Читать книгу Freddy and the Men From Mars - Walter Rollin Brooks - Страница 7

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The day the circus gave its first show in Centerboro, every road leading into town was jammed for miles with sightseers. They came in cars and wagons, on foot, on horseback, and on bicycles; several hundred flew in by plane. The big attraction of course was the Martian cage. It had a side-show tent to itself, at the door of which Mr. Garble stood and took the money. He had a barrel beside him, and when it was full of fifty-cent pieces and bills, he nailed the head on and rolled it over into a corner and brought out another empty barrel. By the end of the evening performance he had six full barrels, ready to be taken over to the bank.

Some people filed through two or three times, and each time paid fifty cents apiece. The hardest job was to keep the line of people moving. Mr. Garble had hired three men who stood behind it and said: “Move along, please, step lively, others are waiting.” And if anybody stopped to stare for even five seconds, one of the men would push him along.

The main show did pretty well, too. For after people had satisfied their curiosity about the Martians there wasn’t anything else for them to do but look in at the big tent. Mr. Boomschmidt was pretty happy, because he got all the money that the big tent took in, as well as ten cents out of every fifty from the Martian tent.

But Mr. Garble wasn’t happy. If Mr. Garble had been making a million dollars a minute, he still would have been unhappy because he wasn’t making a million and a half. He was that kind of man. So he tried all sorts of schemes. He tried to move the people through the tent faster. One day he shoved the line through at a trot, but the people couldn’t see anything and they made such a fuss that he had to let them go through again free. He wanted to raise the admission to a dollar, but he had advertised it at fifty cents, and he couldn’t get away with that either. So then he said Mr. Boomschmidt was getting too much money out of the Martians, and wanted him to take only five, instead of ten cents out of every half-dollar.

Maybe if he had been nice about it, Mr. Boomschmidt would have agreed. But he stormed and roared and said that he was being cheated, and a lot of things like that. So Mr. Boomschmidt said: “Why, my gracious, Mr. Garble, I didn’t know you felt like that about me. What a terrible person I am, to be sure! My, my, Leo,” he said, turning to the lion, “ain’t I awful!”

“You sure are, chief,” said Leo, who had an idea where an argument was going.

“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “it makes me kind of sick to think about myself, I’m so mean. Don’t suppose there’s a bit of hope for me either, is there, Leo?”

“No there ain’t, chief. Not a smidgen.”

“Dear, dear—you hear him, Mr. Garble? Guess you’ll never get anywhere with an old skinflint like me. My goodness, you called me that yourself, and I wouldn’t want to make a liar out of you. Folks have got to live up to the opinion that other folks have of ’em. Can’t go changing your character at my time of life. So I guess I better take fifteen cents out of every half-dollar, instead of ten. Eh, Leo?” He pushed his silk hat to the back of his head and smiled happily. “Well, well, I’m glad that’s settled. Now Mr. Garble, if we—”

Mr. Garble interrupted with a roar. “Hey! You can’t do that! I want you to take five instead of ten, which it’s only fair you should do so. Nobody said anything about fifteen!”

“Why, I did—didn’t I, Leo? Good gracious, I’m only trying to live up to your opinion of me. That’s what my mother always wanted me to do. ‘Orestes,’ she’d say, ‘I want you always to live up to my opinion of you.’ But, dear me, if you’re going to be offended, we’ll just say no more about it. Let’s just leave it at ten cents, eh?”

“Ten!” Mr. Garble shouted. “I said five.”

“So you did, so you did,” Mr. Boomschmidt replied. “And I said fifteen. So we split the difference, and agree on ten. That’s the best way to come to an agreement. Each side gives way a little. Then everybody’s satisfied.”

“But ten cents is just what you were getting before!” howled Mr. Garble, almost beside himself with rage and confusion.

“Well, upon my word! So it is!” Mr. Boomschmidt was astonished. “Well, Leo, what do you know about that! Everybody satisfied and we don’t have to change anything. Now isn’t that nice!”

Mr. Garble jumped up and down, he was so mad. He didn’t say anything more. As he turned and stamped away, he grabbed the hair over his ears with both hands and tugged. A lot of it came out.

“He’ll be bald as a squash before you get through with him, chief,” said the lion.

“Goodness, Leo, do you think so? Oh, I do hope not; he’s not very pretty now, I don’t believe we’d like him around—though maybe we could exhibit him. Poor Mr. Garble, he’s bald as a marble. Dear, dear, I do hope I’ve not got this poetry thing from Mrs. Peppercorn. Do you suppose it’s catching?”

“Look, chief,” said Leo, “let’s be serious for a minute. Do you know what a lot of your animals are saying?—yes, and lots of the Centerboro folks, too—they’re saying that while Garble and his Martians were just a side show when he started out with you, now we’re the side show, and he’s the main show. What they’re afraid is that he’ll take the circus right away from you.”

“Pooh!” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Now you’re being silly.”

“Yeah?” said Leo. “Suppose he takes his Martians and sets up a show on the other side of town. How much business will our show do?”

“Why, I guess about as much as it always did. Some folks in these towns come year after year, Martians or no Martians. I’d miss those dimes I get from Garble’s admissions, but my gracious, we’ve always got along before. I guess we’d keep on.”

The lion said: “Maybe. But I was down getting my mane waved and set yesterday—”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Mr. Boomschmidt interrupted. “Have you been going to beauty shops again? Really, Leo—Well now, your mane does look nice; but do they have to pour all that perfumery over you?”

“Oh, lay off, chief,” said Leo, looking embarrassed. “That isn’t perfumery; it’s some stuff they put on to make the hair curl better.”

“Good gracious!” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “They don’t have to soak you in it! It made my hair curl just smelling it, and if—”

“Look,” the lion interrupted firmly, “if you’re just going to be funny, I’ll go get some of the others so they can enjoy the comedy too. But if you want to hear what I’ve got to say—”

So Mr. Boomschmidt apologized and said sure he did, and what was it?

“Well,” said Leo, “you know what places those beauty shops are for gossip—”

“My, my, don’t I just!” Mr. Boomschmidt exclaimed. “I just dropped in yesterday to have my eyelashes curled, and—” He came to a stop at sight of the reproachful look on the lion’s face. “Oh, dear,” he said, “I’ve hurt your feelings again. Go on, Leo; go on.”

“Well, if you’re quite through,” said the lion severely. “What I’m trying to tell you is the kind of thing people were saying. This operator that sets my mane, she said to me: ‘When’s your new boss going to take over the circus?’ I said: ‘New boss? What are you talking about?’ and she said she’d heard Mrs. Underdunk—that’s old Garble’s sister, you know—she’d heard her telling some other woman that her brother was buying you out. And a couple of other women were talking about how they’d heard how Garble was going to get him some animals and start a circus in competition with you. Then he’d have a circus with Martians, and you’d have one without Martians, and who do you think would make the most money?”

“Pooh,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “What do I care how much money Garble makes? All the good you can get out of money is the fun you have spending it, and Garble never spends any of his, so who has the most fun?”

“Yeah?” said Leo. “Well, I’ll tell you how he’s spending some of his; he’s hired a talent scout—you know, like the movie companies have, to go round and find animals who can dance or sing or do special tricks. He’s got a hen already that can whistle Dixie. Keeps her up at his sister’s house. When he gets enough animals, he’ll start his own circus.”

Mr. Boomschmidt said “Pooh!” again. After all, it had taken him a good many years to get his circus together; it would be a good many more before Mr. Garble was able to give him any competition. And a hen that could whistle “Dixie” wasn’t going to make much of a circus, even with Martians on the side. “Besides,” he said, “Garble has got to stay with me for a year. I’ve got an agreement in writing. I bet his hen will get sick of whistling “Dixie” to him before that year is up. Just the same,” he said, “maybe we ought to do something. Two circuses in the same town. My, that would be bad.”

“That’s what I’m telling you, chief. It’ll be awful bad.”

“Well, I know that, Leo,” Mr. Boomschmidt said irritably. “Of course I know that. Don’t just keep repeating everything I say and trying to look wise as if you’d got a brand new idea. Think!”

But it isn’t easy to think with somebody standing right over you to see that you do it. The lion scowled fiercely and stared down at the ground so hard that he was almost crosseyed. He glanced up once or twice to find that Mr. Boomschmidt was still standing there watching him. Then he concentrated harder than ever. The next time he looked up, Mr. Boomschmidt was gone.