  The big top had never been more crowded than it was the night of Johnny’s first performance as a clown. And never, in the memory of the oldest circus man, had there been a jollier throng. Never had there been an act more thoroughly appreciated than that of Gwen, the Queen, and Johnny, the fat clown. Johnny had been dressed in inflated rubber clothing until he appeared as fat as a butcher. When, by the aid of the balloons, he rose to the tight wire, when he tripped lightly along it, and returned cakewalking, the spectators howled their approval. But when in apparent consternation, he lost his step and instead of plunging downward, leaped upward with the sudden lift of the balloons, they rose to their feet and roared their delight. Silently, calmly, he rose toward the tent top. There was nothing calm about the feelings that surged in Johnny’s breast, however. He had never been in aviation, and never would be. Going up in the air made him feel sick. Had it not been for Gwen, he would have refused to attempt this stunt. “Oh, well!” he sighed, “here’s the top; now I can grab the rope and come down. Rope’s more certain than these balloons.” Hardly had the thought passed through his brain than there came a loud report. So close it was that it hurt his ear drums. It was followed almost instantly by a second explosion. “The balloons,” Johnny groaned. “They’re bursting!” For a second his head whirled. To drop from those dizzy heights meant death. Then his mind cleared. The rope was to his right. Already he was beginning to shoot downward. Could he reach it? With one wild leap in mid-air, he thrust out a hand. He grasped the rope with his left, then lost his hold. With his right, he secured a firmer grip. At that same instant the last balloon burst. For one sickening moment, he clung there, swinging backward and forward, madly groping for the rope with his free hand. At last, he found it, and, with a sigh of relief, began sliding down the rope. The crowd was standing up cheering. The band was playing. Even the performers thought it part of the act. For a minute or two after he had reached the ground, Johnny rested on a mat. As he rose to go he noticed something lying in the sawdust. Carelessly he picked it up, examined it, then gave a low whistle. It was an arrow-like affair. The shaft was of steel wire, the head of wood. The head had been discolored, part yellow and part dark brown. “Sulphur!” he murmured. “Dipped in burning sulphur, then shot at my balloons! No wonder they exploded. Now, who played that dirty trick?” He examined the thing carefully. “Couldn’t have been shot from a bow, no groove for the bow string. Now I wonder. An air rifle, that’s what it was.” Quickly there flashed before his mind a picture of a midget clown chasing a huge elephant around the ring. The clown was dressed in equatorial hunting garb and carried an air rifle. “Tom Stick!” Johnny murmured. “Tom Stick and his air rifle! I wouldn’t have thought he’d do it.” Slowly he walked back through the alleyway that led to the dressing room. He had discarded his clown suit and had walked out into the open air, when a shrill young voice called his name: “Johnny, Johnny Thompson.” Whirling about, he found himself facing the millionaire twins. They were riding astride their ponies, and were dressed as if ready for their turn in the ring. “Wha—where’d you come from, and who let you in?” he gasped. “We came from our grandfather’s to join the circus,” piped Marjory. “Yes, and to think,” Margaret fairly wailed, “we got here too late for the parade!” Johnny looked at them for a moment, then laughed a good natured laugh. “Got let down, didn’t you?” he smiled. “Well, so did I a minute ago, mighty sudden, too. But perhaps we can get you into a part yet, since this is positively your first and last appearance.” “Oh, no, Johnny,” exclaimed Marjory, “not the last! We’ve come to stay as long as you do.” “Then I don’t stay long,” laughed Johnny. “Circus is no place for millionaire twins. You wait right here. I’ll be back.” By dint of much persuading, Johnny succeeded in getting the twins a place on the program. At the end of the races came a pony race. The ponies were ridden by monkeys. It was arranged that the two little girls, on their own ponies, were to race the monkeys on their circus mounts. It was a wilder and more genuine race than is usually pulled off in the circus, for the twins were dead in earnest about winning it, and so were the monkeys. The monkeys and their ponies had played at racing so long, however, they were not able to get seriously down to business. When the twins were riding neck and neck, three lengths ahead of their nearest rivals, they delighted the throng by leaping upon their feet and riding in this manner around the last sweeping circle and out of sight. “That’s fine,” exclaimed the manager, rubbing his hands. “Who are they, friends of yours? Can we book ’em for the rest of the season?” He was speaking to Johnny. “Can’t book them for another show,” groaned Johnny. “And I’ll get skinned alive for letting them in on this one. They’re the daughters of Major MacDonald, the steel magnate. Ran away from their grandfather’s, and they go back to-night.” The manager whistled. “Too bad to spoil perfectly good circus girls to make society belles,” he smiled. “But seein’ that’s who they are, I guess it can’t be helped.” “Oow-wee! That was grand!” exclaimed Marjory, who now came up with her sister. “Did we make good. Can we stay?” “You made good, but you can’t stay,” smiled Johnny. “What do you suppose your grandparents are thinking of about now?” “Oh, they won’t know about it at all. We are supposed to be over here with friends who live down on Pine street. That’s how they let us come at all. These friends are real old folks and don’t go to circuses. When we got here, we called them up as if we were at home and told them we couldn’t come; so you see it’s all right. And, Johnny, if we can’t stay and be circus folks, we can stay just one night, can’t we, and have a real ride in a circus train?” Johnny looked at the manager. “Sure,” grinned the good natured boss of the circus. “We’ll put you in the care of Ma Kelly, the circus girls’ matron, and you’ll be safe as a bean in a bowl of soup.” “How far do we move?” asked Johnny, a bit anxiously. “Only forty miles, and that leaves us less than thirty miles from their grandfather’s place. They can make it back all right.” “I’ll borrow one of the rough riders’ ponies, and hoof it back with them,” said Johnny. “But remember,” he turned to the twins, “remember, this is the last. To-morrow morning you turn your faces toward home. And by thunder! I wish I could go along to stay!” “Why? Why can’t you?” cried Marjory. “We want you to. Indeed, we do.” “I can’t tell you now. Maybe some time. You stay right here. I’ll send Ma Kelly around. Then I’ve got to go box the bear.” Johnny rushed away, and that was the last they saw of him for some time. |
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