been abandoned. And it is seldom that the +audience itself suffers as a result. There have even +been cases where animals have escaped during the +performance of a circus and been recaptured, without +a person in the great throng knowing anything +of the occurrence!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII"> + CHAPTER VII + <br> + <span class="fs80">MOTHERS OF THE MENAGERIE</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">I <span class="upper-case">once</span> saw a picture in strange surroundings. +It was “The Madonna and Child”, tacked +in a lion’s den by a bent old keeper who had +cut it from a magazine and posted it there. Beneath +this symbol of a sacred thing was a lioness +and her cub.</p> + +<p>To the old animal keeper there was nothing unusual +about it; merely a comparison of beautiful +motherhood.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the old keeper was right in his picture +comparison. Perhaps he was wrong; perhaps too +great familiarity with the jungle beasts under his +care had endowed them with qualities not apparent +to others. But this I know—when it comes to the +most wonderful thing in the world, you will find in +the cages of the menageries the same things that +you find in every day life: I mean the exalted emotions +of motherhood.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you have seen an overworked woman +who has become a mother, a gaunt, scrawny, weary-eyed +person in whom the mother instinct has been +stifled by the necessity of hard work; the woman +whose life consists of nine long hours every day in +the factory, who drags her steps homeward and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span>then, in seeming indifference to her offspring, disregards +the cries of the child for companionship, for +love and for evidences of affection? Magnify this +a hundred times, and you have the “working +mother” of the menagerie. It is almost an invariable +rule.</p> + +<p>Incidentally, they have a saying under the canvas +roof of the circus menagerie which might be adapted +to home life,—that the mother instinct is something +which must be fostered and aided in developing. +Were lawmakers to study this phase of animal life, +it might mean some different statutes in regard to +women who work in factories, and whose life is a +drudgery, for as a rule, the brute animal is treated +with more kindliness in this regard than the human. +The woman continues to work; there is nothing else +for her to do if she is to earn the food to place in +the mouth of the child-to-be. The animal mother, +as a rule, is treated differently. She becomes a +ward of the circus, to be pampered and petted and +cared for until her child is born and until the mother +is strong enough to go forth once more into the circus +world and earn her living.</p> + +<p>The side boards about her den are drawn, and +she is in solitude. She is allowed the peace and +quiet which she deserves. Every brute comfort is +hers. The mother instinct is allowed to develop +without the interference of outside influences,—with +the result that the circus becomes the possessor +of a healthy lion or tiger cub, as the case may be. +Or any other animal, for that matter.</p> + +<p>But sometimes, through ignorance or carelessness, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>the rules are not followed; the working mother +is treated as the human mother too often is treated, +with the result that there is a neglected child, a +scrawny, underfed, undernourished thing which +crawls piteously about and too often dies. If it +lives, it is because the same thing has happened that +happens in the human sphere,—the infant has become +a bottle baby.</p> + +<p>You can find the story of these bottle babies on +nearly every circus, accompanied by caustic remarks +for some animal man who didn’t know enough to +allow the mother instinct to take definite form in the +mind of an overworked brute. They are orphans, +and, as in the case with humans, they start life under +a handicap.</p> + +<p>On a circus with which I once was connected, +there came to the train one night a woman animal +trainer, carrying something soft and furry wrapped +in a shawl. Investigation proved it to be a tiny +lion cub, born that day to a lion mother who had +been forced to work in the arena until almost the +very moment of her cub’s birth. The result was +that the mother had neglected her child. Staring, +wondering, the poor mother had wandered about +her cage, not knowing what had happened to her, +not being able to understand that this furry little +ball of fluffiness was her own life and blood. When +its tiny paws had struck at her breasts, she had +clawed them away, as she would have clawed away +an intruder. So the animal men had taken the child +from her and given it to the woman trainer, to be +raised as a bottle baby,—a poor little thing condemned +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>to orphanage because his mother had not +been allowed to intensify the instincts which would +have told her what motherhood meant.</p> + +<p>There at the “grease joint” as the little restaurant +which is set up every night besides the loading +runs is called, we named him “King” and hoped +for his success in life. But we knew what would +follow,—that he would have the same inclinations +as any motherless human child, that he would develop +traits, the counterpart of which can be found +in many a waif of the higher stratas of life. But +we hoped, nevertheless.</p> + +<p>“King” became the pet of the circus train. Far +in the night, as the long strings of flat cars and sleeping +coaches were grinding their tortuous way from +one city to another, a wandering porter suddenly +would be frightened by the sight of two glaring, +green eyes, then hurry forward to rescue the shoe +of some actress, or actor from the spot where +“King” had dragged it to chew it to pieces. Nothing +was safe from that lion cub. Regularly three +times a day he had his bottle, a regulation child’s +nursing bottle, upon which he pulled with all the +enthusiasm in the world. Every one petted him, +every one pampered him. The clowns tried to +teach him comical tricks, and he learned them. +There even came the time when, about a quarter +grown, he would follow the actors to the “grease +joint” after the night performance and beg for food +from the table, with the result that the clowns +taught him to eat even strawberries and cream! +Then the inevitable happened.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span></p> + +<p>King became so large that it was impossible +longer to allow him out of confinement. His claws +had grown until they were more than half an inch +in length. There were horses and ponies and small +“led stock” constantly about the train, and there +was the fear that some day the brute instinct might +come to the surface and King would leap to the attack. +The result was that he was caged and an attempt +was made to train him. It was impossible. +King had been a waif, and the life of a little outcast +had made him a renegade.</p> + +<p>All the wiles which the trainers knew were practised +upon him. They were of no avail. Intractable +morose, hateful, King spent the entire time +in the arena in lunging at the trainers, in roaring +and clawing at them, and in making attempts to tear +out their lives. Day after day the sessions continued. +Then the animal men, droop-shouldered +from fatigue, sought the circus owner.</p> + +<p>“It’s no use. That orphan won’t work. He’s +turned out just what we thought he’d turn out to be. +Either we let him alone and simply use him for exhibition, +or we’ll have a killer on our hands.”</p> + +<p>Nor is there any better comparison for the few +lines which we see so often in the newspapers:</p> + +<p>“The prisoner pleaded for clemency on the part +of the judge, giving as his excuse the fact that he +had been allowed to run wild as a boy, without +restraint and without the benefit of home training.”</p> + +<p>Such is the usual story of the overworked mother +and the bottle baby. But in one case, at least, it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>was different,—a case which made circus history, +and which began one of the most beautiful stories +of the circus menagerie,—a story of mother love +transferred and glorified.</p> + +<p>It was in the winter quarters of a western circus +that Mrs. Fred Alispaw, known to the billboards +as “Zora, the Bravest Woman in the World”, arrived +one morning in the early spring to take up +the work of training the “cats” for the road. Into +the steel arena they went, the sleek, striped tigers, +the heavily maned lions, and lastly, the pet of the +group, “Beauty”, a great Bengal lioness, usually +the most tractable of the whole group. But on this +day, something was wrong. Beauty refused to respond +to the demands of the trainer; she was surly +and defiant and even vicious. Until dusk, Zora +strove to subdue the beast, but in vain. An hour +later came the reason, in the word that Beauty had +given birth to a cub. More, she had refused to +care for it.</p> + +<p>Hurriedly the trainer went to the great cat’s +cage, to find her wandering about in a dazed, stupid +manner, while far in a corner of the den was a +piteous, yowling bit of animal life, the neglected +child. The animal tenders had not known. +Beauty’s cub had come into the world without the +aid of mother love. Beauty simply could not understand; +her attitude toward her baby was one of plain +indifference. The only thing she could know, the +only thing she could feel was pain.</p> + +<p>Until late that night, the trainer and animal men +sought in vain to make the mother understand her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>duties. It was impossible. Then Zora made a +decision:</p> + +<p>“Beauty’s never going to raise that cub,” she announced. +“The only thing we can do is to try to +find a substitute.”</p> + +<p>Hurried calls were made to the Home for Homeless +Animals, then to the dog pound. At last the +word came.</p> + +<p>“We’ve got a little Skye terrier out here with +four puppies. Think she’d do?”</p> + +<p>There was a long debate. The terrier itself, +they knew, would be little bigger than the cub. +But a chance was better than nothing at all. So out +into the snowy night went Zora, to return at last +to the menagerie house with a big basket, closely +wrapped. In it was a fond-eyed little Skye terrier, +whose motherhood had saved her life. She had +been unclaimed at the city dog pound. Another day +and the door to the chloroform room would have +opened. “Scotty” as she had been dubbed by the +dog-catchers, would have been no more. Then the +puppies had come, and even pound keepers can be +soft-hearted. So Scotty had lived.</p> + +<p>Now, in the softly wrapped basket, she and her +puppies were carried into the big, steam-heated +menagerie house of the circus. One by one the +yelping little things were taken from her breast, +while her big, soft brown eyes watched them as they +were carried away. Then, in their place, came a +lion cub!</p> + +<p>There was no resistance on the part of the patient +little dog-mother,—only wonderment. The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span>yowling cub, denied food practically from the moment +of its birth, sought the breasts hurriedly, hungrily. +For a few moments the Skye terrier, no +more than twice the size of its strange foster baby, +allowed the poor, scrawny thing to nurse, then, with +a sudden little cry, leaped from her basket and went +in search of her puppies.</p> + +<p>They say that there were tears in the eyes of the +menagerie man who carried away those four pitiful +little babies,—things condemned to death that a +lion might live. I believe it, for I have found more +soft-heartedness than cruelty in the menagerie. But +Scotty did not know they had gone to their death; +here and there about the menagerie house she +searched, even scampering under the feet of the tremendous +elephants, braving death itself that she +might look for the things that were her own flesh +and blood; for the death of a strange dog, once it +wanders along the picket line of the elephants, is +almost a certainty.</p> + +<p>But this time was an exception. Perhaps by +some strange freak of animal intuition, the great, +hulking beasts knew her to be only a poor, wondering +mother, in search of her young. They snorted +and trumpeted, but they neither crushed her nor +swept at her with their tremendous trunks. On she +went, unmolested, to bark with sharp, staccato calls,—calls +which went unanswered. Out where the +snow lay heavy about the menagerie house was a +little box, covered by a heavy cloth. Within was a +sponge of chloroform and four little puppies that +never would play again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></p> + +<p>An hour, then Scotty went back to her basket, to +whine pitifully as the night grew older, to fret nervously, +and to watch with inquiring eyes the strange, +yowling thing which clambered about her. Finally +they slept, the lion which some day was to be the +king of a menagerie, and the tiny Skye terrier which +was to be its mother.</p> + +<p>For three days the fruitless search continued, for +Scotty had not forgotten. Into every nook and +cranny of the menagerie house she went, only to return +from a hopeless search to the one thing which +could fill the void left by the departure of her puppies,—the +scrambling, hungry cub. Then, resigned +at last, she settled herself to her new task, devoting +her whole time and strength to this strange, new +thing which, by some sort of animal instinct, she +seemed to know needed her care and nourishment. +The circus men stood about the basket and grinned. +Now and then a coarse hand traveled toward eyes +which had seen the tragedies of the circus lot come +and go, the blow-downs, the floods, the great +stretches of canvas a stricken thing in the midst of +ice and snow, when the show had lingered too long +upon the road in the months of autumn; the horror +of wrecks and the terror of burning horses, trapped +in fiery cars; men who had seen everything that can +speak human terror, human sorrow, the ebb and +flow of human emotions, yet men not sufficiently +calloused to withstand the piteous eyes of a little +Skye terrier dog who still whined for her missing +puppies, yet who was willing to mother a +lion!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> + +<p>For two months it continued, while the cub grew +bigger and fatter, until he was nearly the size of his +foster mother. Then Scotty decided upon action. +The cub was old enough to be weaned, and Scotty +decided that it should be done. “Grit”—such +had the cub been named because of his tenacity—decided +otherwise. For days a battle was in progress, +in which the terrier nipped and snapped at her +strange brood, in which the lion yowled and +scratched and strove by main force to continue the +ration to which he had been accustomed, finally to +result in a truce which cut the apportionment of food +to two meals a day. Finally Scotty lowered this to +one, and at last weaned the cub entirely. But they +did not part company.</p> + +<p>Love had become engendered in the heart of the +lion as well as in that of the dog! Once they tried +to take Scotty away; the result was a screeching, +catlike solo which continued until the mother playmate +was returned. So the companionship continued, +of a lion and a dog,—even though the baby +now was larger than the mother who had saved his +life!</p> + +<p>Months passed. Grit gained his first taste of +meat, and together they gnawed on the same bone. +Then, in clumsy playfulness, the meal at last finished, +the lion would raise a paw and with one cuff send +his little foster mother scrambling half across the +cage in which they now lived. But the mastery +didn’t last long. A bark and a snap, then Grit +would settle in funny dignity, as though wondering +what he had done to offend the black, shaggy little +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span>thing which had announced herself to be the mistress +of his destinies. The animal men watched and +laughed, in spite of the fact that they knew it all +must end some day.</p> + +<p>At last the time came, when Grit was a year old +and fully eight times the size of the little beast who +had given him life. They took Scotty away, and +that day was a memorable one in that particular +menagerie. The fear had come that in his rough +play, Grit some day might draw blood, and blood +to a lion is all that tradition asserts for it, crazing +the beast, calling into play its every instinct of the +jungle.</p> + +<p>So tender hands reached between the bars, and +Scotty came forth, to be lugged away, while a bounding, +clumsy lion whined and roared and bellowed +and clawed at the bars. If ever a child cried for +its mother, Grit cried that day. More, the dog, +secluded in another part of the menagerie, whined +piteously and sought escape by every possible means. +But it all was a necessity. The companionship of +Grit and Scotty had ended, for the safety of a tiny +dog who had mothered a king of beasts. But not +the visits.</p> + +<p>Under the care of watchful animal men, the dog +was taken to “see” her child once every few days, +that the grief of both might be assuaged. Gradually +the intervals were lengthened until the visits +ceased. But never was there a time during the +three years which the dog remained with the show +that it failed to recognize Grit as it passed the lion’s +cage, or to bark a greeting in dog language, while +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>the lion bounded and roared in playful, happy acknowledgment.</p> + +<p>To-day, Scotty is a pensioner. Old, a bit gray, +she is the prized possession of a ranch in the hills +of Colorado, where Zora and her husband, Fred +Alispaw, are realizing a dream of circus days in the +home for which every performer hopes and plans.</p> + +<p>But last year the circus came to Denver, and forty +miles across country Zora and her husband rode +horseback that they might catch the train to the city +to see the thing of canvas and spangles which they +still loved. Zora carried a basket, from which +peeped a funny little misshapen animal, Scotty, on +the way from the solitude of the mountains to the +bustle and the blare of the circus, to see her baby.</p> + +<p>And “the baby!” In a great group of performing +lions, one stood forth preëminent, a magnificent +Nubian, full-maned, proud, even haughty. It was +Grit, the king of the group, and to him they led +Scotty.</p> + +<p>There was a moment of sniffing. Then suddenly +the lion growled playfully and bounded in clumsy, +kittenish fashion about his cage. The dog barked +and leaped. Even after years, they had recognized +each other. Zora looked toward her husband.</p> + +<p>“Do you think we dare take the chance?”</p> + +<p>Fred Alispaw nodded and grinned. A moment +more and Scotty was within the cage, a tiny bit of +dog flesh, frolicking about with a lion which tried +his best to be kittenish. The old bond still was +there. Grit still remembered his mother and loved +her! Nor was that to be the last visit. As long +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>as Scotty lives, and whenever the gleaming lights of +the circus chandeliers shine in Denver, a man and a +woman will make a long pilgrimage across the +plateaus to the railroad and thence to the city, bringing +Scotty with them,—a proud little mother going +to look upon her son, her boy, her baby who became +a king!</p> + +<p>Nor in all of this was Beauty, the real mother, to +be blamed. She simply was a worker who, through +a mistake in menagerie records, had been denied +the right to learn what motherhood means. For +once that thing is developed in the menagerie, no +obstacle is too great for the animal mother to overcome +for the benefit of her tiny burden of the heart, +no danger too great to be dared for the safety of +the thing which is the blood of her blood, the life +of her life, as truly, as fully as the human baby is +the life of the human mother. Even death itself +means nothing!</p> + +<p>In the halter, or “led stock” one year, was a +group of llamas, long necked, sheeplike beasts from +South America. To one of the gentle animals was +born a fragile kid, and the mother nurtured it with +all the love and tenderness of a human mother.</p> + +<p>But animal children reach the investigation stage +much earlier than do those of the higher race. +When the kid was two days old, it looked about it, +noticed the far stretches of the menagerie tent, the +weird things which were contained there, and started +upon a tour of investigation. Here and there it +wandered, while the mother watched anxiously, +calling vainly for its return to the fold. The kid +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span>apparently paid no attention and gamboled on, at last +taking a course which led directly toward the elephant +herd.</p> + +<p>Danger! The mother seemed to sense it. Her +sheeplike “ba-a-a-a-a-a” became a tremulous, almost +hysterical thing. But the kid did not heed. +Straight toward the massive beasts it wandered, +while the mother tugged at her halter, swerved and +jumped and strained, but to no avail.</p> + +<p>Five feet more, and the kid was playing under +the very feet of the hulking pachyderms, while they, +all too easily frightened, had begun to fret and were +threatening every second to start the milling operation +which precedes a stampede. At the halter the +mother made one last, frenzied effort; then the rope +parted.</p> + +<p>A leap, and she had cleared the partition which +enclosed the herd. Then, straight toward the elephants +she sped, her frightened cry of warning echoing +through the menagerie tent like the cry of some +human mother warning her child of danger. It +was the finishing touch. Just as she reached the +picket line, that milling of tremendous, ton-weighted +forms began. Two great mountainous beasts +crashed as they turned, catching between their massive +bodies the delicate form of the mother llama, +crushing it and killing it, while the kid, bleating with +fright now, scampered to safety far at the other side +of the tent. A mother had saved the life of her +child at the cost of her own.</p> + +<p>Naturally there followed the inevitable consultation +of animal men. A mother was dead; who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span>now was to feed and care for the baby? At last a +lion tender scratched his head.</p> + +<p>“About the only thing I see to do is to put it in +the Foolish House with that mess of goats,” came +his suggestion. “There’s one of ’em that’s got a +kid. She might take on this here orphan.”</p> + +<p>The Foolish House was a corner of the menagerie +surrounded by carved figures of Mother +Goose characters, devised to amuse the children. +To provide more amusement, a dozen or so goats +had been placed in the enclosure, with the idea that +their appetite for paper would be as highly amusing +as the constant pleading of the elephants and monkeys +for peanuts. There went the little South +American orphan, to bleat piteously, to search from +one to another of the paper-eating occupants, and, +at last, to come to the mother and her baby.</p> + +<p>Perhaps there is a universal language among animals. +I don’t know. All that I can say is that the +llama and the mother goat rubbed noses, apparently +talked it over, and there was an end to it. The +orphan was adopted. What is more, she was +reared with as much maternalism as was bestowed +upon the true baby, and the person who sought to +interfere was met with a hurtling pair of horns! +It was simply another instance of the mother instinct +that is in the heart of an animal. In any menagerie +you can find a hundred examples of it.</p> + +<p>More, you will find that an animal will grieve for +her young, and that she will do exactly the same +thing which more than one human mother has done,—seek +for a substitute when her own baby is taken +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>from her in death. In the “dog wagon” was a +giant rhesus, a performing monkey, which, because +of her act, consisting of tricks performed in company +with a pony and several dogs, was carried +separately from the other simians of the circus. +One day a baby came to her, and with all the tenderness +of a human mother she crooned over it, and +fondled it, and held it close to her breast. But that +afternoon only a drooling, piteous sound came from +her compartment. The baby was dead, and animal +men had carried it away. In a far corner of the +den the monkey had begun that period which only +too often ends with a small grave on the circus lot,—suicide +through starvation, superinduced by grief. +But a day later the mother changed her mind.</p> + +<p>In the next compartment of the cage was a performing +dog with four puppies. Those wobbly +little things seemed to fascinate the grieving mother. +Hour after hour she watched them, calling to them, +striving by every means at her command to induce +one of them to come to her. Then, one day, in +bringing forth the dog for its performance in the +ring, the compartment door accidentally was left +open. When the dog was returned, it was found +that one of her puppies was missing. Kidnapped!</p> + +<p>The rhesus had followed the inclinations of her +mother nature. Denied a child of her own, she had +taken a substitute, and she loved him with a whole-heartedness +that was almost pathetic.</p> + +<p>It was a new world to the poor little wobbly +puppy, but she lightened it as much as possible for +him. She taught him to nurse at her breast; hour +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>after hour would she scheme to devise some way in +which he could cling to her, as her own child would +have done, as she leaped about her cage. It was +useless, and at last she abandoned it, apparently +content to forego the natural impulses of her life to +swing and bound, that she might hold tight in her +arms the baby which had taken, in part at least, the +place of her own child. Gradually she weaned him; +then came the call of kind.</p> + +<p>Outside the cage, the pack barked and played +and raced. The dog nature of the adopted child +urged that he be with them, with the result that, +whining, he would stand at the edge of the cage, +striving to paw his way through, while with chirping +and twitting the monkey would endeavor to +claim his attention; it was the pitiful sight of a +mother with a wayward child. At last it was necessary +that the door be opened for him, and out he +went, out into the world for which he longed and +the life for which he fretted, while behind, in the +cage, remained a mother who did not forget. Nor—be +it said to the credit of the adopted child—did +he wholly forget his mother. There were times +when he would go to the cage and beg, with the +result that a delighted mother would leap and scream +until the attendants would open the door for him. +Then in he would go, while the rhesus would fondle +him and croon over him in a frenzy of delight. But +these periods grew farther and farther between. +At last came the time when the dog, fully grown +now, forgot his monkey mother entirely. The same +was not true of the rhesus; she could recognize her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>child, even in the midst of the pack, and at the bars +would call to him and strive to entice him to her. +But the dog would not heed.</p> + +<p>Mother nature! It is present in the menagerie +in its every beautiful phase. The uninformed have +some weird stories of caged jungle beasts,—how +they hate their young and kill them, rather than see +them endure captivity. It is not true. The jungle +beast, when caged, often does kill her babies; but it +is through love for them, not dislike. Their poor, +non-understanding brains know but the instinctive +rules of the jungle, and when those are not successful +within the confines of a cage, death results.</p> + +<p>For instance, the instinct of a cat beast is, in time +of danger, to carry its young to a place of safety. +Therefore when a thronging crowd, or some unusual +excitement, causes nervousness on the part of a lion +or tiger mother, she naturally seizes her cub by the +nape of the neck, and lifting it, strives to find some +spot in which it will be protected and safe from the +dangers which she believes are present. But no +such place is available. Back and forth she paces, +turning, twisting, almost writhing in her anxiety for +seclusion. If the cage is closed and darkened, she +will set her cub down immediately. But if the attendants +are uneducated in the ways of the jungle +breed, or are careless, and allow that cage to remain +open and the fancied fears to continue, the mother +naturally will continue to carry her young, with the +result that when, at last, the baby is set down, it is +dead,—from suffocation. The mother has not +killed her baby. The attendants have done it, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>through ignorance and carelessness. The same is +true when a lioness or tigress kills her young by attack. +Carelessness, inattention, lack of nutrition; +all have maddened the ill, hungry beast. She is a +mother in delirium, and more than one human +mother has killed her baby while suffering from mental +aberration. The same is true of animals. But +there is this to the credit of the animal mother: +never has there been a cub killed after its lips have +touched her mother breasts!</p> + +<p>If you do not believe in animal love, watch, some +day, the grief of a menagerie mother, the silent, +trustful grief of the beast as she watches for the +man who has taken her dead baby away. To him +she looks for its return; her eyes search for him in +disregard of all others; he is the one who took her +baby away, and in some trustful way she believes he +will bring it back. She cannot realize the meaning +of death; her baby still is alive, her baby will come +back to her! The travail continues for days, until +at last the undeveloped intellect fails of concentration +and her grief is ended through a merciful forgetfulness. +Which brings about the story of a +seemingly unnatural mother,—who wasn’t.</p> + +<p>The birth of an elephant calf is an unusual thing +in a circus. Therefore when Alice, one of the great +“bulls”—as elephants are called in show language—brought +a baby into the world, there was happiness +and excitement. But only for a short time. +Hardly had the baby been born when the mother +turned upon it and beat it to death!</p> + +<p>There was only one conclusion to be drawn; that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>the mother did not want her baby to be born into +captivity, and that she rather would see it dead than +living under such conditions. When her second +baby came, the legs of the tremendous beast were +chained to heavy stakes driven deep into the ground, +and the baby taken from her at the earliest possible +moment. That day was a mad one on the circus. +Alice tore the stakes from the ground; she butted +her way through every surrounding protectorate +that could be raised against her; she was an elephant +gone insane. The baby died. A third time, and +Fred Alispaw, her trainer, began to investigate,—with +some surprising results. Alice had not been +trying to kill her baby; she had been trying to bring +it to life!</p> + +<p>For Alispaw learned some interesting things +about elephant mothers. One of them was the fact +that they bring babies into the world in solitude, in +a swamp or at a water hole, often as far as a hundred +miles from the rest of the herd. He learned +that, to start the circulation and to really cause the +beginning of the functioning of life in the newly +born calf, the mother beats her baby with her trunk, +kicks it about, stamps it into the mud and often +throws it high into the air, allowing it to drop into +the water, from which she immediately rescues it, +that the performance again may be begun. For +hours this continues, until circulation is established +to its fullest extent, and the baby is ready for the +other struggles of childhood. In her kicking and +beating and stamping, Alice merely had followed the +traditions of her jungle instincts. Nor was her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>brute mind to know that beneath her was a cement +floor, which meant death to her child at the first +blow!</p> + +<p>Therefore, with this knowledge, an experiment +was attempted. The elephant was given to a city +park zoo, with instructions that she be allowed to +follow her natural instincts when the time came for +the baby to be brought into the world. One day +she wandered away, to remain for nearly a week. +Then she returned, bringing with her a tiny elephant +calf, upon which she bestowed every evidence +of affection. More, she tried her level best to rear +it. But again she had not counted upon the influences +of civilization. The public became too +interested and too generous. The calf died from +being over-fed.</p> + +<p>So, you see, the spirit of motherhood can be present +even in a fat, wobbly, pig-eyed elephant. In +fact, you can find it in every part of the menagerie +and in every degree, just as you can find every +phase of it in the human race. Perhaps you’ve seen +the human mother who goes into hysterics the moment +her child leaves the front lawn, who runs frantically +about searching for it, then, when the lost is +found, cuffs and slaps and scolds it all the way home? +The next time you see a camel and a calf, watch +them. You’ll find the same sort of performance.</p> + +<p>If ever a poor baby was tied to a mother’s apron +strings, it is a camel’s calf. Privileges? It has +none. Ever must it be beside its mother, otherwise +there is a near panic and trouble in plenty! Once +a camel calf wanders from its mother, the menagerie +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>is raucous with bawling and braying, while +the mother tugs at her rope, kicks and bites at everything +near and gives every evidence of hysteria. +Then, the second she has recovered her child, chastisement +follows. She butts it about. She scolds +it with coarse, frequently repeated grunts, and as a +finale, seizes it by the nape of the neck with her +heavy teeth, lifts it high and slams it on the ground. +Woe be unto that camel calf if it tries to arise in the +next two or three hours. Mother is watching it, +mother is peevish, and mother has that look in her +eyes which more than one human mother displays +as she turns hurriedly and announces:</p> + +<p>“No! No! No, I said! Mamma spank!”</p> + +<p>Indeed, the existence of a baby camel is far from +a happy one. It has no child life whatever, no babyish +rambles or gambols; it is simply an attachment +to a mother. Haven’t you seen many a human +child struggling along under the same conditions?</p> + +<p>More than that, you’ve seen the child of the ostrich +in human life, the poor, neglected, catch-as-catch-can +affair which wanders through childhood +while its mother is too busy even to notice the last +time its neck was washed; who has for a mother its +father, who knows about as much concerning the +rearing of a child as a man could be expected to +know, which is nothing? That, in the menagerie, +is the baby ostrich, the outcast of the circus. Its +mother is a society woman, its father a poor, henpecked +fish, and its life a muddle from beginning to +end. Such a thing as hatching eggs? Oh, dear, +no!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span></p> + +<p>To begin with, in the natural state, the eggs of an +ostrich, each weighing from three to four pounds, +are scratched into a hole in the sand and lightly +covered. Then Mamma strolls away, leaving the +rest of the work, in the daytime, to the sun. The +night shift is taken by Papa, who is a poor lunkhead +anyway, and who doesn’t know any more than +to hatch the eggs upon which his wife should be +setting. For forty-two days this continues, and then +the mother ostrich finally consents to take some time +from her regular duties of swallowing oranges, +pieces of glass and anything else that glitters. She +actually breaks the eggs, so that the chicks may +emerge. This completed, she is utterly fatigued, +and the henpecked husband once more takes up his +duties, for it is he who mothers the brood and protects +it, not the female. Such a thing as raising +children? My word!</p> + +<p>Which brings me to another phase of the question +of parentage, and perhaps the strangest. It is +perhaps only natural that a beast should show the +instincts of motherhood. But what of the father? +In one case, at least, I have the knowledge that the +instinct of parentage exists even in the male, for I +have seen it.</p> + +<p>“Glory,” the mother, was ill, dying. There was +no hope for the newly born cub which strove in vain +to suckle at her breast; the eyes of the beast already +were glazed, the great legs and paws were beginning +to straighten with a rigor which formed a prelude +to death. In the other half of the cage paced +Hamid, her mate and the father of her cub, roaring +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span>in a tremulous, grumbling fashion, and leaping at +intervals against the bars. They were Nubian +lions, and Hamid was the largest black-maned specimen +of the menagerie.</p> + +<p>The customary consultation was held among the +attendants. Then an animal man entered the den +of the mother beast, being forced however, because +of a broken lock, to go through the portion occupied +by Hamid, and reach the lioness through the +partition door which divided the cage. Very carefully +he lifted the cub and started out on his return +trip with it. But as he came through the partition +he slipped, and, a yowling ball of fur, the cub rolled +to the floor.</p> + +<p>A leap, and Hamid was on the man, knocking +him to one side, then swerving that he might seize +the cub in his jaws. Menagerie attendants shouted +and ran for prod-rods, that they might attempt to +save the life of a helpless infant. But suddenly +they ceased their efforts.</p> + +<p>For the jaws of Hamid were clinched with gentle, +almost loving strength upon the nape of that baby’s +neck. A moment more and he had set the cub upon +the floor, spraddling it with his forelegs and roaring +his defiance at the entire circus. It was hours before +they could take the cub from him, and then he +roared and bounded and paced until it was fed from +a bottle and returned to him. In the days and +months which followed, no mother could have been +more gentle, more careful, more affectionate than +Hamid was with his cub; the menagerie tent was one +series of rough growls and thunderous roars until he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>learned that the daily kidnapping of the baby was +only for the purpose of feeding it.</p> + +<p>Together they stayed, together they are to-day, +Hamid and Hamid the Second,—a father and a son +he mothered when the lioness who had borne him +passed into the Great Beyond!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII"> + CHAPTER VIII + <br> + <span class="fs80">IN THE STEEL ARENA</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">“Congo”</span>, a giant Koolakamba of the ape +family, had been on a rampage for hours. +And with Congo that meant trouble. +Seven feet tall, measuring from his funny, crooked +feet to his upraised, twisted hands; with great, +canine tusks that could rip and tear like the thrust of +a sabre, Congo was something to regard with care +when he revolted against the confinement of his +heavy, steel-barred cage, and roared forth his ultimatums +of rebellion.</p> + +<p>And he was on a rampage. Twice he had +knocked over his three-ton cage, only to raise it +again with a sweep of one great arm as the whip +of the trainer cut about his face and neck. The +heavy log chain which encircled his throat strained +and clanked. Finally, as the whip cut deeper, one +broad, black hand went swiftly upward, caught the +whip and jerked it from the trainer’s hand. The +loose lips parted from ugly incisors. One crunch +of the jaws and the whip had become only a shapeless +mass. Then, small eyes gleaming maliciously, +black hands weaving slowly before the bulging chest, +Congo strained harder than ever at his chain, the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>bellowing roars sounding louder and louder in the +approaching mania of absolute revolt. The trainer +whirled.</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t Mrs. Wright shown up yet?” he asked +anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Not yet—wait a minute—think she’s just +coming in the door.”</p> + +<p>“Good!”</p> + +<p>The trainer turned from his charge as the form +of a woman showed in the door of the winter quarters +where Congo was being housed for a month before +the opening of the circus season. He smiled +weakly and waved a hand.</p> + +<p>“Do you mind trying to do something with +him?” he asked. “Mr. Wright went downtown +and—I guess he’s scared of me.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he is.” A black-haired, black-eyed +woman, the wife of the man who had reared Congo +from a tiny “punk”, who had cared for the beast +ever since the day it was purchased from the captain +of a Cape Lopez freighter, came hurriedly forward. +Congo howled at her as he had howled and roared +at the trainer. But she paid no attention. He +snarled. But a moment later he was cooing with +apelike delight. The woman had gone straight to +his cage, put an arm about his neck, and was stroking +his face as one would stroke the face of a baby! +Congo was mollified,—and by a woman!</p> + +<p>“That was the whole trouble,” she said, as chairs +were brought forward, and the big ape seated himself +beside her with one arm about her neck, “he +was just frightened. He didn’t know you, and he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>was scared. See? He’s not afraid of me. Congo—give +me a big hug! There, that’s it.”</p> + +<p>The tremendous arm, its muscles capable of raising +three tons in leverage from the ground, grasped +tight at the shoulders of the woman. The heavy, +ugly lips pursed. A cooing sound came from them, +then, like some big, ugly boy, the seven-foot ape +laid his head on the shoulder of his mistress, sighed, +and was content,—because he no longer was afraid. +In that lies the secret of animal training; in that +lies the explanation of the fact that in many an instance +a woman can tame a wild beast when a man +has failed; a woman can subjugate an arena full +of lions or tigers or leopards when the entrance of +a man might mean a combined assault and the horrible +moments which come when the caged jungle +beasts realize their superiority. For it is the truth—hard +as it may be to swallow—that it is not the +person within the steel arena who is afraid, but the +beast! The cat animals, the chimpanzee, the elephant +all have fear in their hearts. And the gentleness +of womankind can best soothe this fear and +allay it. Hence the fact that nearly every circus +which travels here and there about the country +through the summer months has one woman who +performs in the steel arena, who is heralded as “the +lady of the iron nerves” and “a person born without +fear”, when the truth of the matter is merely +the fact that she knows enough to gain the confidence +of the beasts under her care, and to assure them that +they are friends, that there is nothing to fear on +either side!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> + +<p>A realm apart in the circus world is that of the +woman who trains the “cats” or feline beasts which +perform in the big, steel arena, the large, lubberly +elephants, or ostriches, or even the grunting, slow-thinking, +piglike hippopotamus. She occupies an +entirely different sphere from that of the equestrienne, +the contortionist, or the acrobat. Her +mode of life, her work, her dangers—even her +entry into the circus world—all are different. She +is made, not born; she is herself trained, even as the +animals under her supervision are trained, and her +mental equipment must be far greater than that of +the woman who swings on the high trapeze, or does +a “perch act” during the “mixed aerial number” +of the circus. They need know only the laws of +equilibrium and of health and strength.</p> + +<p>I stood one day during the training season, watching +the efforts of a woman animal trainer, as she +sought to force a leopard to its pedestal. Time +after time she touched it with the whip, not viciously, +not cruelly, but merely with sufficient force to tell +it that she was in command and that she wanted a +certain thing accomplished. The leopard hissed +and roared. Its ugly teeth bared and it fought the +whip with vicious, boxerlike thrusts of its claw-studded +paws as though it were a living enemy. +For fifteen minutes the contest continued, while the +leopard grew more and more intractable. At last, +the woman curled her whip, stood thoughtful a moment +and then, with a sudden resolve, dropped her +weapon, and, one hand extended, began to move +ever so slowly toward the hissing, crouching beast.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> + +<p>Literally inch by inch she made the journey, while +the leopard weaved and twisted before her, hissing, +growling, evidently awaiting the first untoward +move by the trainer before it leaped in attack. But +that move did not come. At last they were separated +by only a few feet,—then even this space +narrowed. A hand went out and touched the cringing +coat of the feline beast, while it writhed and +yowled, too surprised either to attack or to run. +For a long moment after that, the woman did not +move. Then, slowly, gently, she began to caress +the beast, patting it, tickling it behind the ears, stroking +its fur as one would stroke some giant house cat. +The growling ceased. The glare left the eyes. +The woman moved even closer. Another moment, +while the hand played gently about the beast’s head. +Then—</p> + +<p>“Tony!”</p> + +<p>She had moved away and was calling to the menagerie +superintendent. That person hurried forward.</p> + +<p>“Anything wrong?” he asked, peering between +the bars of the arena, as he watched her open the +door which would allow the spotted cat to return +to its cage. She nodded.</p> + +<p>“Plenty. No wonder I couldn’t work the poor +thing. It’s got an ulcerated tooth!”</p> + +<p>The leopard went back into its cage, to receive +the rough but well-intentioned services of the menagerie +men as they first lashed it, then gave +the injections of cocaine which would deaden +the pain until the refractory tooth could be pulled, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>and its agony alleviated. The woman turned to me.</p> + +<p>“You’ve got to know more than how to whip an +animal to be a trainer,” she explained, with a laugh. +“I thought something was wrong from the way that +cat was acting. But I couldn’t tell what it was until +I got close. Then I saw the swelling in the jaw—and +touched it. Did you notice how it winced? +After that it was easy.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know—”</p> + +<p>“That they had aches and pains? Why not? +A horse has them, doesn’t it? Or a house dog? +Why shouldn’t a jungle animal? Perhaps it’s because +I’m around them more than I am domestic +animals, but there are times when I believe they are +nearer human beings when it comes to ailments than +even our pets. Just for instance—”</p> + +<p>She led the way down the line of permanent cages +to where a three-months-old lion cub was yowling +at the bars. A leather collar was around its neck, +while a small chain hung near by. She opened the +cage door and brought the yowling beast forth, then +attached the chain.</p> + +<p>“Come along, Honey,” she urged. “Time for +your walk. Never get over your troubles unless you +walk them off. There,” she cajoled, as the limping, +yowling little puff of fur settled on its haunches and +sat crying pitifully, “I know it hurts—but that’s +what I’m trying to get rid of for you. Come +along!”</p> + +<p>I noticed the cub then; its legs were stiff and +knotty! every step seemed one of agony. The +trainer nodded.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> + +<p>“Rheumatism,” came her explanation. “It’s an +inbred, the child of a brother and sister. The same +rules apply to it that apply to human beings. A +child under these circumstances would be weak and +sickly. So are animals. It’s rare for one of them +ever to amount to anything, but we’ve got to try to +salvage what we can. This one could hardly move +two weeks ago. Now it can walk all the way +around the menagerie house.”</p> + +<p>“After all,” she said, as we strolled along, the +cub lion thumping painfully in our wake, “it’s a +great deal like teaching school,—this animal-training +business. Perhaps the simile appeals more to +me for the simple reason that I once was a school-teacher. +A far jump? Not at all. I dealt then +with human children and taught them readin’, +writin’, and ’rithmetic. Here I deal with animal +children and teach them to jump through a hoop, +or leap over hurdles. And all the time I am struck +by the similarity of my problems.”</p> + +<p>“For instance, in the schoolroom you must figure +out your pupils. There are the ones who are afraid +of you, simply because you are a teacher, and you +can’t give them any advancement until you can conquer +that fear. It is the same in the steel arena. +Now and then you will find an animal that has been +mistreated on some other circus, and who has been +started out under a cruel trainer, who believed in +beating the beast half to death to obtain his results. +Naturally, when that animal faces you, it is a lunatic +through fear. It believes your main object is to try +to kill it, and naturally it intends to fight back with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span>every bit of strength and power it possesses. And +not until you can assure that beast that your idea is +kindliness—coupled with firmness—and that its +lot will be easy so long as it does what is required +of it, can you really begin to train it. Isn’t that a +parallel for the child who has been beaten for not +getting his lessons, who has been bullied, and who +has been taught that his instructor is an ogre instead +of a friend?”</p> + +<p>“Then, too, there are the defectives, just like this +cub I’m leading around. However, this is a mild +case. Here.” We stopped in front of a cage, and +the trainer moved close to the bars. The result was +a wild, screeching roar from the lion within. A +leap, and the beast had sought the farthest corner, +huddling there, hissing, its eyes gleaming, its jaws +wide and threatening.</p> + +<p>“Acts like a crazy person—with hallucinations,” +I said.</p> + +<p>“That’s because he <em>is</em> crazy,” came the answer. +“Crazy as any lunatic that ever was confined in an +asylum. He’s an inbred too; it went to his mind. +You can see absolute terror in his every action. He +hasn’t enough brain-balance to be taught that he is +safe in the company of humans. Therefore it’s impossible +to train him. He’s only a menagerie lion, +and he’ll never be anything else. He’d kill a trainer +the minute he was let loose in the arena, not because +he’s naturally a murderer, but because he would fully +believe that his life was in danger unless he could +slay his enemy before that enemy could slay him. +So you see,” and there was a little laugh, “when we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>work an act in the steel arena, it’s a good deal like +the last day of school. We pick our pupils to provide +the entertainment.”</p> + +<p>And the next time you’re around the circus, seek +out some one among the animal men and ask him +why all the caged beasts aren’t workers. He may +not give the reason with the same discernment as +the ex-school-teacher. But the theory behind it will +be just the same.</p> + +<p>Strange that a school-teacher should turn animal +trainer? Not at all. Inquire into the past of +Lucia Zora, billed as “the bravest woman in the +world”, and you’ll find that at one time she was a +member of the Russian Ballet. Ask Mrs. Henry +Boucher about the days of her past, and she’ll tell +you that she was a seventeen-year-old girl assistant +to the wardrobe woman of a small circus before she +went into the business of training elephants. Mlle. +Adgie, one of the most famous of woman animal +trainers, occupied a position far remote from lions +and tigers before she took up the life of the steel +arena. In a wild animal circus which winters on the +Pacific Coast is Mabel Stark, whose act is that of +wrestling a tiger. Six hundred pounds it weighs; +yet every day, within the arena, she struggles with +it as one would struggle with a human being; she +mauls it about, slaps it, throws it from her, dances +around the arena with it, and goes through the every +motion of a rough-and-tumble bout. Nor is it some +toothless, aged old beast that has neither the +strength nor the inclination to object. The only +time it ever missed a performance was when a careless +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>animal man placed another tiger in the same +den with it. One leap, a crunching attack,—and +the other beast was dead! With any other animals +it is a murderer. With Miss Stark it is only a playful +cat, ready to do her bidding. Yet Miss Stark +can count on her fingers the years she has been training +animals. Before that she had never been +nearer them than the ordinary spectator.</p> + +<p>All this in support of the statement that the +woman animal trainer is made and not born, as is +the case with the usual performer of the circus. You +will find in the equestrienne the descendant of a long +line of riders. Her mother before her was a rider, +and her grandmother, even back to the fourth and +fifth generation. She is trained to the “rosinback”, +as the ring horse is called, from the moment she is +large enough to sit upon it. From her birth she is +destined to become a rider; her thoughts are never +elsewhere. It is the same with the acrobat. Stroll +into the “big top” of the circus following the +matinée performance, and you will find every ring +clustered with fathers and mothers teaching their offspring +the tricks and stunts which have given them +a living beneath the canvas tents of the circus, training +them from youth that the children may take their +places and carry on the family name when they are +gone. But with the animal trainer, all is different. +She steps into the game in maturity; she trains for +it as one would take a college course for some profession.</p> + +<p>Usually it comes about through marriage. A girl +of the circus, or even of the outside world, marries +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>one of the menagerie men and travels with the show. +She knows nothing of acrobatics, she is unable to accomplish +the trapeze or riding feats which require +bodily training from childhood, and yet she has the +ambition to do something more than merely to ride +in parade, or to form a part of the “grand, glittering +and magnificent introductory spectacle.” And +so she naturally turns to the menagerie, where her +husband perhaps works. She learns the habits of +the animals, their ailments, their idiosyncrasies. +And, sooner or later, the day inevitably arrives +when she begs her husband for the privilege of going +into the arena with him when he works one of +the various animal acts. The thrill has gotten into +her blood. Once within the arena, she seldom +leaves. In fact, soon after that first visit, the husband +turns his attention to the general work of the +menagerie, the care of the animals, the inspection of +the cages, and the hundred and one other duties +which he has been forced to neglect while he +“worked” the animals. Some one else has taken +his place; some one who seems to have far greater +success than he; some one whom the animals obey +with an implicit sort of faith, and who is far less +nervous, far less fidgety and far less regardful of the +possible dangers of the arena than ever he had been. +There are many business men who say that their +wives can drive the family car far better in the congested +traffic of a city than they; their minds are free +for that one purpose, they concentrate upon it, while +the man may be attempting to figure out a business +deal and listen for the whistle of the traffic cop at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>the same moment. It is the same with a woman in +the animal arena. Once within the steel bars, the +world goes by without a thought from her. The +entire concentration of mind is upon those beasts, +and the animals seem to know it. In the circus, it +is the animal act performed by a woman that gets +the greatest applause, and mostly because it is deserved.</p> + +<p>Gentleness, too, is one of the reasons why animals +are trained more swiftly by the feminine occupants +of the arena, for it is through the conquering of +fear that the beast itself is conquered. When an +animal learns that, while it may be the subject of an +overlord in the form of a trainer, it has nothing to +fear in the way of bodily harm, it can be counted +upon as a working animal, and not before. So long +as the animal lives in fear, so long is it dangerous. +But when that fear is gone—</p> + +<p>“I’m all right now,” said the wife of Captain +Ricardo, an animal trainer, one day as she stood +in an arena with a new lion which was in the third +week of its instructions, “I’ve got him eating out +of my hand!”</p> + +<p>“Literally, or figuratively?” I asked.</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p172a" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p172a.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + “<span class="allsmcap">I’VE GOT HIM EATING OUT OF MY HAND!</span>” + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>“Judge for yourself,” came her answer, as a strip +of meat was tossed to her by an attendant from without. +Then slowly she went forward toward the +half-cringing beast, balancing itself upon a property +“barrel.” She held forth the meat. The lion hesitated, +turned as though to run, swung slowly back +again, and with mincing jaws reached out for the +food. The hand of the woman was not eight inches +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>from the beast’s fangs, but that hand was unharmed. +The lion had realized that this person was not an +enemy, but a friend; that it was being rewarded for +the fulfillment of a task. The battle of training +had been won.</p> + +<p>But don’t misunderstand. Lions or tigers—or +any other dangerous feline beasts—are not trained +by handing them pieces of meat. It is an entirely +different process; harmless, but effective. And +those first days of primary training, strangely +enough, are the safest of all for the woman who desires +to introduce new beasts to the intricacies of a +trained act.</p> + +<p>Within the cage, the beast is tied and trussed long +enough for a heavy, leather strap to be passed about +its body and securely fastened. To this is attached +a rope which runs outside, through the top of the +arena, and there through a pulley to the hands of +waiting animal men. Then the beast is allowed to +go through the opened door from its den to the +arena, while the woman who is to make a “working +animal” of it awaits, armed only with a whip +and a revolver loaded with blank cartridges,—the +last resort in case of emergency, should the rope or +belt break.</p> + +<p>The first instinct of the beast is to leap—at an +enemy. It obeys the call of fear and lunges, +but in vain. Outside, the men have pulled on the +rope leading to the leather belt. Instead of +striking against the human target, the beast finds +itself clawing and twisting aimlessly in midair, +while the thing it fears still stands, a few feet +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>away, unharmed, and making no move toward it.</p> + +<p>A wait of a few seconds and it is lowered, only +to leap again and to find itself once more suspended +harmlessly. Again and again, until finally there +comes the time when it neglects to leap, and instead, +seeks refuge in running. But once more the “mechanic”, +as the belt and rope are called, interferes. +It stops, and hissing, awaits the approach of the +enemy.</p> + +<p>Thus the first battle has been won. Gradually, +by aid of light touches with the whip, the trainer +forces the animal in the direction she desires him to +go. Slowly she directs him to a pedestal, and in the +efforts at escape, the beast leaps upon it. The first +step in training has been accomplished. The beast +has found that through some strange power, which +must come from the trainer herself, it is unable to +attack her. Naturally, its unfunctioning brain cannot +understand the mechanical principles of the rope +and belt, and the men outside the arena, who pull +upon it. It simply attributes this invulnerability to +attack to the trainer herself and realizes a helplessness +in her presence. It consequently retreats, hearing +certain commands as it does so. The constant +repetition of this teaches it first to mount a pedestal, +then to leap over hurdles and finally to do all the +things which are seen during a “cat” act in the performance +of a circus.</p> + +<p>At first it does this all through fear. But gradually, +as the days pass, it finds that the woman neither +molests it nor annoys it so long as it follows the +rote in which it is being trained. The result is a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>confidence, yes, even a spirit of friendship. The +hiss of a lion in the arena is not nearly as vicious as +it sounds.</p> + +<p>With elephants, of course, the proceeding is different. +There, the woman who trains them merely +has to improve upon instructions already given, for +the great mammals usually come to this country already +trained. In the first place, practically every +working elephant comes from India. The African +elephant, as a rule, is a vicious, sullen outlaw, unamenable +to kindness or to teachings. The Indian, +on the other hand, has been accustomed to human beings +all its life. It has worked in the compounds of +India at such tasks as carrying logs, or hauling +wagons, and it understands the superiority of human +kind. From there it usually is taken to some training +menagerie, where it is given another course of +instructions in the primary things required by a circus, +this usually happening in Germany. After that, +it arrives in America; and the training which follows +is usually only an elaboration of the rudiments it already +has learned. But at that, it’s a good, hard +job. If you don’t believe it, select for yourself +some day a nice herd of, say, ten elephants, weighing +from one to three tons apiece, and try to do the +things that you’ve seen the woman trainer do in +the circus,—such as swinging on the trunks of two +of them, upraised some ten feet above the ground, +while the rest of the herd forms a tableau in the +background. And at the same time, smile and make +a few bows to the audience. It isn’t so terribly +easy!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p> + +<p>Nor is the task of any animal trainer, man or +woman, a simple job. There are many things to +know, many things which require constant vigilance, +neglect of which may bring death! An animal with +an ulcerated tooth is not the same tractable beast +as when in good health and humor. I once saw a +woman escape from the arena after the last blank +cartridge had been fired from her revolver straight +into the eyes of an attacking Bengal tiger, causing it +to halt and wheel, not three feet from her. And in +that instant of indecision she whirled through the +steel gate and was safe. It was puzzling: the fact +that the most faithful, the hardest working tiger of +all her group should suddenly “go bad” and rebel +against her every effort to make it obey her commands. +In truth, it was a mystery to every one, +until the tiger had been taken back to its cage, +strapped, and a minute examination made of its +teeth and feet. In the latter was the cause found. +A claw had turned and was growing straight into +the flesh. The foot was swollen and sore. Well, +perhaps at some time in your life you’ve had an ingrowing +toe nail? That was what was wrong with +the tiger, on a larger scale, of course. And it made +him just ugly enough to want to kill somebody. He +nearly succeeded.</p> + +<p>Indigestion, too much feeding, under-feeding, lack +of rest, exposure during some run of the circus in the +early months of fall, when the wind whips along the +train and chills the animals unless the dens are +properly covered; excess of heat on hot days, bad +water,—all these things may have their effect within +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>the steel arena. More than that, the emotions must +be taken into consideration, even to gratitude.</p> + +<p>On one of the traveling carnivals of the country +is an animal act which contains one leopard that +is by far the best performer of the whole group. +The woman who displays the act, the wife of its +owner, can do as she pleases with that one cat. If +it doesn’t obey the command to mount its pedestal, +she neither whips it nor rails at it. She simply +walks swiftly and firmly to it, seizes it by the nape +of the neck and <em>lifts</em> it into place. If it growls at +her, she cuffs it with her open hand and scolds it +as one would scold a house cat. She knows that +nothing she can do can displace the affection in the +heart of that great, spotted feline beast. And of +course, there is a story behind it.</p> + +<p>It was in the autumn, and the carnival was rounding +out its season in the south, only to be caught in +a “norther”, one of those sudden descents of ice-cold +rain which freezes the moment it strikes the +ground. The train was on the move before the +dens could be shrouded in canvas and filled with +straw to give the necessary warmth to the jungle +animals, and one of the leopards, an intractable, +hateful beast that had absolutely refused to respond +to every effort at subjugation, had become chilled,—with +the inevitable result of pneumonia. The +owner went rather disconsolately to his wife.</p> + +<p>“Going to lose that Beauty cat,” he announced. +“Pneumonia.”</p> + +<p>Woman nature came to the surface.</p> + +<p>“But aren’t you doing anything for it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span></p> + +<p>“That cat? I should say not; it’d tear you to +pieces the minute you went into the cage.”</p> + +<p>“Not if it’s sick—I shouldn’t think—” Then +there was a pause. “I’m going to try it, anyway.”</p> + +<p>Against the protestations of her husband, she +made her preparations. Cloths were cut. Liniments +and hot packs were made ready. Then, surrounded +by men with feeding forks, flanked by her +husband with a revolver, she made her entrance into +the cage. The leopard hissed at her and sought to +rise. Impossible—the ravages of fever and of +disease prevented. Closer the woman went and applied +the packs. As the befanged mouth was +opened, she poured medicine down the red throat. +The leopard did not resist,—through sheer inability +to summon the necessary strength. It was the beginning +of a week’s vigil.</p> + +<p>Gradually the cat came to know that this person +who stayed beside him day and night was there for +the purpose of relief. There was comfort in the +heat of those packs; the medications allayed the pain +and brought easier breathing. The time came when +the eyes of the beast followed her as she left the +cage and watched for her until she returned. Recovery +set in, but with it there was no recurrence of +the hissing and roaring and rebellion against the association +of a human. One day the husband came +beside the cage to find the great, emaciated cat +asleep, its head pillowed in the lap of the woman. +Health came at last, and with it the announcement +from the wife that she intended to train the hitherto +untrainable beast. Into the arena they went. Five +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>minutes later, she had tossed aside her whip and was +directing the beast by hand, lifting it to the pedestals +and down again, or catching it by the loose skin of +its neck and guiding it from one side of the arena to +the other. That was four years ago. And in all +that time, not one hiss of anger has ever come from +that leopard’s throat!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX"> + CHAPTER IX + <br> + <span class="fs80">“THE CIRCUS MAN’S BEST FRIEND”</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap">A <span class="upper-case">long</span> time ago, when I was a yellow-haired +boy—I’m bald and a bit old now—the +Wild West Show of Buffalo Bill came to +town, and I was one of those lucky persons who +could set the alarm clock, and then, in answer to its +call, watch the circus arrive without even budging +out of bed. For I lived near the “show lot” where +all the big circuses gave their exhibits, and I felt that +life held something more for me than for the ordinary +boy.</p> + +<p>I say I <em>could</em> watch the show without leaving bed. +But I didn’t. No boy does. And it happened that +during the course of the morning, wandering about, +I came upon a canvas man bending over a ripped +portion of the circus tent where it lay stretched on +the ground, striving aimlessly to sew the rent with +a broken needle.</p> + +<p>“Hello, kid!” he greeted me. “Run home and +get me a good needle, will you?”</p> + +<p>“Gi’ me a ticket to the show?” I asked in reply.</p> + +<p>“No—I can’t. They don’t let us working fellows +give tickets away.”</p> + +<p>Just the same, I got the needle, and on my return, +the canvas man looked up with a grin.</p> + +<p>“You kids are the best friends we’ve got!” he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>announced, and I ran home to tell the news,—that +a circus man had said that boys were the best—</p> + +<p>But there came a sniff from my sister.</p> + +<p>“He only said that because he wanted the needle,” +was her caustic comment. “I notice he didn’t give +you a ticket.”</p> + +<p>Twenty years later, I stood on the steps of my +private car, and strangely enough it was one of the +managerial cars of the show of which Buffalo Bill +formed the chief feature. Things had changed a +bit since the olden days when I salvaged the needle. +Now I counted Buffalo Bill as my friend and comrade, +the destinies of six hundred people and two +great trains of circus paraphernalia were under my +partial control and—</p> + +<p>“Kid,” I said, as a boy passed and I leaned out +from the vestibule, “run over to the circus lot and +ask the boss canvas man if he’s going to be able to +get the tent up on time for the afternoon show. +We got in here late, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir!” and the boy was gone. Five minutes +later, he returned, panting. “He’s going to +get it up all right.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” I said, and grinned. “You kids are +the best friends we’ve got.”</p> + +<p>Then something crossed my mind,—a picture of +twenty years before. I reached into a pocket for +my pad of reserved seat passes.</p> + +<p>“Guess you’ve got a friend?” I asked, and the +boy nodded. A moment later, he was running away +shouting,—and clasping tight at tickets for two +grand-stand seats.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></p> + +<p>Nor was it all memory that prompted the gift of +three dollars’ worth of seats for a ten-cent errand. +It was the general knowledge that I had spoken the +truth, and that this boy represented other boys,—boys +who not a week before had saved the whole +circus, who had made it possible for the doors to +open, and the thronging mass of people, representing +thousands and thousands of dollars, to crowd +through the main gates and in to the performance. +More, were it not for the boys of the United States, +the boys who cluster about the long circus trains in +the gray of morning, who rally to the call of the +boss canvas man and stay by him through thick and +thin until the last stringer is laid and the last duty +done,—the big circuses of the country would not +be able to run at all! Therefore, is it any wonder +that we call them our buddies?</p> + +<p>The boys, collectively, and that includes youngsters +from twelve to eighteen years of age, are +counted upon by the circus as a part of their equipment, +in just as important a sense as the railroad +cars themselves, or the tents or the performers and +executive staff. And for this reason:</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p182c" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p182c.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">THE BOYS ARE COUNTED UPON AS A PART OF THE EQUIPMENT.</span> + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_182">182</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p182d" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p182d.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">ENOUGH SEATS MUST BE PUT INTO PLACE TO ACCOMMODATE + A WHOLE VILLAGE.</span> <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>The present-day circus is too gigantic a thing to be +handled by its creators alone, where the matter of +manual labor is concerned. The tremendous spread +of canvas, the vast amount of “hand work”, the +intricate details, the necessity for hundreds, yes, even +thousands of hands ready to grasp this piece of +trapping or that bit of rope, these things are too +numerous and great in expanse to be coped with by +the ordinary amount of labor which can be carried +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>on the long trains. Often, too, it is impossible to +procure that labor. The inroads of harvest time in +Kansas, the lure of high wages at the various mines +when the shows strike the metal belts, the constant +drift and flow of men make it next to impossible at +times to procure the necessary number of laborers +needed to daily erect the numberless tents which +cluster about the “big top”, and to put into place +the tier upon tier of seats needed for the influx of +the matinée and night crowds. But the show cannot +stop for that. It is an inexorable rule of circusdom +that the show must go on—on—in spite of +rain, in spite of fire and flood, in spite of wrecks, of +illness or death.</p> + +<p>Therefore, the shortage or absence of workmen +cannot and must not stop the circus. Nor does it; +for there is always one element that can be depended +upon, always one group of persons who will not fail,—the +boys. And it is to them that the circus looks +for aid in all times and for salvation in the hour of +need.</p> + +<p>What do they do? Theirs are the willing tasks +that can be achieved better by youthful hands than +by stronger ones; theirs the enthusiasm that even the +loyal “roughneck”—and those coarse men of the +circus <em>are</em> loyal—cannot fulfill in as good a measure. +On every circus, at the time the regular admission +tickets are printed and the gilded passes put +into their pads and apportioned to the various agents +and members of the executive staff, great piles of +square, white tickets are also given out to the bosses +of the working crews. And these tickets—passes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>in truth—are labelled with something fraught with +meaning:</p> + +<p>“BOY’S TICKET.”</p> + +<p>They are the tickets that some day during the +long season, some gloomy hour in the progress of +the big show, may save the circus! But first to the +ordinary dependence upon the best friend that the +circus possesses, the boy:</p> + +<p>You’ll hear the call early in the morning, even before +the switch engines have ceased clanging, and +the steel runs have been shoved to the ground by the +cook house crew and razorbacks, that the cook house +and range wagons may be run from the flat cars +and transported to the circus lot for the preparation +of breakfast. You’ll hear it from the leather +lungs of the boss canvas man and his assistant, busy +in the rounding up of the “big top” crew in the +semi-darkness; from the lips of the head menagerie +men down at the big cars which convey the elephants +or “bulls”, the horses or “ring stock”, and the +smaller, hay-eating animals of the menagerie, known +as the “led stock.” You’ll hear it echoing all along +the lengthy sections of the circus train, the same message +voiced in different tongues:</p> + +<p>“Hey, boys! Step lively there! Want to go +to the circus?”</p> + +<p>And the call is always answered. As the long +pole and “stringer” wagons pull away from the circus +train, drawn by their broad-backed draught stock +of from eight to twelve horses, you’ll find perched +upon those wagons the inevitable clusters of town +urchins, beginning their work of the day. As the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span>“led stock” starts on its tramp to the lot, you’ll find +the leaders to be the youngsters who have arisen +long before daybreak “to see the circus come in.” +As the canvas wagons depart, they too will have +their apportionment of youthful workers, and more +than once, standing beside the boss canvas man on +some gloomy, drizzling morning, I’ve seen him nod +his head and heard the cheery remark that all circus +men yearn for:</p> + +<p>“Oh, we’ll get up in good time to-day! The lot’s +a little sandy, and it’s a long haul, but we’ll make +it. There are plenty of boys!”</p> + +<p>In that last sentence lies the explanation. It +means that the difficulties which the weather has +placed upon the circus have been overcome by an +outside influence, that the obstacles in the path of +the show have been met and conquered through an +ever ready ally,—the boys.</p> + +<p>How willing they are! When the big top, or +main tent, is stretched, preparatory to the raising, +boys are side by side with the regular workmen of +the circus, pulling and tugging away at the heavy +sheets of tenting, so that they may be laced into +place about the bale-rings of the center poles. +When the “stringer” and “jack” and “plank +wagons”, carrying the various portions of the seating +arrangements, pull into position, it is the boys +who drag the loads from the pile into which they are +tossed and lug them into place under the canvas. +When there is straw to be sprinkled over wet or +muddy ground, you’ll find there long strings of +youngsters hurrying along at a “double”, their +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>arms full of straw, an endless chain of activity, all +working toward the end that the circus grounds may +be inviting for the circus throngs, all imbued within +a moment, it seems, with that rule of circusdom: +“The show must go on!”</p> + +<p>The morning is the rush time of the circus. In +only a few hours, the big show must be unloaded +from the trains which have brought it from the last +town and hauled to the circus grounds, a distance +varying from a quarter of a mile to three miles. +From twelve to fifteen tents must be laid out and +raised, the cook house, the horse tents, the blacksmith +shop, the menagerie tents, the side show, the +dressing “top”, the “juice joints” or lemonade +stands, and the “big top” itself, covering alone a +space ranging from three to five hundred feet long, +and from a hundred and fifty to two hundred and +fifty feet wide. Into this big top must be placed +seating arrangements for from five thousand to fifteen +thousand persons. And did you ever stop to +consider what a tremendous throng fifteen thousand +persons really is? It means that enough seats must +be put into place to accommodate a whole village; +that the people themselves, if placed in a single line, +and each one occupying a foot of space, would +stretch for nearly three miles!</p> + +<p>Seats for three miles of humanity! And all +raised within a few hours, at a time when every +section of the lot is clamoring for aid. The parade +must be made ready. The wagons must be washed +and cleansed, if they have been in mud the day before. +The cages of the cat animals must be cleaned, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>food must be brought for the greedy elephants, the +rough spots of the hippodrome track must be cleared +away with hoe and grub hook, lest a hummock bring +death to some rider, or break an axle of the plunging +chariots, with the attendant injury to horse, +driver, and even the spectators. Everything is happening +at once; for every hand there is a double +burden. And it is then that the boy is more than +welcomed.</p> + +<p>The seats are placed in position mainly through +his aid. The quarter poles, which support that +part of the tent leading from the ridge to the eaves, +are raised by him. The outer poles, supporting the +canvas at the spots where the guy ropes leave the +eaves to be connected to the stakes, stand staunch +and true to their duty through the exertion of youthful +muscle. The thousand errands of the circus lot +are run, the hay and straw are distributed through +the menagerie, the ponies are cared for, and—</p> + +<p>But there is one thing that is not done! No +water is carried for the elephants! That is a relic +of a bygone day. In these times, the big circus is +too efficient, too jealous of every possible moment +of time saved, to allow boys to carry water for elephants. +That is taken care of by a special water +trough which is carried by the show, and which is +unloaded at the nearest fire hydrant, and to which +the elephants are led. There are too many other +duties for the boys to permit them to waste time and +effort watering elephants!</p> + +<p>It is a fight against time, every moment, every second. +Downtown the bands are blaring and the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>crowds watching the various samples of tinsel and +spangle which the show puts on view to lure the +throngs to the circus lot. Minutes are passing. By +one o’clock, everything must be ready. Barking +shouts sound from the bosses around the lot, but by +a staunch rule of the circus, there is little swearing. +For a reason of business efficiency, to say nothing of +the moral side. If there is swearing and coarseness, +parents may refuse to allow their boys to help “put +up the show.” And without those boys, there may +be disaster. One o’clock drawing nearer, nearer. +Then the gates must be opened and the waiting +crowds allowed to enter. It seems impossible, yet +it is done. I have seen the circus in many a tight +place. And I have seen it pulled out of that tight +place—by boys!</p> + +<p>For instance, Astoria, Oregon. If you never +have been there, let it be known that Astoria is a +town built upon stilts. Owing to the tides which +back up the Columbia, it was necessary, in building +the town, to raise it above the seepage and creeping +influx of the water, with the result that there is not +a vacant lot in the whole city that is on a level with +the streets. More, the one lot which could be +reached by the circus—it was the Sells Floto-Buffalo +Bill Show in 1916—was nearly a foot deep +in sand.</p> + +<p>The menagerie was left on the sort of bridge-viaduct +which formed the main street of the town. +The show lot was twenty feet below this level, with +not a single runway or incline by which the wagons +could be taken on the lot itself. Every bit of canvas, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>every stringer, every piece of paraphernalia, +every pole, every chandelier, absolutely everything +which went into the making of that circus, must be +placed on that lot by hand and carried through the +shifting sand from fifty to five hundred feet!</p> + +<p>It was almost impossible to unload. The elephants, +used in pulling and pushing the heavy +wagons from the trains, broke through the boarding +of the causeways, and squealing, retreated, for an +elephant is afraid of an unsound footing. The +horses were nearly useless. An hour passed, two—three. +The owner of the show, traveling along +with it for a few weeks, sought out Bill Curtis, the +boss canvas man.</p> + +<p>“We’re not going to be able to make it!” he announced.</p> + +<p>Bill smiled. “Yes, we will!”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got Shorty and Fullhouse out in town, +rounding up every boy they can find. They’ll pull +us through.”</p> + +<p>And they did! Back came Shorty. Back came +Fullhouse, both of them looking like modern editions +of the Pied Piper of Hamelin, followed by +throngs of boys, ranging from youngsters of eight +and nine to youths of nineteen and twenty. Here +and there the groups were placed. Sharp orders +were shouted; a military preciseness and crispness +of command seemed to have come into the air. +Among the waiting volunteers walked Bill Curtis, +eyes narrowed, lips grim.</p> + +<p>“It’s up to you, Boys!” he announced, time after +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span>time. “We can’t make it—we’re stuck. Are you +going to save the show?”</p> + +<p>The answer was the usual one that a boy would +give under such circumstances. Clambering, hurrying +forms rushed about the wagons. Skids were +placed. A thousand hands helped to shunt the big +center poles to the lot and then carry them to place. +The stringers, the jacks, the canvas itself,—one by +one the parts of the big circus went into place; and +at two o’clock, only an hour late, the show opened +its doors to a crowd that, up to that time, had been +the biggest in all its history!</p> + +<p>And this is the story of the boy in more places +than one during the journey of the circus. When +the wreck comes and the battered trains pull into +town hours late, the boys are the ones who help to +drag it to the lot and to raise it into place that the +show may go on. When storm strikes it and the +tents are flattened, again it is the boy who helps to +pull the big show out of the hole. Always happy, +always willing, always loyal even to the extent of +sore muscles and blistered hands, he is ready for +any task and any duty. And let it be said, to the +credit of the circus, that it does not forget and that +it does not fail in its part of the promise. The +minute the task is done, each straw boss hurries to +the superintendent with his list of names, to return a +moment later with the reward of faithful duty, the +ticket to the show which had been promised in the +beginning.</p> + +<p>Nor is the actual putting up of the show the only +manner in which the friendship of the boy is counted +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span>upon in the circus world. It is to him that the circus +looks to spread the news of its coming, coincident +with the placing of the first glaring bills. +Upon him devolves the real enthusiasm of the +parade; for what is a clown band or a clown policeman +without his throng of boys trailing along in +the rear? Is the calliope really worth while if it +does not have its crowd of youthful attendants? +Hardly! The boy and his love of the circus have +the real job of making a parade enjoyable. For by +their interest is gauged the interest of the crowds +which line the curbings to watch.</p> + +<p>More, the boy is counted upon every step of the +way. Long before the circus comes to town, he +often has done his duty and earned his pass, in helping +the billposters with their tasks, or by distributing +the thousands of heralds, or advertising leaflets, by +which the show makes its house-to-house canvas.</p> + +<p>As for the performance—</p> + +<p>The circus has its reasons for everything. If it +is a good circus—and most of them try to be good—it +will have a performance which is worth while, +the best that its status in the show world can afford. +And you’ll notice that if you’ve ever been a boy, the +ticket you’ve earned to the circus has admitted you +to the afternoon performance! The reasons were +many.</p> + +<p>In the first place, the circus has been grateful. It +wants to pay its debt, and no boy likes to wait from +noon until night for his reward. In the second +place, it is the enthusiasm of the boy which makes +or unmakes the circus performance. The howls of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>joy, the shouts of laughter when the clowns come +tumbling in, are infectious. They spread from the +youngsters to the older folks; they travel here and +there about the high-piled tiers of seats. The adult +grin spreads and develops into a chuckle,—and the +chuckle to an uproarious laugh. The enjoyment invades +everything, and when the performance is over, +the thousands troop out with a smile lingering upon +their features, with enjoyment in their hearts; and +a part of it, at least, was due to that first outbreak +of happiness from the boys themselves.</p> + +<p>So, with all this on their side of the ledger, with +story after story in the annals of circusdom where +boys have saved the show with the performance dependent +in a way upon them, and with their aid and +alliance relied upon every step of the way, is it any +wonder that the modern circus, marvel of efficiency +that it is, looks upon the boys as a necessary ingredient, +to be treated fairly, honorably and truthfully, +and to be referred to, as one circusman talks +to another, in terms of affection? Indeed, it is not; +for they’re our buddies!</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X"> + CHAPTER X + <br> + <span class="fs80">THE CHILDREN OF THE BIG TOPS</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Every</span> woman says it sooner or later, that is, +every woman who goes to a circus. High +upon the close-packed tiers of seats she sits, +watching the white, sleek ring horses or “rosinbacks”—resin +never is pronounced correctly under +the white tops—the flash of the riding acts, the +swaying grace of the “casting numbers”, the +“perch” and “traps” and other aerial performances, +as the general ensemble of air-acrobatics +swings into action; listening to the characteristic lilt +and high-corneted blare of the circus band, enjoying +herself immensely until—the music changes.</p> + +<p>The aerialists swing to their tapes and descend +to the hippodrome tracks, there to don their clogs +and robes and lose themselves in the vast expanse of +the circus tent as they return to the dressing rooms. +A wild hullaballoo comes from the “pad room”, +where the performers await their entrance into the +main tent. A shrieking, siren note sounds from the +compressed air calliope, augmenting the band. +Then, tumbling and shouting, the clowns come forth, +and one of them is trundling a baby carriage, with a +two-year-old child within, his chubby face smeared +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span>with clown-white, and perhaps, squeezed tight in his +arms, a baby lion! Then it is that the remark is +sure to come:</p> + +<p>“Oh, that poor little baby!”</p> + +<p>Whereupon the woman leans toward her companion. +Together they decide that it must be terrible +to be a circus baby, to be forced into a wandering, +uncouth sort of gypsy life; a homeless existence +where there are coarse men, shouting, hurrying +laborers, the sting of unkind elements, and no chance +whatever for the enlightenment of culture, or for an +opportunity to gain from life what it should hold for +every youngster.</p> + +<p>It sounds very true. The surprising part, however, +is that it is not true in any particular, and +could the baby in the carriage—the one who clasps +tight at the soft, furry ball that some day will be a +ferocious, caged, black-maned Nubian—could that +youngster reply, it would be to the effect that the +sympathy is being wasted, and that he has a chance +in life for all that it can hold, an opportunity for +everything that one could desire, far above the ordinary +child born in the ordinary American home!</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p194a" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p194a.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">CHILDREN OF THE BIG TOPS. ONE IS THE DAUGHTER OF A LION TRAINER, THE + OTHER THE CUB OF A TRAINED LION.</span> <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>Impossible? Not at all. The circus is a definite +thing; a world apart, it is true, but nevertheless, a +world which revolves upon a well-oiled axle, which +brooks neither tempest nor disaster, which knows +no obstacle to defeat it from its purpose of traveling +on, day after day, a fairyland, mysterious in its coming, +mysterious in the fleeting lights and hurrying, +shadowy forms of its departure, yet a well-conceived, +steadily balanced affair in which the baby +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span>plays as great a part as the adult; for the baby of +to-day is the circus man or woman of to-morrow, +and the circus succeeds through the generations of +those who have learned its intricacies from childhood.</p> + +<p>So, if you are a circus goer—and who isn’t?—don’t +pity the baby or the youngster of the circus +world. And above all, don’t think of the child as a +poor little thing in the midst of ruffianism and +neglect.</p> + +<p>Buffalo Bill is dead now. But during his life, +what would you, as a child, have given to have been +trundled on his lap each afternoon, there to listen +wide-eyed, while the white-haired old plainsman told +just how he slew Yellowhand in the famous duel of +the Battle of the Warbonnet, and to hear from him, +the man who helped to build it, the story of the +conquering of the great, free West? Few indeed +were the children about Buffalo Bill’s Wild West +show who did not have their daily story hour in +which the great scout himself regaled them. Those +visits were in themselves an education. But wait; +the story of the circus child is one that must start at +the beginning.</p> + +<p>The mother? There is the child insured through +the very life she leads, for the circus woman is nothing +if not moral, and thrifty and sturdy. Her life +is not an easy one, it is true, as concerns the physical; +it is the busy, hurrying existence of one who must be +ever ready for the call of the bugle, who must meet +the elements as they come and smile in spite of +fatigue, of cold or rain or blazing sun. But it is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span>her life; she is inured to it, and she wants nothing +else. As to the moral side: she has neither the +time nor the inclination to be anything but moral. +From the time that the long trains glide into town +in the early morning until the last torch is extinguished, +and the tired “pull-up” teams at last have +been taken to the stock cars at night, her day is one +constant succession of activity. Morning brings the +parade, afternoon the matinée, night still another +performance. And no circus train lingers after the +main tent flutters to the ground; there is no time for +the “wild party”, for the “town johnny” or the +“joy ride”, even though the inclination should tend +that way, which it doesn’t. Always, too, there lurks +ahead the specter of winter, grim, cold, forbidding +winter, when the bands no longer will blare; when +the steel-throated calliope will stand deserted and +desolate in the winter quarters yards; when the +sleek, bulky draft stock will become rough-coated +and clumsily kittenish as it wanders the ranch or +farm where it is pastured; when the land of the tent +is forgotten in the minds of the ordinary person; +but when the attention of the performer must be +more keenly bent than ever upon the days when the +sun will shine and the pennants flutter atop the mastheads +of the center poles. For though the circus +stops, the performer never ceases. If she is an +acrobat, there must be daily practice in order that +muscles remain supple. If she is a rider, the obligation +is even greater; for the ring horse or “rosinback” +is something that must not be neglected. +The rider who sways and somersaults before the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span>thronged tents of the summer is merely reaping the +benefits of a winter of hard, arduous work. Not +only is the ring horse of a type especially adapted +to bareback riding, a horse without nerves, without +skittishness and with highly developed sense of +rhythm and well-timed locomotion, but it also is the +result of constant care and of constant exercise and +training. The rider must not neglect him, winter or +summer!</p> + +<p>If she is a trainer of animals, her duties are +equally strenuous in the winter months. Each day +is the steel arena erected in the big animal house. +Snow and cold may lay without; blustery, gripping +winds may sweep and swirl, but within the warmth +of the menagerie house there is the circus of the +summer as concerns the animals and their trainer.</p> + +<p>So it goes all the way through the list of the circus +woman’s activities. Energy, sturdiness and +courage are her lot, just as it also must be the lot +of the man who is her husband. The trainer of +lions cannot drink; his eye must be ever keen when +the beasts are snarling on their pedestals. The +“caster” of the high, double-trapeze acts, who +swings and sways at the roofs of the tents during the +summer months, cannot get out of condition, either +mentally or physically. The nets which stretch beneath +are not the protection they seem. A fall at +the wrong angle means a broken leg or arm,—or +worse, a broken back or neck. Perfect continuity +of life is the price demanded of the circus man or +woman, and it is only natural that this should be +transmitted to the circus child.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> + +<p>As it is with the moral fiber, so is it with health. +It is only a matter of from six to eight weeks from +the time that the circus mother leaves the ring until +she is back again with her child. Health is hers +and health is her baby’s; the long-drawn-out illness +so often attendant upon childbirth is absent with the +circus woman. Rugged health and a constitution +endowed with vast reserves of physical and mental +strength are the bulwarks of her crisis, and they +rarely fail.</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p198a" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p198a.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">THE CLOWNS ARE ALWAYS READY TO AMUSE A CIRCUS BABY.</span> + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>And so it’s a wonderful day in the circus when the +new baby is brought on. About the pad room, the +other women of the show have been sewing for +weeks, for the new baby is not a personal, solitary +thing, as it so often is in other walks of life. It is +a circus baby; it belongs to the tented world and all +those in it, to a world devoted, a world that is segregated +to a certain degree, a wandering world without +the constant ties of home, and a world in which +love and softness of heart are predominant features. +Instead of one nurse, there are dozens. Instead of +a baby who cries unattended while its mother is performing +before the thousands of the big circus tent, +there are constantly outstretched arms. It is +“their” baby, theirs to comfort and to make happy, +theirs to coddle and pamper, theirs to dream for, +and hope for and work for. Nor does this feeling +include only the performers; it spreads to the +“roughnecks”, who become grinning, tongue-halted +men in the presence of the new visitor; to the menagerie, +where the animal men steal the baby +leopard while its mother sleeps, that the human +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>baby may have a “kitten” with which to play. It +goes even to the “juice joints” or concession stands; +the child of the circus never wants for dainties! +The clowns romp for it, grimacing and doing tricks +far beyond their fun-making capacities of the ring, +for this is a labor of love. The horse attendants +bring forth the prettiest pony, and it belongs to the +baby, as far as usage is concerned. The natural +longing for home ties, which, strangely enough, is +stronger in the circus person than in the ordinary +run of mortals, centers in the child. It has an entire +community working for its happiness and its +future. Often you’ve seen a baby in the ring with +the clowns. You’ve thought of it as a part of the +performance, something which must be repeated +twice a day, whether there are clouds and storm, or +sun and blistering weather. But you have been +wrong. The clowns are merely romping with their +playmate, that is all; the adult wanderers are merely +making life more pleasant for a little fellow who +has just come into the circus world. What matters +it if that romp occurs in the comparative seclusion +of the pad room or before thousands of persons?</p> + +<p>So, the first few years are traversed. Then +comes the time of education. It is here that much +sympathy is directed toward the circus child, and +much sympathy wasted. For the youngster of the +“white tops”, the “heir to the ballyhoo” as it +often is called, has more opportunities for education, +more chance to learn the necessary things of life, +more openings to become conversant in youth with +things that many persons obtain only at college than +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span>nine out of ten of American children! But perhaps +that needs proof.</p> + +<p>Remember first that the circus season ends generally +in October and does not begin again until +April. That leaves six months for the usual city +schooling, for most circus performers spend their +winters in the municipality where the show is stored +until spring. Therefore, the child is deprived of +only three months’ study a year, and this is more +than recompensed by the opportunities for learning +which abound about it.</p> + +<p>For instance, does the usual child at six, or seven, +begin a study of applied psychology? Hardly. +The circus child does, and for the reason that the +whole circus business is built upon psychology. The +circus man knows what an ordinary person will do +under nearly every possible condition, because his +life has been devoted to the study of humanity. +Crowd spirit—not mob spirit, understand, but +crowd spirit—is ever before him. He sees every +walk and class of life represented in the throngs +which daily pass through the main gates. He +knows the vagaries of the human mind as represented +in the reserved seats as apart from that of +the “blues” or general admission seats. He knows +wherein the ordinary citizen of a lumbering district, +for instance, differs from that of the person who +lives in a mining or agricultural section of the country. +He early learns the fundamental rules which +govern the actions of humans, and all these things +are brought as naturally to the attention of the circus +child as a love for fairy tales.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span></p> + +<p>A study of natural history is his from the beginning, +for there is always the animal man to lead him +about the menagerie, and to tell him everything +there is to know about the beasts who are imprisoned +there. He is taught by men who know, by those +who spend their lives in companionship with the animals. +He learns the relationship of the lion, the +tiger, the leopard, the jaguar and cougar of the +feline family and comes to know them as more than +mere animals. He knows the difference between an +African elephant and an Asiatic, so that he can tell +them by sight. He learns that all monkeys do not +belong to the antecedents of the human family, and +the reason why the chimpanzee and the Koolakamba +are more closely related to man than, for instance, +the marmoset or the rhesus. Books, it is true, on the +subject, are missing. But the best students do not +study volumes; they investigate the things themselves.</p> + +<p>He becomes a weather prophet through the days +that he spends with the boss canvas man, studying +the sky and learning the reasons for the sudden rush +of orders and the “guying out” gangs which hurry +from rope to rope about the big tent, tightening the +hempen braces of the spreading canvas to withstand +a “blow” or the soggy deluge of rain.</p> + +<p>He knows machinery,—for the circus is a world +of it. The gasoline engine and all that it contains +become familiar to him through the ever-present +questions that are readily answered. For isn’t he a +circus child? The man on the big tractor explains +to him the mysteries of the automobile. The calliope +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>player takes him along on parade and tells him +the story of steam, to the accompaniment of the +screaming notes of the howling, screeching “horse +piano.” So it is with the patent stake drivers, the +“spool wagons” which raise and lower the tent, +the heavy, sturdy equipment of the wagons and railroad +stock,—he comes to know it all, because he is +reared in a place where it is a part of his life.</p> + +<p>He learns of music from the bandmaster,—and +let it be known that among the circus “wind-jammers” +there are as many students of classical +music as there are in the orchestras of the theater +and the concert hall. In the preliminary “concerts” +which precede the main performance, half +or more of the numbers are of the classical nature, +as may be gleaned from the following programme, +taken at random from a circus programme. And +lest there be doubt, the year was 1915, and the circus +Ringling Brothers:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p style="margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -1.0em;">1. Atlantis (The Lost Continent) Suite in four +parts—Sefranek. Atlantis is a continent mentioned +in Plato’s history, and extended across +the Atlantic Ocean approximately from Europe +to Yucatan. This continent, it is believed, +was the home of a great race which conquered +and civilized the world. The Azores +Islands are considered to be the tops of the +lofty mountains and are all that now remain +of the great country. No. 1, Nocturne and +Morning Hymn of Praise. No. 2, A Court +Function. No. 3, “I Love Thee” (The +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span>Prince and Aana). No. 4, The Destruction +of Atlantis.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -1.0em;">2. Southern Memories—Medley Overture—Hecker.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -1.0em;">3. Selection—From Samson et Dalila—Saint-Saëns.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -1.0em;">4. Star and Crescent March—Richards.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -1.0em;">5. Suite—The Last Days of Pompeii—Sousa.</p> + +<p class="no-indent" style="margin-left: 4em;"> + A. In the House of Burbo and Stratonice.<br> + B. Nydia.<br> + C. The Destruction of Pompeii and Nydia’s Death. +</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -1.0em;">6. Selection—From Madame Butterfly—Puccini.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 2em; text-indent: -1.0em;">7. The Hall of Fame—Selection of Favorite +Melodies—Sefranek. Containing Keler +Bela’s “Racoczy”, Verdi’s “Celeste Aida”, +Fucik’s “Entry of the Gladiators”, Rubenstein’s +“Melody in F”, Grieg’s “Peer Gynt”, +Dvorák’s “Humoresque” and the finale from +Liszt’s First Hungarian Rhapsody.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Sounds queer, doesn’t it, this sort of music in a +circus? Yet, if you will remember, that is the type +which is always played in the “concert” before the +main show. Naturally, once the rush of the performance +has begun, conditions change. There is +the blare and hurry of the swift, staccato-timed popular +air, or the sway of the waltz during the aerial +numbers. But before the show, the “concert” must +have its classics, classics which change from day to +day, for the bandmaster tires of hearing the same +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>thing over and over. The other type of music and +its repetition is necessary, of course, for the performance, +for the music forms the cues of the circus; +the show changes with the changes of the band, +and even the trainmaster, at the cars, a half mile +away, busy with the struggle of loading the show for +the night, can tell the exact status of the performance +by the strains which float to him from the circus +band. But the preliminary music is different; +there the programme can be varied, and it is only +natural that the circus child, hearing from the cradle +up a nightly variation which takes in the work of +every celebrated composer, should receive an education +in music far beyond the reach of ninety per +cent. of America’s children. More, for he receives +it in a way that brings no effort. It is no work for +him to learn that Tschaikowsky was the composer of +“1812”, or that Offenbach wrote “Orpheus.” It +comes to him by the simple method of day-to-day +assimilation.</p> + +<p>History he does not gain from books. True, he +may know little of the wrangles of Europe and the +precepts of Confucius, but he knows his America! +The afternoon, that time of rest between the matinée +and the night show, is the circus man and circus +woman’s time for roaming. It is a rest period, and +then, the insatiable curiosity of the circus becomes +rampant. The townspeople are curious about the +circus folk and forget that the feeling is mutual. +For the circus people are also curious about the city +which they, for a day, are visiting. It is only natural +that the circus child knows the story of Barbara +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>Frietchie from seeing the tablet which is placed on +the bridge adjacent to where her house once stood. +He sees the monument to George Washington’s +mother in Fredericksburg, Virginia, and the old +home where once she lived. He stands beside the +monument to those who fell in the Real Rebellion +in Canada and learns the story of that bubble-dream +of empire. He hears the story of the Battle of +Gettysburg when the circus plays the town and the +circus folk troop out, after the matinée, to go over +the battlefield. He sees George Washington’s +tomb, because the circus people hurry for the interurban +car which takes them to Mount Vernon when +the show plays Washington. And as he sees he +learns—by actual contact!</p> + +<p>Nearly twenty thousand miles a year he travels, +at a time when curiosity is at its best, and when the +one compelling word “why” is constantly on his +lips. He knows every railroad and the kind of +country it traverses. He knows every city, for he +wanders it. He knows the quiet beauty of New +York State, the tumbled wonders of the Rockies, the +vast expanses of desert leading to the Salton Sea +and thence to California; the beautiful reaches of +the Saskatchewan, far to the north; the broad, +serene beauty of the Mississippi, for the circus must +ever seek new territory, new fields, and the circus +child goes along! And how many children make a +tourist trip of twenty thousand miles a year?</p> + +<p>But the roughness of it all, the uncouthness, the +hurrying, swearing laborers! The gambling and +the graft of the side shows, the short-changers in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span>“connection”, the constant form of Temptation +ever beckoning! So? Let it be known that the +gambling, the graft and the thievery of the modern +circus are largely fables. Time was, it is true, +when those things existed. To-day, the number of +shows which permit anything of the sort, and they +are the smallest of the small, can be counted on the +fingers of one hand. Quite the opposite; the circus +of to-day employs from one to five detectives, to say +nothing of the manager, whose eye is ever alert. +Once I managed a show, for a brief space of time. +I saw a woman looking rather queerly at her change. +She made no protest; she merely believed she had +made a mistake. But the instinct was there; somebody +was “shorting.” That night, the show was +minus one ticket seller. He had paid for his fifty-cent +pilfering by losing his job, his “hold-back” of +some twenty-dollars in pay, and his transportation +home at the end of the season. Swift and stern +punishment, it is true, for a petty offense. But he +had violated an inexorable rule.</p> + +<p>The roughness, the coarseness? Let a man stand +some day beside a group of unshaven “ruffians” of +the circus as they drive a stake into the ground with +the rhythmic swing of their great, sixteen-pound +sledges. Let him make some insulting remark +about the pretty little girl in tights who is hurrying +to take her place in parade. No, on reconsideration, +don’t try the experiment, for the circus is primitive +in one way. It knows only one answer to an +insult,—force! The roughness and the coarseness +are not so predominant as one might think.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> + +<p>The elements cannot be governed, it is true. In +the circus world, one must fight the cold drizzle of +autumnal rain, the blazing sun of July and August, +the “northers” of the south with their sleet and +freezing rain, the blatter and fierceness of the tempest +as it sweeps upon the bellowing, swaying canvas, +the crash of the circus wreck as the hurrying train +strikes an open switch; but those are things which +build character, not destroy it; which bring a strength +instead of weakness, sturdiness instead of pliability, +courage instead of the yellow streak. Nor is this +all.</p> + +<p>Those three months of books of which the child +has been deprived during the winter months have +not been forgotten. Everybody doesn’t go in parade. +Always there is some one who is willing to tutor the +circus child, to the extent that when autumn comes +again, that child is able to make its advancement in +grade at the public school it attends. As for the +other end of the teaching, it is not at all an unusual +thing to hear childish voices singing in the dressing +tent on Sunday morning; a Sunday-school of the circus +is in progress.</p> + +<p>So much for the mental development and the +physical well-being. As for the future, the circus +child usually knows or cares about only one, and that +is the life of his father and mother. If they are +riders, then his ambition is to be a rider also. If +they are aerialists, he too is drawn toward the flying +trapeze or the swinging ladder. Long before +most children begin to think about the time when life +must be of their own making, rehearsals begin, with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span>the mother and father as tutors and the child as the +pupil. Step by step the game is learned, whether it +is in the treasury wagon as an executive, or within +the ring curbs as an equestrian or equestrienne. +Circus families exist from generation to generation; +there is a certain honor in the family name, a certain +pride in making each generation more famous, more +daring, more worthy than the one that went before. +The light of pride really begins to show in the eyes +of the circus mother and father when they see their +son or their daughter displaying more agility than +they, more adaptability for the part they play under +canvas, more hope of being a stellar attraction than +they have formed. Their reward comes in knowing +that they have given to their child the health, the +stability and the training which will make it greater +than they. The child’s reward comes in the upheld +honor of the family name and the monetary benefit +that results from a “feature act.”</p> + +<p>In this, some fail. It is inevitable. But the +number of failures in the circus world is diminutive +compared to that in the world outside. The +training, the constant thought of the future, the +hardy life is against anything but success. This applies +even to marriage, for the circus man seldom +seeks beyond his sphere for a wife; the circus girl +looks to the land of the “white tops” for the man +who is to be her husband, and divorces are few.</p> + +<p>A blank future,—that of the circus act? Some +time when you’re in New York, you’ll inevitably +drift to a great theater where a “riding clown” is +the greatest attraction. His income is nearly that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span>of the President. Meet him and you will find a +quiet, modest, well-educated young man, married, +proud of his wife and baby, who some day will be +greater than he, unconscious apparently of the fact +that he, of the circus, is the drawing power which +pulls thousands of dollars into the box office every +day. Meet his mother, and you will find a quaint, +twinkling-eyed, humorous English woman whose +fondest memories are of the days back “home” +when she and her husband and the children had +their own show—and gave most of the performance. +She will tell you that she was a circus baby +and that her son was a circus baby, and that they +are proud of it. Go into their home, and you will +find it one of happiness, of children clamoring for +the mother not to work herself to death for them, +and the mother protesting that all the children do is +entertain her. They form the Hanneford Family, +and “Poodles”, the star, is the son. They are typical +of the circus, and they are still of the circus, for +each summer finds them under the great, dun-colored +stretches of the “big top”, far happier there than +in any comfortable, convenient theater. Their +story is simply the story that has been told here,—the +story of nearly every circus group, with the exception, +of course, that every one cannot be a star.</p> + +<p>And even should the child of the circus desire to +leave the “white tops” and go into some form of +business in the outer world, the basic structure is +there to permit it. More, there is a certain amount +of knowledge about the fundamental things which +is present in the circus boy or girl of fifteen that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>does not come to the usual young man or woman +until twenty or twenty-two. In the first place, there +is the absolutely essential one of knowing one’s +neighbor, of being able to discern the various phases +of human nature as they present themselves. The +psychological quality of circus life, which is apparent +from the moment that one stops to look at the waving +banners of the side show, until the rattling, clattering +excitement of the chariot race has announced +the finish of the main show, has fitted the child far +before the usual time for the job of “figuring out +the other fellow.” The moral restraint imposed by +the hard work of the circus lot has builded a good +foundation of honesty of purpose and tenacity. +The travel, and the necessary broadening influences +which go with it, play to the advantage of the seeker +of fortune in a new world.</p> + +<p>But she was pretty. She was young. She had +been a circus baby, and her mother had been a circus +baby before her. Her name was synonymous +with a long line of riders, dating back to the time +when Old Dan Rice was the drawing power of thousands +to his little one-ring circus, and when Barnum +was making money by telling the people the truth +about the fact that they liked to be fooled. A motion-picture +company had made her an offer,—at a +far greater salary than she ever could expect beneath +the pennants of the circus.</p> + +<p>He was a rider also. But he was something +more. The growth of mechanical power about the +circus had interested him. He had tinkered with +machinery. Then he had patented a number of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>useful inventions with the result that he too was +being sought from without.</p> + +<p>They had talked it all over in the shadow of the +big top, just at that time of evening when the circus +lot holds the greatest power for those who know it, +between twilight and dusk, when the old calliope is +tooting down at the car line, when “Shanty”, as +the chandelier man of every circus is known, is sending +the first of the gleaming light clusters up the +sides of the center poles, when the first of the +shadowy bulk of the throng of the night is beginning +to make its way circuswards. Then they had gone +to the manager, two circus babies who had grown +to manhood and womanhood in the shadow of the +big top, and who now stood at the threshold of a +new life.</p> + +<p>“We wanted to tell you first,” they said. +“We’re going to be married.”</p> + +<p>The manager grinned; he had guessed it long before.</p> + +<p>“Fine,” he answered. “I’ll spread the word; +we’ll have a little blow-out in the cook house with a +special menu and everything like that. But—what +are you going to do then?”</p> + +<p>“Then?” They appeared surprised.</p> + +<p>“Yes. How about these offers? Are you going +to—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, those!” They laughed at a matter long +laid to rest. “We’re going to stay with the +circus!”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI"> + CHAPTER XI + <br> + <span class="fs80">“THE SHOW MUST GO ON!”</span> + </h2> +</div> + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">When</span> Happy Brandon, our concession +owner, came home from the mud and +muck and variegated troubles of a combat +division’s lot in the Big Muss, I noticed that there +was no difference in the quality of his grin, no evidence +of hard times or bitter memories in his features, +and certainly no indication that he had been +doing other than enjoying life. So I began the inevitable +search for a reason. Happy had been +where the shells hit hard, thick and often. He had +seen mud and privation and—</p> + +<p>“But it didn’t strike me so bad,” he announced, +with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve seen a lot +worse mud than we ran into over there. Remember +that time in Kansas City when the lot was so +slick it wouldn’t even hold up the seats?”</p> + +<p>“And they fell? Yes, I remember.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that was war that day, only we didn’t +know it.” Happy became emphatic. “Just a little +bit worse, because women and kids got hurt, and +that’s a lot worse than seeing men get shot up—or +even being plugged yourself.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span></p> + +<p>“Pretty hard life though, at that?”</p> + +<p>Happy slanted his head and grinned broadly.</p> + +<p>“Quit your kidding!” he chuckled. “There +wasn’t any of it half as tough as that night when we +closed the season at Fort Worth, in a norther, with +an eighth of an inch of ice over everything, three +dollars in the ticket wagon, and the Big Boss burning +up the stages and ring properties to keep the +men warm enough to load the trains!”</p> + +<p>“That’s true. But how about keeping your +spirits up all the time and—”</p> + +<p>“Spirits?” Happy laughed again. “Say, listen; +remember that rainy spring we put in up in the +Dakotas? Remember the fact that I had the juice +joint during those glad and glorious days when it +rained twenty-five hours out of every twenty-four? +Well, any guy who’s tried to make a living selling +ice-cold lemonade to half-frozen audiences through +five weeks of rainy weather—well, he ain’t going +to let anything faze him. Anyhow,” and Happy’s +grin took on a more confidential air, “nothing stops +a circus guy!”</p> + +<p>Whereupon I gave up Happy as a bad job,—in +so far as romantic tales of the horrors of war were +concerned. Then, a day or so later I met Finn, +who once was a ticket seller, “fixer” and general +all-around handy man about the Buffalo Bill +show.</p> + +<p>“Gosh, I had a cinch!” he told me. “First +they had me at a remount station; that’s how I got +my commission: from knowing more than the captain +about horses and how they ought to be handled +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>to stand rough going. Then they sent me out squaring +up squawks from French peasants; claims for +damages and the like.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty tough customers, were they?”</p> + +<p>Finn jabbed me in the ribs.</p> + +<p>“Where do you get that stuff?” he jibed. +“Tough? To a bird who’s heard squawks from +professionals? There wasn’t one of ’em who could +raise half the row that most any native’ll kick up +after his horse has gotten scared of the elephants +and run away and smashed up his new buggy. To +say nothing of arguing a hostile city council into +cutting the license, or smoothing down some nice +domestic dame after a Squarehead skinner has +driven an eight-horse team and the hippopotamus +den across her flower garden. Nope, it was just +pie to a circus fixer; I almost got ashamed of myself!”</p> + +<p>And it was about this time that I awoke to something,—that +it’s a mighty happy knowledge for a +man to possess, the fact that once upon a time he has +lived the life of the circus, seen its hardships, experienced +the thousand and one stumbling blocks that +are ever in the path of the circus man, and been a +part of that great struggle for existence which goes +relentlessly on every day of the circus’s season.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you still imagine a circus to be solely a +place of spangles and tinsel and gold and lace; of +blaring bands and funny clowns; of beautiful equestriennes +and sleek, graceful “rosinbacks”; of swirling, +fairylike aerialists, and shimmering beauty +everywhere? That’s only the veneer! A circus is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span>a fighting machine of grueling work, of long, hard +hours which begin in the gray of dawn and do not +cease until the last torch has been extinguished down +at the railroad yards late at night; a thing which +fights constantly for its very life against the demons +of adversity, of accident, of fire and flood and +storm; a great, primitive, determined organization +that meets defeat every day, yet will not recognize +it; that faces disaster time and again during its +season, and yet refuses to countenance it; a place +where death stalks for those who paint the bright +hues of that veneer which is shown the public,—a +driving, dogged, almost desperate thing which +forces its way forward, through the sheer grit and +determination of the men and women who can laugh +in the face of fatigue, bodily discomfort, and sometimes +in the leering features of Death itself! +That’s a circus!</p> + +<p>It’s no place for a grouch,—this land of the tinsel +and the white tops. It’s no place for the person +easily discouraged. He’s gone from the ranks long +before he has served even a period of apprenticeship. +It’s no place for the man who cannot grit his +teeth and fight on when everything’s against him, +when the rain is pouring, when the circus lot is hip +deep in mud, yes, even when the great cars of the +circus train are piled in the ditch, and when the +groans and cries of the injured humans are mingling +with the screeching yowls of panic-stricken, fright-crazed +animals. Far ahead, plastered on every barn +and billboard, are the multi-colored announcements +of:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> + +<p class="center no-indent"> + RAIN OR SHINE<br> + THE WORLD’S GREATEST SHOW<br> + WILL POSITIVELY APPEAR. +</p> +<br> + +<p>And the show must go on!</p> + +<p>Late one night at Riverside, California, I sat in +a private car wished upon me by a soft-hearted circus +owner who had named me, in a streak of sentimentality, +his personal representative. It was midnight, +and my boy was serving me the final meal of +a day which had begun at four o’clock that morning. +This was the first section, loaded and ready for the +highball that would start the long train on its rocking +journey toward the next town.</p> + +<p>Far away, I could see the calcium flares of the circus +lot, where hurrying canvas men, roughnecks and +bosses were loading the seats and paraphernalia of +the “big top” for transportation to the second section. +Faint orders came from the distance; then, +like some great cloud, the big top floated to the +ground, and in the dim light, I could see the hazy +forms of the canvas men as they rushed forward to +the unlacing of the sections of the tremendous +canvas.</p> + +<p>Ahead, the highball sounded, the wheels began to +turn,—only to stop with a jarring, grating crash +which rocked the train. Voices sounded, high, +strident.</p> + +<p>“Where’s the fixer? Get him off this section! +He’s got to stay behind!”</p> + +<p>Trouble! The “fixer” and I collided on the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span>platform, and I threw him his coat, shirt and hat +as he dropped to the ground. Over there on the +circus lot, forms were clustered now about four +figures that never again would unlace a canvas. A +cable had parted; one of the great center poles had +crashed downward in the darkness. Four men were +dead.</p> + +<p>The next afternoon, in El Centro, California, I +stood at the padroom entrance, watching the afternoon +show. It was a “turn-away crowd”; every +seat was jammed, every available bit of straw that +could be sprinkled about the hippodrome track black +with its covering of close-packed humanity, and the +show was “going” as only a show can go before a +capacity audience. Never was the circus moving +more in unison; the whistle of the equestrian director +denoting the changes of the acts brought forth +greater and greater efforts on the part of the performers; +the clowns, as they tumbled into the ring, +fairly seemed to bubble with merriment. And +in the midst of all this, I chanced to glance upward.</p> + +<p>There, on the gleaming brightness of the great +canvas above me, were blots against the filtered sunlight, +blots which told a story of tragedy. Great +patches of dark red they were, the life fluid of men +who had loved this tremendous, generic thing which +possessed the strength to overcome even fear of +death itself, the blood-stains of the men who had +died the night before, died as they worked, that the +show, their show, might go on!</p> + +<p>And it isn’t that they don’t know, don’t realize. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>We’ll go back, for instance, to the night in Fort +Worth, of which Happy Brandon spoke, the closing +date of the season, with a “norther” cutting through +the canvas at a fifty-mile clip, bearing a mist which +froze as it struck, transforming the great circus into +a thing of stiff, sheeted ice, coating the canvas, glazing +the wagons, while performers huddled about a +smoking wood fire in the dressing tents and the +bandmen relieved one another at playing to allow +the warming of fingers cramped and cold-stiffened. +It was a time of desperation,—but the show went +on.</p> + +<p>Upon the seats were a scattered hundred or so +overcoated persons in a great expanse that would +seat ten thousand. A few had paid their way; the +others were those who had received passes and who +grimly had resolved to get “their money’s worth” +in spite of temperature, storm or discomfort. And +for these, the show went on.</p> + +<p>The mercury stood at freezing; icicles hung from +the eaves of the tents, but still the band played, still +the be-tighted aerialists shot from one trapeze to the +other, even though the filtering mist coated the bars +of the aerials themselves with ice and death chased +every leap. Then came night and the struggle to +load.</p> + +<p>Long ago the animals, every cage covered with +canvas side-walling, double bedding of straw in each +den, had been hauled to the train. The menagerie +top dropped to the ground while frenzied men, their +clothes frozen through hours of exposure to the +spray-laden wind, strove with all their strength to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span>roll it into some sort of shape in which it could be +loaded. In vain. A great, boardy mass, it no +longer could be shunted into the wagon which once +had carried it, and the “spools”, those tremendous +canvas carriers of the circus, must be saved for the +more valuable canvas of the big top. And so the +menagerie top became an abandoned thing, to be +left behind and sold for junk.</p> + +<p>One by one, the great platforms and stages were +lugged forth and gasoline from the chandelier +wagons poured upon them to start the blaze. Men +are only men; human endurance can stand so much, +then it breaks. And these workmen of the circus, +accustomed to warm weather, lightly clothed, were +reaching the point where they could labor no longer +without warmth.</p> + +<p>The hours dragged on, while plank after plank, +property after property, the paraphernalia of the +circus, was brought forth from under the shielding +spread of the big top canvas, and loaded for the +trip home. Then the voice of Bill Curtis, lot superintendent, +sounded, compelling and vibrant above +the shrill of the wind and the rattle of the sleet +against the frozen grass.</p> + +<p>“Six good men! Shake a leg, now! Six good +men who ain’t afraid to die!”</p> + +<p>In the light of a gasoline flare they gathered, +humped and shivering and waiting. The cold gray +eyes of the superintendent looked them over, one by +one. Then he barked:</p> + +<p>“Well! Let’s see a grin on your faces! I don’t +want any man who can’t grin!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> + +<p>There was a moment of uncertainty. Grins and +the risk of death are not usually easily coupled. A +long wait, then a rumbling laugh. It was Fullhouse—gangly, +blubbery Fullhouse—who could eat more +eggs, drink more coffee, cram more bread than any +other man who invaded the circus cook house. Fullhouse +had found a laugh, and the others joined him. +Bill Curtis’s hands went to his hips.</p> + +<p>“Boys,” came quietly, “I ain’t kidding you. +Those center poles have got all the weight they can +stand now. When the fall grips are released and +the canvas drops, that weight’s liable to break every +pole. And when that happens, somebody’s going +to get killed. Anybody want to back out?”</p> + +<p>He waited. There was no word of weakening. +Bill swung the big torch into position to light the interior +of the big top.</p> + +<p>“All right!” he ordered brusquely. “Each man +to a center pole. Don’t let the fall guys go until I +give the order. Then turn ’em loose and run to +beat hell!”</p> + +<p>The shadowy forms went forward. One by one, +Bill checked them at their stations. Out of the dimness +beneath that stretch of ice-coated danger, the +answers came clear and resonant. The lungs of Bill +Curtis filled to their capacity. Then out burst the +bawling order:</p> + +<p>“<em>Let go!</em>”</p> + +<p>Scurrying forms. An awful instant of waiting +while the poles creaked with their tremendous +weight, and the canvas sagged downward. Then, +while Bill’s heart began to beat again, the big, sleety +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span>mass floated to the ground, and six men ran forth +to safety.</p> + +<p>The poles had held. Six men had gambled with +death and won. Ten minutes later, it all was forgotten +in a new struggle, as the spool wagons came +forward and workmen strove to make them cope +with loads which tripled in size and weight their +usual capacity.</p> + +<p>It’s all in a day when the game is that of a circus, +and the best thing to do is to laugh and forget!</p> + +<p>And don’t think that the clowns are the only ones +who can make money by causing laughter around +“the white tops.” There are times when laughs +are scarce, when laughs are valuable, and when +laughs can mean salvation. To wit, Fort Madison, +Iowa, and a cloudburst.</p> + +<p>Again it was Bill Curtis, bossing the gang on a +lot knee-deep in water. In the midst of the afternoon +show the cloudburst had come, while a panicky +audience sloshed forth to the open lot and waded +toward the paved streets. Every inch of canvas +bellied with water, while in their efforts to save the +whole great tissue from ruin, men with shotguns +banged away at the bulging “pockets” above, to +open a way for the escape of the water and to relieve +the strain on center poles already loaded far beyond +their strength. Here and there about the lot, thirty, +even forty horses were hook-roped in the battle to +move the tremendous wagons. Hour after hour +the struggle went on, the tragedy of a circus in the +mud,—and there are few enemies more feared in +the tented world. Horses went to their bellies in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>the mire and lay there, helpless and gasping, while +grim-faced men, their hearts aching at the pain they +caused, hitched other horses to them and dragged +them bodily forth. The retrieving of every wagon +was a seemingly insurmountable task; yet it was +only the beginning.</p> + +<p>Only the empty wagons had been dragged forth; +the circus still was on the lot, with only one method +of salvation. It must be carried off by hand!</p> + +<p>Wet, mud-caked, tired, the men tried their best +to obey the commands which streamed from the lips +of Bill Curtis. Already fatigued from hours in the +flood, they endeavored to whip their tired bodies +to greater effort; struggled to make their brains +respond to the orders which came to them. In +vain.</p> + +<p>From a hastily improvised cook house, high on a +half-dry hummock, came cans of steaming coffee; +whisky was barred on the big circuses long before +the prohibition act. The hot stimulant aided efforts +for awhile. Then its effects died. The men +lagged; the straggling lines drew farther and +farther apart.</p> + +<p>“Fullhouse!”</p> + +<p>Once again, as at Fort Worth, the gangly roughneck +was slated for the position of a life saver. +Muddy, tired, bedraggled, he pulled his way through +the mire and faced the superintendent. That person +jammed a hand into a pocket.</p> + +<p>“How big does five dollars look to you?”</p> + +<p>“Big as the moon!”</p> + +<p>“Good! Cokehead!” Bill Curtis had called a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span>stubby, funny-faced negro to him and had asked +him the same question. Then a five-dollar bill +traveled into the hands of each.</p> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p222d" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p222d.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">STUCK!</span> + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_p222c" style="max-width: 62.5em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_p222c.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption> + <span class="allsmcap">A RUNAWAY CIRCUS WAGON.</span> + <span style="padding-left: 2em"><em>Page <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</em></span> + </figcaption> +</figure> +<br> + +<p>“I want you two to work together. Get where +the gang seems the most tired. Start laughing and +joking the minute you get there—and keep it up! +And when you’ve laughed up that money, there’s +more waiting! Now, hop to it!”</p> + +<p>The value of a laugh! A circus was in the mud. +Fifteen hours away was another town, fifteen hours +away were boys and girls—and men and women—waiting +for the glitter and sparkle of a parade, waiting +for the music of the circus bands, the shimmer +of the sun upon the sleek backs of parade horses, the +long lines of elephants, the steel-throated scream of +the calliope. And now that circus was in the mud, +with fifty miles of railroading yet to be done, the +whole, tremendous thing to be carried out of a flood +by hand. All that could save it was the chance of +a laugh!</p> + +<p>Out into the lines of dead-tired workmen went +Cokehead and Fullhouse. The negro began to +cackle, the white man to boom and rumble with +forced laughter. For a long time the other workmen +only stared. Then the foolishness of it all +struck one, more gifted with a sense of humor than +the others. He grinned. Then he chuckled. Soon +he was laughing with the two “professionals.” +Another joined him—then another and another. +Soon the whole line was laughing; nor could one tell +the reason. Some one, spurred by the infectious +stimulant of laughter, began to sing. Others joined +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span>him. The lines began to move with more spirit, +more speed. Steadily the lines moved now, in machine-like +rhythm, to the accompaniment of singing +and laughter which made them forget the mud, made +them forget the chill of wet clothing, the ache of +stiffening muscles. By daylight and torchlight the +singing and laughter and work went on. And at +two o’clock the next morning, a tired trainmaster +raised his hand in signal to the railroad men that the +trains were loaded at last; that laughter had done +what cursing or beating or whisky could not have +done; that the show would go on; and that those +who waited in the next town would not wait in vain. +Thus men endured all under Bill Curtis.</p> + +<p>As for Bill himself, I saw him last summer, +hobbling around the hippodrome track of the Hagenbeck-Wallace +Shows, a cane aiding a leg which had +been crippled more than a year, the big frame a bit +gaunt from racking pain, the skin of the high-boned +face a trifle more tightly drawn than usual. But +the genial old bark still was in the voice and the +quick straight smile on the lips.</p> + +<p>“I got mine in the smash-up,” he confided +cheerily. “It was a little tough for awhile; couldn’t +get around much. But,” and he waved the cane +toward the flashing performance, the glaring chandeliers, +the rocking “rosinbacks” in the rings and the +tight-packed audience, “even that jamboree couldn’t +stop us. The old trick’s still moving!”</p> + +<p>And “that jamboree” was something which made +you gasp in horror when you read about it, the +wreck of the Hagenbeck-Wallace circus trains near +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>Gary, Indiana, with a casualty list which consumed +columns.</p> + +<p>Bill was in the last car of the circus train when +the speeding troop train crashed into it from the +rear. Ploughing through the splintered coach, the +engine caught Bill on its cowcatcher and, unconscious, +he lay just beneath the extended front of the +boiler as the engine carried him on to the finish of +its work of destruction. Another car was torn to +kindling, another and another, and upon the engine +which caused the destruction was the crumpled, limp +form of Bill Curtis, lucky enough to receive out of +his wild ride of disaster only an injured leg. And +slight indeed is that, when compared to the death +rate in every coach which his carrier, the colliding +engine, caused.</p> + +<p>I saw others about the circus that day, one or two +with arms or legs missing; many who were scarred +and weakened for life. But still they were with +“the old op’ry”, still working away that the show +might go on. And Bill was only an example of all.</p> + +<p>Just for instance, you cannot charge up Bill’s circus +faithfulness to the fact that he can’t do anything +else. Or to the lure of a large salary, or the fact +that he might not be able to find another job. Many +a big mechanical firm has tried to hire Bill. He gets +about $75 a week on the circus, not more than $100, +anyway. His offers have run far above $15,000 a +year, for Bill is the inventor of the “spool wagon” +which now carries the circus canvas, raises and +lowers the poles, puts up the big tent all by itself +and saves the work of forty men. He is the originator +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>of the “chain system” of circus seats which +can be set up in the middle of a street without a +single stake to hold them in place. He invented the +Curtis stake driver, and the Curtis “guy-rope +tightener”, the Curtis “fool-proof wagon” which +saves many a man from injury at the unloading runs. +Everywhere about the circus on which he works can +be found the evidences of Bill Curtis’s genius, and +the inventions go with his salary. He is the type of +inventor—the overnight kind—to whom you can +give an order one day and receive a model of the invention +the next, and who is sought after everywhere. +But does Bill listen to the siren call of other +business and a soft job for life? Hardly!</p> + +<p>“I’d miss the excitement,” he says; “I’d feel kind +of lost not to be studying the skies to figure out +whether or not a blow’s coming, or whether we’re +going to fight the rain and mud to get off the lot. +I’d miss the chugging of the engines when the show +goes up in the morning and the gamble against time. +I guess I’d just wither and die in a soft job.”</p> + +<p>“You see,” comes his explanation, “a fellow +stays in the circus game because of the spirit of combat +that’s in him. It’s a life where you don’t know +what you’re going up against from one day to the +next, a constant fight against time and against the +elements. It means a lot to a fellow to know he +can do the impossible; and believe me, when you +roll into a town at ten o’clock in the morning, get up +your tents, feed six or seven hundred people, give a +two-mile parade, put on two performances and get +away for your next town by midnight, well, you’ve +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span>run rings around impossibilities, and there’s a lot of +satisfaction in it.”</p> + +<p>And that is the life of the circus game,—to size +up an impossibility, grin, grit your teeth and whip it! +The circus world is full of Bills; that’s why, for one +hundred and eighty days out of the year, the great +caravans grind away a mileage ranging from sixteen +thousand to thirty thousand miles, through mud, +rain, fire, flood, hot weather, storms and difficulties, +rarely missing even a parade, and with less than a +score of lost performances for the whole season.</p> + +<p>Figure it out for yourself. Take the biggest dry-goods +store in New York City. Figure that store +to be open and doing business until the last possible +moment at night. Then, suddenly, it moves. The +next day, in Philadelphia, eighty miles away, transported +on trains ranging from thirty to ninety cars, +that big store erects its own shelter, lays out its +goods, opens its doors and is ready for business +again, to say nothing of having erected its own +restaurant, fed a thousand persons and given a +demonstration of its wares through the streets in the +morning. Add to all this the handicaps of weather, +of railroad tie-ups, of delays, of fire and accident, +and you have a small idea of what it means to transport +a circus.</p> + +<p>How is it done? By system, and by herculean +grit that knows no master in the way of obstacles. +Moving, moving, moving, the circus is ever traveling +onward, ever fighting forward to the next stand. +Long before the menagerie doors are opened for the +night performance, the horse tents, the tableau +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span>wagons, the cook house and blacksmith shop have +been loaded and started on the torch-defined route +to the “runs”, or loading place in the railroad +yards. By the time the bugle sounds for the entry +which starts the big show, hurrying animal men are +closing up the cages, while roaring tractors and +clanking six-horse teams are shunted into position +for the trip to the trains.</p> + +<p>Perhaps you’ve noticed, when you came forth +from the big show at night, that something is missing? +It is the menagerie—tent and all—gone! +While the acts flared before you in the big tent, the +menagerie tent has fallen and been loaded. The +cages have been transported to the trains and +loaded. More than that, the highball has sounded, +and from one to three trains, carrying the cook +house, the parade paraphernalia, the tableaus, half +of the executive staff, the same number of superintendents +and straw bosses, the animals, and even a +part of the performers, are speeding on toward the +next town, leaving only that great tent and the seats +of the main show to follow. It is only by such +speed as this that the great thing can move. And +move it must in this manner, in spite of every obstacle +that Nature can throw in its way, if the waiting +throngs of the next town are to see the spangles +and tinsel on the morrow. Is it any wonder, therefore, +that the circus man laughs at impossibilities? +Is it any wonder that the man with a grouch, the +man looking for a soft spot, the pessimist, or the +growler against the petty troubles of life, has no +place in the circus world? A thing that will even +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>go deliberately into almost certain disaster to fulfill +its promises can not afford to harbor the weakling, +either in grit or physique. And I mean just what I +say: a circus will gamble with its very life and the +lives of every one of the thousand or so persons who +go to make up its great family, to keep its word, to +make good on its billing of:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="center no-indent">RAIN OR SHINE—POSITIVE APPEARANCE!</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>As evidence: It was late in the summer of 1915 +that I sat in the rickety, wobbling caboose of a local +freight train on a corkscrew railroad in eastern +Kansas. In all my railroading I had never struck +rougher riding; it seemed constantly that the slow-running +train must leave the rails, even at its +“speed” of less than five miles an hour. I was +ahead of my show—Sells Floto—and a week +later the long, heavily loaded trains of the circus +must make this route, if it lived up to its billing. I +sought the engineer.</p> + +<p>“How in blazes are those two circus trains going +to get over this road?” I asked. The engineer +snorted.</p> + +<p>“It’s suicide, man!” he growled. “This road’s +on the hog. They’ve just taken the circus’s money +on the hope that God’ll pull ’em through. But it +can’t be done—not on this road! I don’t want to +act pessimistic, but I’m an old-timer on this line, +and I’ve seen it go to pieces mile by mile. They +haven’t had a track-walker over it in three months, +and there hasn’t been a train heavier than ten cars +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>on it in a year. Even then it’s a gamble. So there +you are; do what you please, but I’m telling you that +you’re playing with trouble.”</p> + +<p>I hurried to the telegraph, to wire the general +agent in Chicago:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="fs90">Protect against almost certain wreck on Blank +railroad. Worst road I ever saw. We’re bound +for the ditch sure if we try to make it. Advise +cancellation of towns on line.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>And back came the answer:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="fs90">Too late for cancellation. Folks are watching +for us and we’ve got to take the chance. Have +insured on possible damages to train and paraphernalia. +Will do everything possible to safeguard +trains; but can’t disappoint. We’ll make the +gamble.</p> + +<p class="fs90 right"> + <span style="padding-right: 2em"><span class="smcap">Ed. C. Warner</span>,</span><br> + General Agent. +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>And a week later, into possible death for the six +hundred or so persons who composed the Sells Floto +Circus, into the possibility of destruction by wreck +and the fire which inevitably follows, with the consequent +dangers of escape by the wild animals and all +the horror attendant upon a railroad catastrophe +went that circus. Every one knew what might +come; every one was aware of the thing which +threatened,—but on they went. Three days later, +in St. Louis, I got a telegram from Warner, who +had gone on to take the chance with the rest:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span></p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="fs90">Show wrecked, but luck was with us. Ten flat +cars went into the ditch but no one hurt and only +one day lost. No animals in turnover, and everything +salvaged. Damage about thirty thousand +dollars.</p> + +<p class="fs90 right"> + <span style="padding-right: 2em"><span class="smcap">Ed. C. Warner</span>,</span><br> + General Agent. +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>And there, I think, is typified the spirit of the big +tops. A spirit which finds its best expression in the +story of the Barnum and Bailey shows in 1906, as +told by the simple note at the end of the route book +of Charles Andress, the official Boswell:</p> + +<p>“As the forms go to press, the ‘greatest show on +earth’ is having a terrible battle with the floods of +the Mississippi in the South, but has kept up with its +paper.”</p> + +<p>In Hattiesburg, in Meridian, in Charlotte and +Raleigh and Richmond and two score more towns +through the South, the great organization of five +trains had fought against constant rains, against +floods and lots knee-deep in mud, not pulling off of +some of them until the dawn of the next day, and +arriving in the following town as late as four o’clock +in the afternoon. But it had kept its word, and +through day after day of grueling struggles, had remained +abreast of its “paper” or billing, forcing +its way onward in spite of everything. Last year, +one of the big shows had only two days more +to go before the end of the season. Word came +from Opelousas, Louisiana, that the danger of being +mired was almost certain. But did the circus +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>cancel its last two days and go home? It did not! +It accepted the challenge of the elements and went +onward to the fight!</p> + +<p>It lost. Wagons were sunk in the mud until one +could not see the wheels. Elephants, striving to +rescue the great carriers, became panic-stricken and +stampeded. The only meals served in two days +were from a cook-house wagon, abandoned where +it careened, hub-deep in the mud. Horses, caught +in quicksand, went over their heads, only to be +dragged forth by hundreds of men, tugging at lariats +thrown about the necks of the poor animals just before +they went under. It cost $40,000 to make that +losing fight,—but that fight was made. There is +always the chance to <em>win</em>, and anybody can be a +quitter.</p> + +<p>And please don’t think that this spirit of conflict +is a thing which arises only now and then. A circus’s +season begins in the spring; it ends in the +autumn, and from the beginning to the end, it is one +constant struggle against every possible obstacle +which Fate can devise. But perhaps the story of +just two months will give a better illustration.</p> + +<p>One season, in company with its owner, I joined +the show late in September for a “vacation.” The +owner’s illness—and a too great faith in me—made +me his representative. And in those two +months which intervened between the date of joining +and the happy morning when the show train +rolled into winter quarters, these little things arose +to add to the gayety of the occasion.</p> + +<p>We decided to show Marshfield, Oregon, where +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span>no circus ever had exhibited. Troubles followed, +and many of them,—with broken crossings, marshy +spots on the haul to the lot, difficulties in obtaining +water and room for unloading the trains. But it +carried its own reward. For there were persons in +Marshfield who had stayed up all night to greet the +circus, persons who had never even seen an elephant +or a lion or tiger!</p> + +<p>Every one worked that day. Even the owner—and +Dun and Bradstreet rate him at something like +fourteen millions—stood on the front gate, taking +tickets. A boy passed through an hour before the +show began. Ten minutes later he came forth, +while the owner, Harry Tammen, yelled at him:</p> + +<p>“Hey, kid! Coming back?”</p> + +<p>The boy stared.</p> + +<p>“Maybe.”</p> + +<p>“But don’t you want to see the show?”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” and the boy grinned. “I’ve saw it.”</p> + +<p>Tammen reached forth and collared that boy, +who had walked around the menagerie tent and believed +he had seen a circus performance.</p> + +<p>“You come with me, kid!” was his command, as +he turned the ticket-taking over to me. “I didn’t +know there was an animal like you. Gosh! You +don’t even know what to look for in a circus!”</p> + +<p>They went inside. Two hours later, as the +chariot racers bumped and careened around the +rutty hippodrome track, I saw them again, the millionaire +owner and the wide-eyed youngster, sitting +high on the close-packed seats, both gummy with +circus popcorn, both swinging their feet—and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>watching with all the eye-power that a human body +can possess. And afterward—</p> + +<p>“What were the receipts to-day?” I asked. +Harry Tammen turned sharply.</p> + +<p>“Darned if I know,” he exclaimed. “I don’t +care whether we made a cent or not. Just being +with that kid and living his happiness with him at +his first circus,—that was reward enough for me!”</p> + +<p>Then Harry Tammen turned away, but not soon +enough to prevent my seeing the gleam of something +that bespoke sentimentality in his eyes. Which +proves also that it isn’t always the money which lures +the circus on to its yearly fight. Perhaps the show +gets a part of its own reward from giving joy to +others? Stranger things have happened.</p> + +<p>Onward, to a fight with an escaped lion at Medford, +the threat of a forest fire at Weed, California, +which crept closer and closer to the railroad over +which we must depart, and which licked and spat +at the long trains as they shot through its smoky, +threatening radius. On to Riverside, where the +poles fell and where four men died. On to Yuma, +Arizona, with its heat of 112°, and an afternoon +show only, that we might make the long, hard run +to Phoenix.</p> + +<p>The first section was loaded, but the train didn’t +start. I sought the reason and found it in a crowd +of men struggling vainly to shunt two escaped ostriches +back into their cages. In vain; the ostriches +were fighting in a duel to the death.</p> + +<p>Men beat at them, yelled at them, sought to rope +them and pull them apart, in vain. Kicking and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span>leaping, the ostriches realized only one thing, that +one of them must die, and we settled down to the +only available resource, the watching the giant cock-fight +and a hope for a speedy ending. It came in +one tremendous kick of the victor, and an aggravated +case of a decapitated chicken. The victor +had beheaded his rival. The duel was over, the +recalcitrant ostrich was loaded and the show went +on, an hour late.</p> + +<p>The puffing engines strove their best to make up +time, then, far in the night, stopped in the midst of +the desert. Shouts sounded and yelling bosses +herded out the scrambling workmen. Fire!</p> + +<p>Far ahead the sky was red from the glare of the +burning train. A spark from the engine had settled +in a side-show wagon; the draught of the train’s +progress had done the rest. Miles from water, +miles from aid. If that train moved on, with its +consequent pressure of air, it meant the whole train +must burn!</p> + +<p>Rushing men dragged forth the steel cables which +were used to guy out the poles of the big top. Then, +sharp orders came from smoke-choked throats:</p> + +<p>“Uncouple that car!”</p> + +<p>Quickly the burning flat car was “spotted” with +the rest of the train safe on each side. Men, +wrapped in wet canvas, struggled forward against +the heat to “lasso” the whole burning mass with +the cables. Out came the work elephants, their +pulling harness slapping about their shoulders as +they were shunted into position. One by one they +were hooked to the cables. Bull-hooks gleamed in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>the red light as the elephant men urged their beasts +forward, straining against the taut strands of steel. +A moment of racking labor, then a crashing roar +as the blazing car tumbled down the embankment, +its sparks and embers scattering, its flare becoming +greater than ever. And there we left it, ten thousand +dollars’ worth of lost effort, blazing away, as +we went on, minus one side-show, two parade +wagons and a flat car. But the crowds which lined +the streets in Phoenix the next day and grumbled +because the parade was an hour late did not, could +not know the reason, and it is a part of circus ethics +to keep one’s troubles to oneself.</p> + +<p>Three days of peace with only such minor things +as bad lots, long hauls, bad connections of motive +power at terminals,—only the everyday happenings +of circusdom. Then came Warren, Arizona.</p> + +<p>The doors were opened late. There was a +reason: a block away, a circus wagon had collided +with a fire plug, with the result that for two hours +a flood streamed in on the circus lot before the water +main could be dammed. The city of Warren, Arizona, +collected a hundred dollars damages. No +one mentioned the fact that the trifling event had +cost the circus five hundred dollars additional for +straw to cover the mud. And no one cared. It’s +all in a day, and later on, when a bibulous circus +goer wandered into the side show and insisted on +saying unkind things to the Half Man-Half Woman +until the sensitive nature of that duo-person rebelled +to the extent of tapping the intruder on the head +with a monkey wrench, thereby precipitating a riot, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span>no one did more than shrug his shoulders. You +can’t figure the mental workings of a circus freak, so +why worry?</p> + +<p>El Paso, and a tent crammed with people who had +come for just one purpose,—to see our “feature”, +a pugilistic champion who had trained in El Paso +a few years before. The announcer yelled forth his +name. But no “Champion of the World” responded.</p> + +<p>Again, while frantic circusmen sought the star, in +vain. He was gone! The ticket men worked overtime +refunding money, while hard-boiled circus men +searched for the pugilist and swore never again to +have a person on the show who didn’t have the circus +spirit, no matter how many dollars he might +draw. Eighty miles away they found him, where +he had ridden cramped, and half-frozen, in a refrigerator +car. Angrily they learned his story,—of +a debt of two thousand dollars he didn’t want to +pay, and an attempt to defeat the sheriff who was in +the way with an attachment, by hiding in a refrigerator +car. Then the train moved out, carrying a +champion of the world with it.</p> + +<p>The show fined him $2,500, but that didn’t make +up for the lost prestige of a promise unfulfilled. +Better a wreck, or a blowdown or anything, save a +thing lost through being a quitter!</p> + +<p>After that, a delayed train at San Antonio and a +circus lot too small for the show itself mattered +little. Or the cloudburst at Bryant, the cold drizzles +at Tyler and Sheridan, or even the day at +Wichita Falls, with a gale blowing so strong that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span>even to raise the big top meant disaster. Those +were things against which men fought and did their +best. The top did not go up, but the show went on, +with a side wall draped about the seats and the performance +proceeding in the open!</p> + +<p>Fort Worth. That norther, with its horrible +barrier of ice. Then the trip home; but even then, +the difficulties did not cease. A spark in a horse +car. Another fire, and strong men ready to risk +death to save the best-loved things of the circus,—its +horses!</p> + +<p>And all that happened within two months. +Every circus season can tell treble that number of +stories. But always there echoes that call which +means everything in the circus world: “The show +must go on!”</p> + +<p>And on it goes!</p> +<br> +<br> +<p class="center no-indent">THE END</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter transnote"> + <h2 class="nobreak bold fs150" id="Transcribers_Notes"> + Transcriber’s Notes + </h2> + +<ul> + <li>pg 24 Changed: exhibited for years at the London Zoological Gardens<br> + <span style="padding-left: 2em">To: exhibited for years at the London Zoölogical Gardens</span></li> + + <li>pg 93 Changed: The chimpanzee, the koola-kamba, the marmoset and others<br> + <span style="padding-left: 2em">To: The chimpanzee, the Koolakamba, the marmoset and others</span></li> + + <li>pg 161 Changed: “Congo”, a giant Kula-Kamba of the ape family<br> + <span style="padding-left: 2em">To: “Congo”, a giant Koolakamba of the ape family</span></li> + + <li>pg 201 Changed: the chimpanzee and the kula-kamba are more closely related<br> + <span style="padding-left: 2em">To: the chimpanzee and the Koolakamba are more closely related</span></li> +</ul> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78288 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78288-h/images/cover.jpg b/78288-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..16b77d1 --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_f004.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_f004.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..051176a --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_f004.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_f005.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_f005.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb89268 --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_f005.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p010a.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p010a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8cc5e9f --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p010a.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p010b.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p010b.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9c6fad --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p010b.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p046a.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p046a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..16f9f5c --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p046a.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p060a.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p060a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..1d68f84 --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p060a.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p092c.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p092c.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0ddc413 --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p092c.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p092d.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p092d.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e73c3e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p092d.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p102c.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p102c.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ec8051c --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p102c.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p102d.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p102d.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..54899a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p102d.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p118c.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p118c.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c25324f --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p118c.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p118d.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p118d.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..22beaec --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p118d.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p172a.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p172a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..72eb120 --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p172a.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p182c.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p182c.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bc79d5d --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p182c.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p182d.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p182d.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a3190cf --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p182d.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p194a.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p194a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad79fba --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p194a.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p198a.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p198a.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..81ce730 --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p198a.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p222c.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p222c.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b70d40a --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p222c.jpg diff --git a/78288-h/images/i_p222d.jpg b/78288-h/images/i_p222d.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..67f1026 --- /dev/null +++ b/78288-h/images/i_p222d.jpg |
