Ten Thumb Sam (6 page)

“What are you doing, Sam?”

Sam spun around. Annabel stood in the curtained opening, a look of triumph on her dimpled face. “Wha—what are you doing here?” he asked.

“I lost one of my hair ribbons. I was getting another one.”

Sam waved his hands in the air. “It's not what it looks like—”

It was too late. Annabel was already chanting, “I'm telling, I'm telling,” as she backed away. The bus door slammed behind her.

Sam plunked himself down beside Harriet in the bleachers a few minutes later. Down below in the center ring, Mr. Pigatto was announcing the first act.

“What's wrong?” asked Harriet.

“She's got me,” Sam said miserably. “And I didn't even
do
anything!”

“Who's got you? What are you talking about?”

Sam shook his head. “Don't even ask.”

The matinee performance was uneventful right up until the last act. With Annabel's assistance, Magic Max had just performed a series of successful tricks. Now Max was displaying his black top hat. He walked around the center ring and turned the hat upside down to show that it was empty. Annabel stepped forward to join her father in the spotlight. As everyone leaned forward expectantly, Max's young assistant reached into the hat.

Even from his seat high up in the bleachers, Sam could see that something was wrong. There was a bewildered expression on his sister's face, and she had stopped to whisper something into her father's ear.

“What is it?” Harriet asked.

“I don't know,” said Sam. “Maybe the hat really is empty. Maybe Snowball is missing.”

Magic Max whispered something to his daughter and then signalled for another drum roll. With her eyes screwed shut and her teeth clenched, Annabel reached into the top hat and slowly removed the animal inside.

The audience gasped. They'd been expecting a rabbit—not the large lizard that Annabel was holding up in obvious discomfort!

“Oliver!” Harriet and Sam said in unison.

As they watched, Oliver wriggled free of Annabel's grasp and fell to the floor. Annabel squealed and jumped back as the chameleon scurried over her feet and made its escape.

Sam groaned and let his head fall forward into his hands.

“Are you okay?” Harriet asked.

“Just wait—I'm going to get blamed for this too!”

They didn't have to wait long. “I
hate
you, Sam!” Annabel hissed as she stormed onto the Stringbini bus immediately after the show.

Max climbed onto the bus behind his daughter, just in time to prevent her from slugging her brother. “Calm down, Annabel,” he said, grabbing both her arms. “As for you, Sam, I think you and I need to take a little walk.”

“I can explain,” Sam said as soon as they were away from the bus. “I didn't steal Martin's dishes, and I didn't plant the lizard in your hat—”

“Your sister says she saw you put Martin's dishes in Mary Ann's bunk. Is that true?” asked his father.

Sam nodded. “But—”

Max shook his head. “I'm disappointed in you, Sam. First you take your brother's plates, and then you try to frame your cousin.”

“I'm the one who was framed!” Sam exploded.

“You don't know for sure that Mary Ann hid those dishes in your drawer,” Max said after Sam had finished telling his side of the story. “You should have alerted your brother the instant you found them instead of putting them in her bunk. You know that, Sam.”

Sam was silent.

Max ran his fingers through his beard and sighed. “What about the chameleon? What do you know about how Snowball and Oliver got switched this afternoon?”

Sam shook his head angrily. “I told you, I had nothing to do with that. No matter what Annabel says!”

Max studied his son's face. “All right,” he said. “I believe you. But I'm telling you the same thing I'm going to tell everyone else. It's hard enough all of us living together without everyone playing pranks on each other. It ends here, are we clear?”

The Triple Top caravan arrived on the outskirts of Winnipeg at lunchtime the following Wednesday. Everyone pitched in, and soon the circus was set up for its first performance on Thursday night.

“Hey, wait up,” Harriet called as Sam walked toward the main tent with a tray of cotton candy hanging from his neck. “Are you selling that tonight?” she asked.

Sam nodded glumly. “I have to sell snacks at every single performance from now on. It's supposed to keep me out of trouble.”

“At least it's something to do. Want some help?” his cousin offered.

Sam shrugged. “Sure. Thanks. Man, it's hot out tonight,” he complained as they approached the tent entrance. “They better have the air-conditioning running full blast.”

But the temperature inside the tent was even higher
than it was outside. Harriet fanned her face as they stood just inside the entrance. “Whoa—it's like a million degrees in here! Isn't the show supposed to start in fifteen minutes?”

Max was just a few yards away, talking with Mr. Pigatto and the Zuccatos. “What's going on? Why is it so hot in here?” Sam asked his father.

“The generator that powers the air conditioners has died,” said Max. “We've called someone to look at it, but who knows when he'll get here. Looks like we're performing in a sauna tonight.”

Mrs. Pigatto made her way across the tent toward them. “We're playing to a small crowd,” she informed the group as she got closer.

“But the lines outside are huge,” said Harriet. “We saw them on our way in.”

“Selling tickets isn't the problem tonight,” said Mrs. Pigatto. “It's keeping them sold. People step in here and turn right around and ask for their money back. Can't say that I blame them.”

Mr. Pigatto wiped the sweat from his brow and shook his head. “We can't afford to cancel. We'll just have to take it easy tonight. And remind everyone to make sure they drink lots of water. We don't want anyone collapsing in the heat.”

As the performers dispersed, Sam and Harriet set off to sell cotton candy to the few remaining spectators in the bleachers. “At least no one tried to blame
this
one on me,” Sam said to his cousin.

The generator was repaired just in time to cool down the big top for Friday evening's performance. The show was uneventful right until the final act, when Uncle Albert appeared in the center ring. With Mabel's assistance, Albert began the beach towel and sandcastle trick that Max claimed Albert had stolen years before. Albert waved his magic wand and said the magic words, “Salt and sea and air and sand, let a castle appear at my command!”

Mabel dutifully lifted the beach towel to reveal the promised sandcastle. But where the sandcastle should have been—where the sandcastle had been every other time Albert had performed this trick—there was now only a pile of loose sand. Believing it was all part of the act, the audience laughed and clapped dutifully. Then they waited for Albert to finish the illusion.

Sam leaned forward over his tray of cotton candy, curious to see how his uncle would respond. Poor Albert was not handling it well. He was becoming
increasingly frantic as he poked the pile of sand with his wand. When the castle still did not appear and the audience began to get restless, Mabel took her husband's arm and tugged him out of the spotlight.

“Man, this isn't going to be good,” Sam said as several members of the audience began to boo.

Sam was on his way back to the Stringbini bus when Albert strode past.

“That was a dirty rotten trick you just pulled out there,” Albert called ahead to Sam's father, shaking his fist in the air.

Max turned around. “What are you talking about?”

“Don't play innocent with me,” said Albert. “I didn't have anything to do with the mix-up in your act last week—you had no right to sabotage mine!”

Max folded his arms across his broad chest. “Calm down, Albert. I had nothing to do with what just happened out there.”

“Why should I believe you?” said Albert. “You've been jealous of my act ever since it took third prize in the seventeenth annual Manitoba Magician's Convention.”

“Jealous?” Max looked surprised. “My act won a silver medal in the nationals that same year! And even if I
was
competing with you, I certainly wouldn't need to sabotage your act!”

Albert glared at Max for a moment, his hands still clenched. “Yeah, well, you better believe I'll be watching you, Max!”

“Wow,” said Sam after his uncle had stormed off. “I was afraid he was going to sock you.”

Max took a deep breath before turning to his son. “Tell me honestly, Sam; did you have anything to do with this?”

“No, I didn't,” Sam said angrily.

“Are you sure?”

It was Sam's turn to clench his hands. “Of course I'm sure! Why would I do something like that?”

“Maybe to get attention?” Max suggested.

“I don't need that kind of attention,” said Sam, shaking his head. “I can't believe this! It's not enough that everyone thinks I'm a loser with no talent. Now I'm getting blamed every time something goes wrong!”