Larry Dexter, Reporter/Chapter 24
CHAPTER XXIV
THE CIRCUS
Larry got along all right as far as taking the name of the bride, that of the groom, the officiating minister, and the attendants at the wedding ceremony was concerned. But when he came to take notes of the kinds of material in the dresses and the styles, he found himself helplessly at sea.
“The bride's dress was cut en traine,” said Mrs. Loftus, the mother of the young woman who had been married.
“I didn't catch that about her dress being cut by a train,” said Larry.
Mrs. Loftus laughed.
“Oh, you poor boy!” she exclaimed. “It's a shame to send you after a wedding. They ought to have a woman to describe the dresses. I don't wonder things get in the paper wrong. Who could expect a man to tell about a woman's dress? But I'll explain it to you.”
Then she kindly initiated Larry into the mysteries of the feminine styles. She told him en traine meant that the dress had what old-fashioned persons called a “long trail,” which swept on the ground. She also told him how to spell such words as “mousselaine,” “peau de soie,” “crêpe de Chine,” and other terms that described the different materials.
With her help Larry did not make out so badly as he feared he would at first, but he was glad when he had all the facts, and could go back to the office to write them up. On his way out he saw Clarice peering over the balustrade at him.
“Good-by, Reporter!” she called, with a merry laugh, and Larry, though not knowing exactly what to make of her questions, thought she was one of the nicest girls he had ever seen.
He managed to turn out an account of the wedding, though it was not a very good one in his estimation. But Mr. Emberg did not seem to be very particular about it.
“Hurry through with that, Larry,” he said. “I have something else for you.”
So Larry finished by telling how the bridal couple had gone on a trip South, and turned his copy in at the city desk.
“I'm up now,” he said, that being the reporter's expressive way of notifying the city editor or his assistant that he is ready for another assignment.
“I want you to go up to Madison Square Garden,” said Mr. Emberg. “The circus has come to town, and I want a good descriptive story of how the animals got in, what the men are doing in the way of getting the Garden into shape, something about the freaks, and whatever else you see of interest. Make it a sort of special yarn, and do your best.”
That was an assignment any reporter would have been pleased to get, for though some of the Older men had done it for years, and there remained little or nothing that was new in it, still the spirit of the boy seemed to linger in them, and there were always plenty who were eager for the chance to “write up” the circus.
Larry appreciated his chance, and determined to do his best. He soon arrived at the Garden, and found the place in great confusion. Hundreds of men were scattered about the huge place. Some were erecting the tiers of seats, others were constructing the rings or stages on which the performers would appear; while high in the air, near the roof of the immense amphitheater, men, looking like spiders, were in a web of ropes, adjusting the trapezes.
In one corner was a group of tumblers and acrobats going through their “stunts,” to keep in practice, for the show was to open in two days. On some of the trapezes the men and women were swinging about, and in one section of the Garden a troupe of Japanese contortionists and balancers were doing seemingly impossible feats.
As Larry watched he saw a man in pink tights come out of a dressing-room, followed by several of the circus helpers. The performer went to where a trapeze swung high in the air. From the cross-bar there dangled a rope, which the man in tights grasped. Larry was near enough to overhear what was being said.
“I'm going to give 'em something new,” he remarked to a man with a long whip, who seemed to be a ringmaster.
“What is it?” asked the man with the whip.
“Watch me, and you'll see.”
Then the one in pink tights went up the rope hand over hand, with an ease that seemed surprising to Larry, who had often tried the thing at Campton, in his father's barn, when, with other country boys, he had played circus.
Reaching the trapeze, the man sat down on the bar, and began to swing to and fro. He seemed to be adjusting the ropes. Then he turned over backward, and swung by his knees, head downward. Working his body back and forth he caused the trapeze to sway rapidly to and fro, in a long swing.
For several minutes this went on, until the trapeze was moving backward and forward, with its human burden, as far as possible.
Suddenly the man in pink tights gave a loud cry just as he reached the highest point in a backward swing. Then, to Larry's horror, and seemingly no less to the astonishment of the ringmaster and the helpers, the man was seen shooting downward, as if the ropes of the trapeze had broken. Larry was sure the man would be killed.
But, just when it seemed that the man's head would strike the ground, and he be terribly injured, the ropes suddenly became taut, and the performer's downward course was checked, though he continued to swing back and forth in large arcs.
All at once he straightened up, and lightly leaped from the cross-bar.
“What do you think of that for a hair-raiser?” he asked. “Won't that make 'em sit up and take notice some?”
“It sure will,” replied the ringmaster. “I thought you were a goner. How did you manage that?”
“I had the ropes on both sides shortened by a series of slip-knots,” the man in pink tights explained. “Then, when I was swinging good and hard, I yanked the cord that held the first two knots in place. The weight of my body pulled the others out, and the rope began to lengthen, and you saw me come down. I had it calculated so that I would cease falling a little ways from the ground.”
“It's a good trick,” commented the ringmaster.
Larry thought so, too, and wondered how men cared to risk their lives in such dangerous performances. If the rope should break when the man's descent was so suddenly checked, he would surely be killed.
Larry saw about all there was going on among the performers, and decided next to visit the animal quarters. There he found a very lively place indeed. Some of the cages of wild beasts had just arrived from the train on which the circus came to New York, having been out on the road. The big wagons, containing lions, tigers, leopards, hyenas, giraffes, hippopotami, snakes, monkeys, bears, and other denizens of the forest, plain, or desert were rolled into place, either by horses pulling them, or by the elephants pushing them.
Larry was quite surprised to see how these huge and seemingly unwieldy and clumsy creatures were made to perform hard work. They were useful as well as being ornamental, from a showman's standpoint. Putting their big heads against a wagon or truck that would take the strength of eight horses, one elephant would shove it into place with ease, two men at the tongue directing its course.
Larry found the head animal man, who gave the young reporter some facts to use in his story for the paper, and related a few incidents of the recent trip.
While the cage of lions was being put into place there came from it a terrifying roar. It seemed to shake the very ground.
“Old Nero isn't feeling in the best of spirits,” said the animal trainer. “He's got a bad tooth that pains him, and he's as ugly as they come. I hope nothing happens. If he got out” The showman shrugged his shoulders in a way that told more than words.
“Look out, there!” he cried, suddenly, to the men who were guiding the pole of the cage containing Nero. “You'll run into that post if you don't look out. There you go! Call to that elephant to stop pushing, somebody!” yelled the trainer, for a huge elephant was shoving the lion's cage into place.
The men at the guiding pole had slipped, and the cage was headed straight for a big iron pillar.
The next instant there was a crash of splintering wood, and the cage ran full tilt into the column.
“Lookout, everybody!” the trainer cried. “Nero's cage is open! Get the hot irons ready, in case he's loose!”
The elephant ceased pushing now, and backed up a few paces. From the cage came a roar more terrible than any that had preceded it, and, as if awakened by a call to battle, all the other wild beasts began to utter their cries, so that the Garden sounded like a section of a South African jungle.
Suddenly a tawny yellow streak shot out of the lion's cage, launched itself through the air, and landed on the elephant's back.
“Nero's out!” yelled the trainer. “Lay low, everybody!”
The roars of the maddened beast had turned to angry growls. It crouched low on the back of the huge elephant, sinking its claws into the brute's hide. The pachyderm trumpeted loudly in pain and terror.
A group of trainers and helpers huddled together in a space made by several cages. The men were afraid to run, for fear of attracting the attention of the lion to themselves.
“Here!” cried the head trainer. “I'll get the hot irons! If he comes this way fire this revolver at him. It's only got blanks in it, but it may scare him back to his cage. Only the door is broken. If we get him in we can scare him into remaining there.”
Then throwing a big revolver down on the sawdust, the trainer ran to where the irons were heating. At that instant the lion leaped from the elephant's back, and came straight at the men. Not one stayed to see what would happen next, but fled in a hurry. Nor did anyone pick up the revolver.
Larry, who had been standing near the head trainer, saw the lion coming. His first thought was to flee, but he hardly knew which way to turn, as he had never been in the Garden before, and did not know where safety was. Then, hardly knowing what he was doing, Larry leaped forward, and grabbed the revolver. The lion was not twenty feet away, and was trotting straight at him, growling menacingly.
“Fire at him! Fire at him!” cried the head trainer, who was at the far side of the quarters. He had grabbed two hot irons from the furnace, where they were kept in readiness for just such emergencies.
The lion, seeing the boy standing in front of him, crouched for a spring. Larry's heart was beating like a triphammer, and his hand trembled so he could hardly hold the revolver.
Then, like a streak of sunshine, the beast leaped for him.