Читать книгу Freddy the Pilot - Walter Rollin Brooks - Страница 4

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Boomschmidt’s Stupendous and Unexcelled Circus (formerly Boomschmidt’s Colossal and Unparalleled Circus) was a little different from most small circuses. For almost all the performers were animals. Mr. Boomschmidt had been smart enough to realize that monkeys can do much more startling feats on trapezes than even the most skilful acrobats can, and that a small rabbit putting lions and tigers through their tricks seems much more daring than a regular lion tamer. His clowns weren’t men; they were pandas and kangaroos. And nearly all the circus work—putting up the tents and so on—was done by animals too. Two of the elephants could even swing sledge hammers in their trunks, to drive the pegs to which the tents’ guy ropes were fastened.

The only performer who was not an animal was Mademoiselle Rose. People sometimes asked Mr. Boomschmidt why, in an all-animal show, he kept her on. Couldn’t he train an animal to do bareback stunts? Mr. Boomschmidt said yes, of course he could, but at least a third of the people who came to his shows came to see Mademoiselle Rose. This was certainly true. Every circus has bareback riders, but Mademoiselle Rose was so pretty, and she did the most daring feats so easily and gracefully that she was one of the most popular figures in the whole country. And while there are plenty of riders who can stand on their heads on the back of a galloping horse, you can count on the fingers of one hand those who can do it on the back of a galloping rhinoceros. But Mademoiselle Rose did it, at every performance.

Mr. Boomschmidt knew of course that Mademoiselle Rose would not always be with the circus. Some day she would marry one of her many admirers, and the Stupendous and Unexcelled Circus would not be as stupendous and unexcelled as it had been. Not by a good deal. On that day his audiences would be only about half as big as they were today. He hated to think of it. And so, very sensibly, he didn’t.

Until Mr. Watson P. Condiment began paying court to Mademoiselle Rose. Then he had to think of it.

Not that Mademoiselle Rose had any intention of marrying Mr. Condiment. She didn’t want to live in any of his six big houses, or ride in any of his fifteen big cars, or sail across the ocean in his big yacht. She didn’t like Mr. Condiment. Even when he got down on his knees and said: “Please marry me,” she just said: “No thank you. Please go away.” For she was always polite, even to people she didn’t like. And Mr. Condiment would go. But he always came back in a little while.

Mr. Condiment was a tall thin man who always looked as if he had a stomach ache. That was because he did have a stomach ache. He also had a great deal of money. If people didn’t do what he wanted them to he got mad and blustered. But he didn’t bluster at Mademoiselle Rose because when he started to, she just turned her back and walked away. He blustered at Mr. Boomschmidt, though. For he had tried to buy the circus, and when Mr. Boomschmidt refused to sell, he got mad. He had figured that if he owned the circus, he would fire Mademoiselle Rose and her mother, Madame Delphine, and then Mademoiselle Rose wouldn’t have any money to live on and would have to marry him. But although he offered enormous sums, Mr. Boomschmidt said no. “Very well,” Mr. Condiment had said. “You wait. You just wait.”

Freddy, of course, hadn’t been told anything about this when he and his friends walked down to the Centerboro Fair Grounds that afternoon to see the show. Led by Mr. and Mrs. Bean, the animals had marched in through the gate and into the big tent, where they had been shown to seats in the front row by the usher, a young alligator named Leslie. “I thought I’d come and sit with you when the show begins,” he said to them, “but the boss wants me to stay on the job in case there’s a panic in the audience.”

“Land sakes, I do hope there won’t be anything like that!” said Mrs. Bean.

“Tain’t likely, Mrs. B.,” said her husband. He looked after Leslie, who had hurried away without explaining. “Tryin’ to be funny, I expect, the smart aleck—by cracky,” he said. “I bet that’s where the name came from.”

“What name, Mr. B.?”

“Smart aleck. Short for ‘smart alligator!’” And he made the fizzing sound behind his whiskers that was the only way you could tell when he was laughing.

But the ducks, Alice and Emma, who were sitting between Freddy and Jinx, the black cat, began looking around nervously. “Oh, sister,” said Emma, “I do wish we’d taken dear Uncle Wesley’s advice and stayed home. If there’s a panic—”

“Dear me,” said Alice. “I should think it might be interesting. I’ve never been at a panic.”

Jinx looked around and grinned at them. “There’s no call to be upset, girls,” he said. “Panics are lots of fun. My old dad used to take us kittens to every panic that was held within a radius of ten miles. I guess he’d still be attending ’em if he hadn’t tried to attend two in one evening. Kind of overestimated his staying power.”

“How dreadful!” said Alice. “What happened to him, Jinx?”

“Trampled and squashed. But he was a good father while he lasted.”

“He’s kidding you, Emma,” said Freddy. “There won’t be any panic.” But to himself he said, “I wonder if Mr. Boom’s dilemma is mixed up with a panic somehow? Golly, a dilemma and a panic—that’s too much for even Mr. Boom to handle!”

But there wasn’t any sign of either for a while. The show started and the acts followed one another smoothly, and the clowns came tumbling out, and one of them—a kangaroo with a perpetually scared look painted on his face—kept Mr. Bean fizzing like a leaky soda water bottle. For when anybody called him, or touched him on the shoulder, he would jump. Only he didn’t give just a little jump; he went ten feet in the air. Mr. Bean pointed his pipe stem at him. “That one there, Mrs. B.,” he said—“He kills me.” And he fizzed some more.

But Mrs. Bean didn’t think he was funny at all. “That jumping jack?” she said. “I don’t see anything to laugh at in him.” Her black eyes twinkled. “Why you yourself are twice as funny. I get more fun out of watching you trying to keep awake in church than out of all such hopping around.”

Pretty soon Mademoiselle Rose came out and did some trick riding on Dexter. She danced and stood on her head and jumped through hoops and the audience applauded and shouted until the tent walls shook. They would have applauded just as loud if she had ridden around the ring without doing any tricks at all, she was so popular. Mademoiselle Rose knew this, and so she had thought up some extra stunts—for like all performers, she wanted her skill to be appreciated. So first they brought in Jerry, the rhinoceros, and she rode him around, standing on her head; and then they brought in Rajah, the tiger.

Rajah looked up at the row upon row of people in the audience and roared angrily, and everybody was very still. Mademoiselle Rose went towards him and he backed away, snarling, and everybody said: “Oh!” under their breaths. They weren’t scared of course for they all knew Rajah; he had been with the circus for years, and had many friends in Centerboro; indeed when the circus was in town he got more invitations than he could accept, for he was a fine storyteller, a good dancer, and entertaining without being noisy. But he had now of course to act as bad tempered and ferocious as possible, so that Mademoiselle Rose would seem to be in danger.

So he snarled and snapped, and made swipes at her with a paw as big as a broom, and the audience shuddered and squealed, and a little girl in the top row began to cry. Which was foolish of her, because only that morning Rajah had been sitting on her front porch, telling her stories about the jungle. He had never been in the jungle, which is probably why his stories were so exciting. So the little girl’s mother slapped her and she stopped crying; and by that time Mademoiselle Rose had vaulted on to Rajah’s back and he went tearing around the ring, pretending to try to throw her off. And just then Freddy’s old friend, the sheriff and a small fat man in a black suit and a derby hat shouted: “Stop the show!”

Mr. Boomschmidt rode towards them. “Here, here!” he said. “Good gracious, you can’t come in here like this, upsetting things.”

“Sorry, Mr. Boom,” said the sheriff, “afraid I have to. It’s my duty.”

“Oh, it’s you, Sheriff,” Mr. Boomschmidt said. “I didn’t see you. That is, I did see you, but I didn’t know it. I mean—well, you know what I mean. Glad to see you, now that I do.”

“Well, I ain’t glad to be here,” said the sheriff. “But they ain’t given me any choice. This here—” he pointed at his companion, “is Mr. Nuisance—”

“Newsome is the name,” said the little man.

“That’s what I said—Nuisance,” said the sheriff.

“But the name is—” the other began.

“Shut up, will you?” the sheriff snapped. “Now, Mr. Boom,” he went on, “this here Nuisance is lawyer for a man named Watson P. Condiment.” He stopped and said: “Condiment. Condiment. Guess I can’t do anything with that name.” Then he went on. “And this here Condiment, he claims that by forcin’ this young lady, Mademoiselle Rose, to appear in public performances with rhinoceroses, lions, tigers and other unmanageable animals and wild and ferocious beasts of the jungle, you, the hereinafter—” He stopped again. “Or was it ‘heretobefore’? Can’t remember; Nuisance, where’s that paper?”

Mr. Newsome handed him a folded paper, and the sheriff opened it. “Ha!” he exclaimed. “’Twasn’t either one. Guess I better read it. ‘—you, the abovementioned Orestes Boomschmidt, are placing the aforesaid young lady in great jeopardy and danger of life and limb, and further, that by allowing the said unmanageable animals to wander about freely, unrestrained by cages, bolts, bars, muzzles or other protective measures, you, the abovementioned Orestes Boomschmidt, are endangering the life, liberty and pursuit of happiness of the residents of Centerboro. And we therefore direct the sheriff to forcibly restrain you, the aforesaid Orestes Boomschmidt, and to compel you to cease, desist and refrain from the abovementioned practices, and if you refuse we direct the sheriff to place you under arrest pending investigation.’

“There,” said the sheriff. “That’s said real pretty, but it don’t mean much.”

“It’s very nice, Sheriff,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, who apparently hadn’t understood what it was all about. “I like hearing you read aloud. Is there any more?”

“Isn’t that enough?” demanded Mr. Newsome. “You heard what the sheriff said. If you don’t want to go to jail, you have to take Mademoiselle Rose out of the show.”

“Take me out of the show? Nonsense!” said Rose. She stood beside Rajah, with one hand resting on his shoulder. She looked very pretty.

“My goodness gracious!” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “Rajah, are you unmag, unmalla—oh, well—a wild and ferocious beast of the jungle? I never should have suspected it, never! I shall have to keep an eye on you, I guess.” He walked to the edge of the ring and faced the audience. “My good friends,” he said, “this gentleman is a Mr. Nuisance. He wants the sheriff to arrest me, because he claims that Rajah here, is dangerous. Says he eats two or three little boys every day for breakfast—”

“I never said—” Mr. Newsome began angrily.

But the sheriff said: “Shut up, you! Go on, Boom.”

“Well, my gracious, if Rajah does things like that, I want to know about it,” Mr. Boomschmidt went on. “I know that Rajah has been around town all morning. And I’ll just ask you—have any of you missed any of your little boys today? Have you even heard of any that are missing—or any dogs or cats—”

“Hey, boss,” said Rajah reproachfully. “Be reasonable!”

“Dear me, of course, Rajah; excuse me. I know you wouldn’t eat anybody’s pets. Well, friends, what do you say? Shall we lock Rajah up and do the show without him?”

The audience stood up and shouted. “No, no; we want Rajah.” “Throw Nuisance out and go on with the show.” And two men in the front row threw pop bottles at Mr. Newsome. One of them zipped past the ear of the kangaroo clown, who was so startled that he forgot to jump.

“Well, well, that settles that,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Now, Mr. Nuisance—”

“I keep telling you,” said the little man angrily, “that the name is Newsome.”

“Newsome—Nuisance; what’s the difference,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “It’s what a man is that counts. Eh, Leo? Isn’t that so?”

“Right, chief,” said the lion, who had joined the group in the ring. “Want I should chew his arm off?”

“Later, Leo; later,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Now, sheriff, if you’ll clear the ring—”

“Sorry, Mr. Boom,” said the sheriff, “but I’ve got my duty to do. I’ve got to investigate this case before the show can go on. This claim that Rajah is dangerous—”

“Me dangerous?” said the tiger. “You kidding, sheriff?”

Mademoiselle Rose said: “I know you don’t want to stop the show, sheriff. Tell us what you want us to do, and we’ll do it.”

“Well, ma’am, this tiger has been called dangerous. You got to prove to me that he ain’t.”

“Why that ought to be easy,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Why he’s so gentle a baby could ride him.”

“Oh, indeed!” said Mr. Newsome sarcastically. “Well, I wouldn’t want my baby to ride him.”

“I wouldn’t want him to either,” said Rajah, “if he takes after you.”

Mr. Boomschmidt addressed the audience again. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard what Mr. Ah—this man says. To prove how gentle Rajah is, we now offer free rides around the ring on his back to any boy or girl—my gracious, yes—any man or woman who wants one. You have Rajah’s personal guarantee that no harm will come to them.”

There was a buzz of conversation along the benches, but no one came forward. Several wives poked their husbands hopefully and said: “Go on, Henry, what you afraid of?” and a number of husbands tried to persuade their wives that a ride on a tiger would be fun. But nobody volunteered.

“Golly,” Freddy said to Jinx, “somebody’s got to start this, or Mr. Boom won’t be able to prove his point.” And he got up and vaulted over the barrier into the ring.

Mr. Boomschmidt shook hands with him and thanked him, and Rajah grinned and licked his chops. “If I was hungry, Freddy,” he said, “I can’t think of anybody I’d rather invite to breakfast than you.”

“All right, tiger,” Freddy said. “No fancy stunts, now. And none of your jungle jokes. Remember, I’m not Mademoiselle Rose.”

“It would be hard to forget it,” Rajah said. “Though I don’t know,” he added, “put a little ballet skirt on you, and you’d look real cute.”

So Freddy got on Rajah’s back and they started around the ring at a long easy lope. Freddy was a little nervous at first. He had his own horse and was a fine rider, but he had never ridden a tiger before. As a matter of fact it was very comfortable. When he dismounted at the end of the ride the audience, led by Mr. Bean, gave him three cheers; and then a number of other people volunteered for a ride. The last one, before the show went on again was the little girl who had started to cry when Rajah first came in.

At this the sheriff expressed himself as completely satisfied that Rajah was no more dangerous than a kitten. Mr. Newsome protested of course, but the sheriff hustled him out, and Mademoiselle Rose went on with her act.

For some time afterwards Mr. Bean kept fizzing and slapping his knee, and at last Mrs. Bean turned to him and said: “Land of liberty, Mr. B., what are you giggling about?”

“That man,” said Mr. Bean. “Nuisance, the sheriff called him. That was good, that was!”

“Fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Bean. “I don’t see that was so smart. Easy enough to make up that kind of a joke on somebody’s name.”

“Fiddlesticks yourself!” he replied. “You couldn’t make up anything on our name—Bean.”

“Pshaw, that’s easy,” she said. “I could call you—” But he never found out what she could call him, for at that moment two chariots came rumbling into the big tent and lined up for the start of the chariot race.

“Cracky!” said Mr. Bean. “Look at that second chariot!”