Authors: Louisa May Alcott
Bab reluctantly tore herself away to find consolation in watching the young lions, who looked so like big puppies, and the
tigers washing their faces just as puss did.
“If I stroked ’em, wouldn’t they purr?” she asked, bent on enjoying herself, while Ben held her skirts lest she should try
the experiment.
“You’d better not go to patting them, or you’ll get your hands clawed up. Tigers do purr like fun when they are happy, but
these fellers never are, and you’ll only see ’em spit and snarl,” said Ben, leading the way to the humpy camels, who were
peacefully chewing their cud and longing for the desert, with a dreamy, faraway look in their mournful eyes.
Here, leaning on the rope, and scientifically biting a straw while he talked, Ben played showman to his heart’s content till
the neigh of a horse from the circus tent beyond reminded him of the joys to come.
“We’d better hurry along and get good seats before folks begin to crowd. I want to sit near the curtain and see if any of
Smithers’s lot are ‘round.”
“I ain’t going way off there; you can’t see half so well, and that big drum makes such a noise you can’t hear yourself think,”
said Sam, who had rejoined them.
So they settled in good places where they could see and hear all that went on in the ring and still catch glimpses of white
horses, bright colors, and the glitter of helmets beyond the dingy red curtains. Ben treated Bab to peanuts and popcorn like
an indulgent parent, and she murmured protestations of undying gratitude with her mouth full, as she sat blissfully between
him and the congenial Billy.
Sancho, meantime, had been much excited by the familiar sights and sounds, and now was greatly exercised in his doggish mind
at the unusual proceeding of his master; for he was sure that they ought to be within there, putting on their costumes, ready
to take their turn. He looked anxiously at Ben, sniffed disdainfully at the strap as if to remind him that a scarlet ribbon
ought to take its place, and poked peanut shells about with his paw as if searching for the letters with which to spell his
famous name.
“I know, old boy, I know; but it can’t be done. We’ve quit the business and must just look on. No larks for us this time,
Sanch, so keep quiet and behave,” whispered Ben, tucking the dog away under the seat with a sympathetic cuddle of the curly
head that peeped out from between his feet.
“He wants to go and cut up, don’t he?” said Billy, “and so do you, I guess. Wish you were going to. Wouldn’t it be fun to
see Ben showing off in there?”
“I’d be afraid to have him go up on a pile of elephants and jump through hoops like these folks,” answered Bab, poring over
her pictured playbill with unabated relish.
“Done it a hundred times, and I’d just like to show you what I can do. They don’t seem to have any boys in this lot;
shouldn’t wonder if they’d take me if I asked ’em,” said Ben, moving uneasily on his seat and casting wistful glances toward
the inner tent where he knew he would feel more at home than in his present place.
“I heard some men say that it’s against the law to have small boys now; it’s so dangerous and not good for them, this kind
of thing. If that’s so, you’re done for, Ben,” observed Sam, with his most grown-up air, remembering Ben’s remarks on “fat
boys.”
“Don’t believe a word of it, and Sanch and I could go this minute and get taken on, I’ll bet. We are a valuable couple, and
I could prove it if I chose to,” began Ben, getting excited and boastful.
“Oh, see, they’re coming! — gold carriages and lovely horses, and flags and elephants, and everything!” cried Bab, giving
a clutch at Ben’s arm as the opening procession appeared headed by the band, tooting and banging till their faces were as
red as their uniforms.
Round and round they went till everyone had seen their fill, then the riders alone were left caracoling about the ring with
feathers flying, horses prancing, and performers looking as tired and indifferent as if they would all like to go to sleep
then and there.
“How splendid!” sighed Bab, as they went dashing out, to tumble off almost before the horses stopped.
“That’s nothing! You wait till you see the bareback riding and the ‘acrobatic exercises,’” said Ben, quoting from the playbill,
with the air of one who knew all about the feats to come, and could never be surprised anymore.
“What are ‘crowbackic exercises’?” asked Billy, thirsting for information.
“Leaping and climbing and tumbling; you’ll see — George! what a stunning horse!” and Ben forgot everything
else to feast his eyes on the handsome creature who now came pacing in to dance, upset and replace chairs, kneel, bow, and
perform many wonderful or graceful feats, ending with a swift gallop while the rider sat in a chair on its back fanning himself,
with his legs crossed, as comfortably as you please.
“That, now, is something like,” and Ben’s eyes shone with admiration and envy as the pair vanished, and the pink and silver
acrobats came leaping into the ring.
The boys were especially interested in this part, and well they might be; for strength and agility are manly attributes which
lads appreciate, and these lively fellows flew about like India-rubber balls, each trying to outdo the other, till the leader
of the acrobats capped the climax by turning a double somersault over five elephants standing side by side.
“There, sir, how’s that for a jump?” asked Ben, rubbing his hands with satisfaction as his friends clapped till their palms
tingled.
“We’ll rig up a springboard and try it,” said Billy, fired with emulation.
“Where’ll you get your elephants?” asked Sam, scornfully, for gymnastics were not in his line.
“You’ll do for one,” retorted Ben, and Billy and Bab joined in his laugh so heartily that a rough-looking man who sat behind
them, hearing all they said, pronounced them a “jolly set,” and kept his eye on Sancho, who now showed signs of insubordination.
“Hullo, that wasn’t on the bill!” cried Ben, as a parti-colored clown came in, followed by half a dozen dogs.
“I’m so glad; now Sancho will like it. There’s a poodle that might be his ownty donty brother — the one with the blue ribbon,”
said Bab, beaming with delight as the dogs took their seats in the chairs arranged for them.
Sancho did like it only too well, for he scrambled out from under the seat in a great hurry to go and greet his friends; and,
being sharply checked, sat up and begged so piteously that Ben found it very hard to refuse and order him down. He subsided
for a moment, but when the black spaniel, who acted the canine clown, did something funny and was applauded, Sancho made a
dart as if bent on leaping into the ring to outdo his rival, and Ben was forced to box his ears and put his feet on the poor
beast, fearing he would be ordered out if he made any disturbance.
Too well trained to rebel again, Sancho lay meditating on his wrongs till the dog act was over, carefully abstaining from
any further sign of interest in their tricks, and only giving a sidelong glance at the two little poodles who came out of
a basket to run up and down stairs on their forepaws, dance jigs on their hind legs, and play various pretty pranks to the
great delight of all the children in the audience. If ever a dog expressed by look and attitude, “Pooh! I could do much better
than that, and astonish you all, if I were only allowed to,” that dog was Sancho, as he curled himself up and affected to
turn his back on an unappreciative world.
“It’s too bad, when he knows more than all those chaps put together. I’d give anything if I could show him off as I used to.
Folks always like it, and I was ever so proud of him. He’s mad now because I had to cuff him, and won’t take any notice of
me till I make up,” said Ben, regretfully eyeing his offended friend, but not daring to beg pardon yet.
More riding followed, and Bab was kept in a breathless state by the marvelous agility and skill of the gauzy lady who drove
four horses at once, leaped through hoops, over banners and bars, sprang off and on at full speed, and seemed to enjoy it
all so much it was impossible to believe
that there could be any danger or exertion in it. Then two girls flew about on the trapeze, and walked on a tightrope, causing
Bab to feel that she had at last found her sphere; for, young as she was, her mother often said—
“I really don’t know what this child is fit for, except mischief, like a monkey.”
“I’ll fix the clothesline when I get home, and show Ma how nice it is. Then, maybe, she’ll let me wear red-and-gold trousers,
and climb round like these girls,” thought the busy little brain, much excited by all it saw on that memorable day.
Nothing short of a pyramid of elephants with a glittering gentleman in a turban and top boots on the summit would have made
her forget this new and charming plan. But that astonishing spectacle, and the prospect of a cage of Bengal tigers with a
man among them, in imminent danger of being eaten before her eyes, entirely absorbed her thoughts till, just as the big animals
went lumbering out, a peal of thunder caused considerable commotion in the audience. Men on the highest seats popped their
heads through the openings in the tent cover and reported that a heavy shower was coming up. Anxious mothers began to collect
their flocks of children as hens do their chickens at sunset; timid people told cheerful stories of tents blown over in gales,
cages upset and wild beasts let loose. Many left in haste, and the performers hurried to finish as soon as possible.
“I’m going now before the crowd comes, so I can get a lift home. I see two or three folks I know, so I’m off”; and, climbing
hastily down, Sam vanished without further ceremony.
“Better wait till the shower is over. We can go and see the animals again, and get home all dry, just as well as not,” observed
Ben, encouragingly, as Billy looked anxiously at
the billowing canvas over his head, the swaying posts before him, and heard the quick patter of drops outside, not to mention
the melancholy roar of the lion which sounded rather awful through the sudden gloom which filled the strange place.
“I wouldn’t miss the tigers for anything. See, they are pulling in the cart now, and the shiny man is all ready with his gun.
Will he shoot any of them, Ben?” asked Bab, nestling nearer with a little shiver of apprehension, for the sharp crack of a
rifle startled her more than the loudest thunderclap she ever heard.
“Bless you, no, child; it’s only powder to make a noise and scare ’em. I wouldn’t like to be in his place, though; father
says you can never trust tigers as you can lions, no matter how tame they are. Sly fellers, like cats, and when they scratch
it’s no joke, I tell you,” answered Ben, with a knowing wag of the head, as the sides of the cage rattled down, and the poor,
fierce creatures were seen leaping and snarling as if they resented this display of their captivity.
Bab curled up her feet and winked fast with excitement as she watched the “shiny man” fondle the great cats, lie down among
them, pull open their red mouths, and make them leap over him or crouch at his feet as he snapped the long whip. When he fired
the gun and they all fell as if dead, she with difficulty suppressed a small scream and clapped her hands over her ears; but
poor Billy never minded it a bit, for he was pale and quaking with the fear of “heaven’s artillery” thundering overhead, and
as a bright flash of lightning seemed to run down the tall tent-poles he hid his eyes and wished with all his heart that he
was safe with mother.
“’Fraid of thunder, Bill?” asked Ben, trying to speak stoutly, while a sense of his own responsibilities began to
worry him, for how was Bab to be got home in such a pouring rain?
“It makes me sick; always did. Wish I hadn’t come,” sighed Billy, feeling, all too late, that lemonade and “lozengers” were
not the fittest food for man, or a stifling tent the best place to be in on a hot July day, especially in a thunderstorm.
“I didn’t ask you to come;
you
asked
me;
so it isn’t my fault,” said Ben, rather gruffly, as people crowded by without pausing to hear the comic song the clown was
singing in spite of the confusion.
“Oh, I’m
so
tired,” groaned Bab, getting up with a long stretch of arms and legs.
“You’ll be tireder before you get home, I guess. Nobody asked
you
to come, anyway”; and Ben gazed dolefully round him, wishing he could see a familiar face or find a wiser head than his own
to help him out of the scrape he was in.
“I said I wouldn’t be a bother, and I won’t. I’ll walk right home this minute. I ain’t afraid of thunder, and the rain won’t
hurt these old clothes. Come along,” cried Bab, bravely, bent on keeping her word, though it looked much harder after the
fun was all over than before.
“My head aches like fury. Don’t I wish old Jack was here to take me back,” said Billy, following his companions in misfortune
with sudden energy, as a louder peal than before rolled overhead.
“You might as well wish for Lita and the covered wagon while you are about it, then we could all ride,” answered Ben, leading
the way to the outer tent, where many people were lingering in hopes of fair weather.
“Why, Billy Barton, how in the world did you get here?” cried a surprised voice as the crook of a cane caught the boy
by the collar and jerked him face to face with a young farmer, who was pushing along, followed by his wife and two or three
children.
“Oh, Uncle Eben, I’m so glad you found me! I walked over, and it’s raining, and I don’t feel well. Let me go with you, can’t
I?” asked Billy, casting himself and all his woes upon the strong arm that had laid hold of him.
“Don’t see what your mother was about to let you come so far alone, and you just over scarlet fever. We are as full as ever
we can be, but we’ll tuck you in somehow,” said the pleasant-faced woman, bundling up her baby, and bidding the two little
lads “keep close to father.”
“I didn’t come alone. Sam got a ride, and can’t you tuck Ben and Bab in too? They ain’t very big, either of them,” whispered
Billy, anxious to serve his friends now that he was provided for himself.