  After leaving Pant, Snowball divided the money he had been given for the purpose of purchasing Liberty Bonds into five little rolls. These he deposited in five different pockets about his ragged trousers and coat. “Dere now,” he muttered; “dey won’t nobody snatch it all from me at oncet.” He first wandered down the back ropes, accosting here and there a colored gentleman who looked as if he might be the proud possessor of a bond. Some laughed at this bullet-headed youngster, who claimed to be in possession of enough money to purchase a “sho’ nuff” Liberty Bond. Others, with prying eyes, leered at his pockets. These he gave a wide berth. An hour of this sort of thing netted him two bonds at forty-two dollars each. “Huh,” he grunted at last, “these here colored circus folks sho’ am plum short on Liberty Bonds. Reckon I’se gwine try some white mans.” Making his way boldly out to the front of the circus, where a thin crowd filtered in and out, here and there, some few drifting into the side shows, he made straight for a man in uniform who guarded the entrance to the big tent. “Say, Mister, you all got any Liberty Bonds to sell?” “Liberty Bonds?” The man started and stared. “Who wants ’em?” “Me. I do, Mister.” “Say!” The man bent low and whispered. “You see that man selling tickets in front of the big side show, by the picture of the fat lady?” “Uh-huh.” “He’s got some. Bought them this morning, cheap. Mebbe he’ll sell them to you.” “Thank ye, Mister.” Snowball was away like a flash. “Liberty Bonds?” said the ticket hawker of the black mustache. “How many?” “I might buy one, if it’s cheap, mebbe.” “How cheap?” “How much you all want?” “Forty dollars.” Snowball shook his head, “Thirty-nine. That’s all I’m payin’ jes’ now.” His hand was in his right trousers pocket. “Let’s see yer money.” Snowball stepped back a discreet distance, then displayed two twenty-dollar bills. “All right, let’s have ’em.” “Let’s see dat Liberty Bond.” “All right.” The man dug into his inner vest pocket, produced a flat envelope from which he extracted a square of paper. “Here it is.” Snowball inspected it closely. “Dat’s all right, Mister. I git a dollar back.” The ticket seller peeled a one-dollar bill from a bulky roll and the deal was closed. “Say, Mister,” said Snowball, rolling his eyes, “I might buy another one, same price.” “Why didn’t you say so?” Snowball grinned. Again the deal was closed. Snowball put his hand into his left hip pocket and repeated his declaration: “Say, Mister, I might buy jes’ one more.” For a second time the man’s eyes rested on him with suspicion lurking in their depths. “Say, boy, who you buying these for?” “Fo’ me, mysef.” “All right, Mr. First National Bank, here you are.” The deal was quickly closed and Snowball hastened away, happy in the realization that he had accomplished the task set for him. Making his way to the beach, he found Pant sprawled out on the sand, half asleep. “Did you get them?” the white man asked drowsily. “Ya-as, sir. Here dey is.” Snowball held out the five bonds. “An’ here’s de change.” Pant sat up, suddenly all alert. “You got three for thirty-nine?” “Ya-as, sir.” “Let’s have a look.” Pant’s slender fingers trembled as he spread the five squares of paper out upon the sand. “Good!” he muttered. “You got them all right. Now look at them all. Snowball. See any difference in ’em?” He held a lighted match above the bonds. Snowball studied them as intently as his roving eyes would allow. “No, no, sir, I don’t.” “These two. Look different, don’t they?” “No, no, sir; I can’t say dat.” “You’re blind,” grunted Pant. “Two of them are paler than the others; ink is not so dark. See? Not quite.” “Oh, yas, ya-as, sir.” “Now those two pale face bonds were folded up with one other. Remember where you got them?” Pant’s eyes flashed through his thick glasses. “No, no, Oh, ya-as, ya-as, sir, I do. It were dat ’ere white man; sellin’ tickets, he was.” “Good! Now here’s a dollar. That’s for you. You’ll get another when you come back. You take these two pale face bonds to the ticket seller and ask him where he got them.” “Ya-as, sir.” Full of wonder at the strange doings of this odd fellow with the black glasses, Snowball hurried back to the ticket seller. “Say, Mister,” he demanded, “whar’d y’ git these pale face bonds?” “What?” The man stared at him. “Whar y’ git ’em?” Snowball held them up for inspection. “Let’s see.” The man made a grab for them. “Nem’ min’.” The boy darted away. “Who wants to know?” the man demanded gruffly. “Me, myself.” “I can’t tell exactly. I bought two from Tom Stick, the midget clown, three from Andy McQueen, the steam kettle cook, and two more from a bunco-steerer—feller with a bite taken out of his ear. I don’t know which ones those are. “Say, boy!” The expression on his face suddenly changed. “You let me have them bonds.” “No-o, sir!” Snowball dashed away in sudden fright. With the ticket seller close on his heels, he dodged around a fat woman, nearly collided with a baby carriage, leaped the tent ropes. Like a jack rabbit, he scooted beneath the ponderous wagons on which rested the electric light plant of the circus, and, at last, dodging through the mess tent, succeeded in eluding his pursuer. He was still breathing hard when he reached the place of rendezvous on the beach. “What did he say?” demanded Pant. “He said he bought some from dat midget clown, an’ some from a steam kettle cook, an’ some from a bunco-man wid a chewed ear. Say, Mister, do I get dat oder dollar?” Pant held it out to him. “What you puffing about?” “Dat ticket man chased me.” “What for?” “Don’t know, boss.” For a moment they were silent. “Say, Boss,” Snowball whispered after a time, “what you s’pose made dat ere red splotch on the groun’?” “What red spot?” There was a suspicion of a smile lurking about the corner of Pant’s mouth. “Man! Don’ you know? ’Roun’ dat fiah?” “Oh, yes; I wasn’t looking just then.” “Say, Boss!” The boy was whispering again. “I ain’t afraid of almost nuthin’—nuthin’ but signs and ghosts. You s’pose dat were a sign?” “It might have been.” “An’ say, Boss, what’s dem colored fellers sayin’ ’bout a wreck? Don’ mean that ere circus train’s gwine wreck? Man, that’d be some kind of a wreck! Tigers fightin’ b’ars, lions eatin’ elephants, snakes a-crawlin’ loose, wild cats a-clawin’, an monkeys screamin’! Man! Oh, man!” For a full minute Snowball sat silent, wild-eyed and staring at the mental picture he had conjured up. Then a sudden thought struck him. “Say, Boss, dis am circus day ain’t it? An’ I got two dollars I jes’ earned and ain’t spent, ain’t I? Boss, I’se gone right now!” And he was. For a long time Pant sat there in contemplative silence. Finally, with one hand he smoothed out the sand before him. On this, with his finger, he spelled out the name: BLACKIE McCREE. Then, with a quick glance about him, as if afraid it had been seen, he erased the letters. * * * * * * * * When Johnny Thompson had been introduced to the stable boss and had been given his assignment, he lost no time in getting on a suit of unionalls and was soon at work sleeking down his three broad backed dapple grays. It was a long task, painstakingly done, for Johnny loved horses and these three were among the finest in the circus. His mind, however, was not always on his brush and cloth. In the grand parade, which, in Chicago did not leave the tent, but circled about in the mammoth enclosure, while the vast crowds cheered, Millie Gonzales rode standing on these three fat chargers, that, with tossing manes and champing bits, seemed at every moment ready to break her control and go rushing down the arena. Johnny was to take the horses to the entrance of the big tent. That much he had been told. Would he there turn them over to Millie? And would she be wearing the missing ring? The answers to these questions he could only guess. It was with a wildly beating heart that he at last led his three horses down the narrow canvas enclosure which led to the great tent. Already the procession was forming. Here a group of clowns waited in silence. Here a great gilded chariot rumbled forward, and here a trained elephant was being fitted with his rider’s canopied seat. By this director, then that one, Johnny was guided to the spot from which his three dapple grays would start. He had hardly reached the position than a high-pitched, melodious, but slightly scornful, voice said: “Why! Who are you? Where’s Peter?” “Who’s Peter?” asked Johnny, doffing his cap respectfully, but studying the girl’s hands the meanwhile. “Why, he’s my groom.” “Begging your pardon, he’s not; I am.” “You?” She stood back and surveyed him with unveiled scorn. “You? A little shrimp like you?” Johnny was angry. Hot words rushed to his lips but remained unspoken. He was playing a big game. For the time he must repress his pride. “I—I—” Millie stormed on, “I like a big groom, a strong one. I shall see about this.” “Oh!” smiled Johnny, “if it’s strength you want, I guess you’ll find me there. And for horses, I know how to groom them.” Millie cast an appraising eye over the grays. “Did you do that?” “Yes, please.” “They’re wonderful!” Lifting a dainty foot, she waited for Johnny’s palm. Once it rested securely there, she gave a little spring and would have landed neatly on the first gray’s back, had not Johnny suddenly shot his arm upward. As it was, she rose straight in the air three feet above the horses to land squarely on the middle one of the three. She landed fairly on her feet. A whip sang through the air. She had aimed a vicious blow at Johnny’s cheek. There was a wild flare of anger in her eye. Dodging out of her reach, Johnny stood trembling for fear he had foolishly wasted his grand chance. Presently the girl’s lips curved in a half disdainful smile. “You are an impudent fellow, and I should have some one thrash you. “You are strong, though,” she went on, “and because of that, I’ll forgive you. In the future, however, remember that I am Millie Gonzales and you are my groom.” Johnny nodded gravely. The procession moved forward. Millie passed from his view. After calmly reviewing the situation, one fact stood out in bold relief in Johnny’s mind: If it were Millie Gonzales who had the ring, his task was to be a difficult one, for she was a keen, crafty, high-tempered, unscrupulous Spaniard, who would stop at nothing to gain her end. “Well, anyway,” he decided, “if she has it, she is not wearing it. It’s not on her hand. Here’s hoping it’s one of the other two.” He moved to a position where he could watch the parade. For a full three minutes his eyes swept it from end to end. Out of it all—the troop of elephants, the brass band, the clowns, the performers, the many strange carts and chariots—one figure stood supreme: A girl who rode high on a throne, mounted upon a great chariot, escorted by six footmen, and drawn by six prancing chargers. “The queen of the circus!” he thought. “I wonder who she is.” Johnny had hardly spoken the words when, for a second, the girl’s smiling face was turned his way. He caught his breath sharply. “She’s one of the three,” he gasped. “If it is she who has the ring—” He did not finish, for just then the van of the procession entered the wing, and he slipped away behind the canvas to await Millie Gonzales and the three grays. “Say pard,” he whispered to a circus hand standing beside him, “who’s this queen of the circus?” “Don’t you know?” the other asked in surprise. “That’s Gwen Maysfield, the tight-rope dancer. A regular sport she is, too; can box like a man. Packs a wallop, too. I’ve seen her knock this fellow who boxes the bear clean over the ropes.” “Boxes the bear?” “Sure. Don’t you know the act? Feller’s got a bear; rides bicycles, and all that. One of his stunts is to put on the gloves with the big silver-gray. Of course it’s a frost. Bear could knock him a mile, if he wanted to.” Johnny said no more, but soon began piecing together his bits of information. Gwen was the queen of the circus. She was also one of the three at whose feet the diamond ring had dropped. She liked boxing. If only he could manage to get a few rounds with her, that might break down the social barrier that stood between them. Then he could ask her about the ring. But she was the queen, and he only a groom. How was he to manage it? She boxed with the performer who boxed the bear. Perhaps he could make the acquaintance of this bear boxer. The time was approaching when Millie and her three grays were to go on. He hastened away to his work. That night in the animal tent, while the exhibition was in full swing, while thousands were crowding before the long line of cages, there occurred a strange and startling incident; a cage plainly marked BLACK LEOPARD had appeared, in the uncertain light of night, entirely empty. “Guess that’s a fake,” a spectator grumbled. “What is it?” asked a child. “Says ‘Black Pussy,’” smiled the father, “but I guess there isn’t any.” “Oh, Papa, I want to see the black pussy!” wailed the child, clinging to the ropes, and refusing to move along. The father was striving to quiet the child when, of a sudden, a flash of crimson light brought out the dark corners of the cage in bold relief. It was gone in a twinkling, but in that time a raging fury of black fur, flashing claws and gleaming eyes leaped against the bars. The child screamed, the father swore softly. There was a succession of exclamations from the crowd. A colored attendant, who chanced to be passing with a bundle of straw, dropped his burden to stare, open mouthed, at the cage. When he again put his trembling fingers to the bundle of straw, it was to mutter: “Tain’t no safe place fer a ’spectable colored man to wuck. ’T’ain’ safe. All dem raid flashes ever’whar. Can’t fry po’k chops fer ’em. Can’t wuck, can’t do nuttin’.” That night, after the grand performance was concluded, after the surging crowd had passed out, after the arc lights had fluttered, blinked, and then left the place in darkness, Johnny went out for a breath of fresh air before turning into the bunk assigned to him. He was walking around the end of the big top when a sudden flash of crimson appeared against the canvas. It was a flash only, remaining not one second, but Johnny paused to listen. In another moment there came a whispered, “Hello, Johnny,” and Pant appeared. “You work for this circus?” Johnny asked. “No. You?” “Yes, got a job to-day.” “What?” “Horses.” “Good. That puts you inside. You can help me, Johnny—help me a lot, and believe me, kid, it’s big—the biggest thing we ever worked on.” Pant’s words came quick and tense. “What is it?” “Can’t tell you now, but you can help. Here, take these three Liberty Bonds. They’re good ones. You take ’em over town and sell ’em. Here’s a hundred iron men. You buy me five more bonds from these circus men, see? Any of ’em. You’re inside, see? You can do it. Buy five. They’ve got ’em. They’ll sell ’em, too.” “I call that light business, dealing in Liberty Bonds on a small margin,” grumbled Johnny. “What shall I pay?” “Thirty-nine.” “Nobody but a crazy man would sell ’em for that.” “Mebbe not, Johnny, but they’ll sell ’em. Pay more, if you have to. The game’s a big one, I tell you. So long.” Pant vanished into the night. |
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