Leo the Circus Boy: or, Life under the great white canvas

CHAPTER XIII. – LEO MAKES A CHANGE

Leo stared at the circus treasurer in amazement.

“For stealing two thousand circus tickets?” he repeated.

“Exactly, young man.”

“I am innocent.”

“I don’t believe Leo would steal a pin,” put in Natalie Sparks, who had just come up.

“That’s not for you to decide, Miss Sparks.” said Giles sharply. “We found evidence against you in your trunk, young man. You may as well confess.”

“What evidence?” asked Leo, bewildered.

The circus treasurer mentioned the red strips.

“I never placed them there,” declared Leo. “Somebody has been tampering with that trunk.”

“That’s too thin,” sneered Giles.

“Of course it’s too thin,” put in Snipper, who was watching the scene with an ill-concealed smile of triumph on his face.

Leo looked at the gymnast sharply. Then he suddenly bounded toward Snipper and ran him up against a pile of boxes.

“You scoundrel! This is some of your work! I can see it in your face.”

He choked Snipper until the man was red in the face.

“Let – let me go!” gasped the second-rate gymnast finally.

“Let him go, Dunbar,” ordered Giles, and caught Leo by the collar.

The noise of the trouble had spread, and now Barton Reeve appeared on the scene.

“What’s the meaning of all this?” he demanded.

He was quickly told by Natalie Sparks.

“I do not believe Leo is guilty, in spite of the red strips found in the trunk,” he said.

He talked the matter over with Giles, and finally Leo, Giles, and Barton Reeve went off to interview the manager.

They found Adam Lambert in the main ticket wagon, counting tickets and cash. He was much disturbed.

“I don’t know much about you, Dunbar,” he said coldly. “The thing looks very black, and – ”

“Mr. Lambert, I am innocent!” cried Leo. “I believe this is only a plot against me.”

“A plot? Whose plot?”

“This man Snipper – ”

“You and Snipper seem to be fighting continually,” broke in the manager.

“It is not my fault. He – ”

“He always got along well enough before you came, Dunbar. I won’t have this continual quarreling around the show. It sets a bad example for the others.” The manager pulled at his mustache for a few seconds. “Can you prove you are innocent of the theft of the tickets?”

“Perhaps I can.”

“Aren’t you sure you can?”

“No, sir. I hope to be able to do so later on, though.”

“Well, then, until that time arrives you can consider yourself suspended from duty. I am going to get to the bottom of this affair.”

“I am discharged!” gasped Leo.

“Mr. Lambert, aren’t you a bit hard on the lad?” put in Barton Reeve.

“I don’t think so. Most men would have him arrested. But I’ll let him go, and that will give him a chance to clear himself – if he can.”

There was a sneer in the last words which cut Leo to the quick. He drew a long breath.

“Very well, sir, I’ll go,” he said in a strained voice. “But, sir, let me tell you that you are doing me a great injustice.”

Unable to control his feelings any longer, Leo, left the ticket wagon and hurried to the dressing tent.

Here his friends surrounded him and tried to pour words of sympathy into his ears. But he would not listen. Sick at heart, yet burning with indignation, he packed his trunk and prepared to leave.

“Where are you going?” asked Natalie Sparks, with something like a tear in her eye.

“I don’t know, Natalie – I’m too upset to think,” responded Leo, and that was all he could say.

Just before he left Barton Reeve brought him the wages due him, which Leo thrust into his pocket without counting.

“Lambert has got ’em on to-day,” he said. “In a day or two, when he cools down, he’ll be sorry he let you go.”

“It was a mean way to act,” answered the boy bitterly; and then he walked away from the circus grounds. A few blocks off he met a man with an empty wagon and hired him to go and fetch his trunk. When the man came back he asked if there was any hotel or boarding-house on the other side of town, conscious, in a way, that he must put up somewhere.

“Yes, there’s the Eagle Hotel,” said the man. “A good place and very reasonable.”

“All right; take me there.”

This was done, and then Leo sent the man to the other hotel, at which the higher class of circus performers were stopping, for the valise which contained his ordinary clothing.

He was still so upset in mind that he knew not what to do. Having engaged his room, he entered it and locked the door, and gave himself up to his reflections.

What should he do? Ah, that was the question. He had said that perhaps he could clear himself. How should he go to work to do it?

For fully an hour Leo pondered over the situation. Then he walked downstairs, left the hotel, and sauntered back to the circus grounds.

He kept his eyes and ears open in a vain endeavor to learn something to his advantage. The ticket thieves had taken warning, and not the slightest clew to them could be unearthed.

Leo passed a sleepless night at the hotel. Before he arose the “Greatest Show on Earth” had left the town.

“I’m out of it now,” he sighed. “Out of it, too, with a stain upon my name.” He bit his quivering lip until the blood came. “I can’t keep on following the circus around trying to clear myself, for I haven’t money enough.”

Yet Leo was not willing to give up, and that afternoon he took the stage to the next town, where the “Greatest Show on Earth” was stopping. Once more he hung around, and again nothing came of it. Sick at heart, he returned to the Eagle Hotel, wondering what he should do next.

At the hotel he found a man awaiting him – a sharp, shrewd individual, who introduced himself as Nathan Wampole.

“This is Leo Dunbar?”

“That is my name,” replied the young gymnast.

“I am the proprietor of ‘Wampole’s Trans-Continental Specialty Company,’ which opens in this place to-night. I was over to Cokeville this afternoon, where I met a friend of mine, Jack Giles, who belongs to the circus. He told me that you were out of a position, and as I need an extra performer or two, I thought I would call around and see you.”

“Did Mr. Giles send you to me?” queried Leo.

“Well, not exactly. But he said that probably you would be glad to obtain a position on the stage. He said you were a very fair gymnast and tumbler.”

“They used to think so at the circus.”

“I’ve no doubt you could do a very good turn or two.” Nathan Wampole coughed slightly and lowered his voice. “I heard of your trouble on account of some circus tickets, but of course that makes no difference to me,” and he looked at Leo suggestively.

“I had trouble, but I’m not guilty of any crime,” replied the boy quickly.

“Of course not, of course not! I merely thought to mention it. What do you say, would you like to join my company? We have a splendid route laid out and, consequently, we are sure of a very successful season.”

“What would you pay me, Mr. Wampole, if I joined you?” asked Leo cautiously. He did not like the man’s looks, but still thought it would be foolish to throw a chance of work aside.

“I might pay you ten dollars per week.”

“That would be a very small amount for a performer like myself.”

“Well, if you can do two good turns at each performance I’ll give you fifteen dollars. Come, what do you say?”

“I’ll take a look at the show first,” replied Leo.

In a few minutes more the pair were on the way to the theater in which “Wampole’s Trans-Continental Specialty Company” was to perform that evening.

CHAPTER XIV. – LEO MAKES A NEW FRIEND

Leo found that the specialty company numbered fifteen people. The performers were, for the most part, of very ordinary ability. There were several song and dance men, a number of musicians who drew tunes out of a variety of articles, several lady vocalists, a comical fat man and a magician.

The magician was a young fellow, hardly older than Leo. His name was Carl Ross, and he had such a smiling face and gentlemanly manner that Leo took to him instantly.

“We want a good all-around gymnast and tumbler,” said Carl Ross. “As it is the show is lop-sided – too much singing and dancing.”

Leo was asked to give an exhibition of what he could do, and readily complied, performing at first on the floor of the stage and then on a bar let down from the flies.

“Very good!” said Nathan Wampole, highly pleased, and Carl Ross also smiled his approval.

At the conclusion of the show that evening Leo decided to join the company, and from that moment on he and Carl Ross became warm friends.

From Cokeville the company proceeded to Lumbertown and then to Wimblerun. For the time being Leo lost track of the circus and devoted himself entirely to his new position. His acts on the stage were well received, yet Carl Ross remained, as heretofore, the star of the combination.

“I wish I could do tricks,” said Leo, as he watched the young magician at practice. “But I don’t believe I could learn.”

“You could learn as easily as I could learn to act on the trapeze,” laughed Carl. “If I tried that I would get dizzy and fall sure.”

“Every one to his own line,” concluded Leo. “I can go up any distance into the air and not be afraid.”

“Up in a balloon?”

“Yes, even up in a balloon,” and Leo told of his adventures along that line.

For several weeks matters ran smoothly, but then they took a turn. Leo found out that Nathan Wampole loved dearly to play cards, and every dollar the manager could raise was staked and lost at the gaming-table. For two weeks he could not get a cent of salary.

“I don’t like this,” he said to Carl Ross, when the pair talked the matter over.

“I don’t like it myself, Leo. But what can we do about it?”

“That is what I would like to know. I am half-inclined to go on a strike.”

“I doubt if he has any money. Business was poor last week on account of the rain. I imagine we are lucky to get our traveling expenses and board bills paid.”

“You don’t know if the board bills really are paid,” was the suggestive response. “I haven’t seen Wampole pay Mrs. Gerston a cent.”

“Well, if he doesn’t pay we’ll have trouble; that’s a foregone conclusion,” said Carl. “He ought – Here he comes now, and two strange men with him.”

Carl broke off short as Nathan Wampole entered the dressing-room of the little country theater at which the company had been performing for the past two nights.

“I’ve got to have my money, and that’s all there is to it,” one of the men was saying. “You agreed to pay for the theater after the first performance, and you haven’t paid a cent.”

“I will pay to-morrow,” replied the owner of the organization uneasily. He was naturally a closefisted man, and bad business had made him more miserly than ever.

“That don’t go. You pay this afternoon or this theater will be dark to-night.”

A long war of words followed, and it soon transpired that the second stranger was a constable, brought to enter an attachment on the scenery and other things, should Nathan Wampole fail to come to terms.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said the proprietor finally. “I’ll pay you twenty dollars on account, and the other fifty as soon as the money is taken in at the box-office to-night.”

He held out the twenty dollars temptingly as he spoke, and the landlord took it with but little hesitation.

“Come on, Yentley,” he said to the constable. “Remember, I’ll be on hand for the balance,” he called to Nathan Wampole and departed.

Nathan Wampole growled something under his breath, and was about to pass on to the empty stage, when Carl and Leo stopped him.

“Well, what do you fellows want?” he demanded angrily. “Be quick, for Lanning is sick, and I’ve got to get up an act to fill in his time.”

“We want to know about our pay, Mr. Wampole,” said Carl.

“Your pay? As if I didn’t have enough to worry me with all this bad weather!”

“But we must have some money,” pleaded Leo. “I’ve been promising to buy myself a new suit, and – ”

“I can’t help it. I can’t give you any now!” snapped Nathan Wampole.

“Then I can’t go on any more.”

“Neither can I,” added Carl quietly.

“What! Do you mean to say you’ll leave me in the lurch?” howled Nathan Wampole.

“We want our money, that’s all.”

“You shall have it.” Nathan Wampole paused for a minute. “I’ll pay you both twenty-five dollars on account to-morrow morning.”

“If you’ll do that I’ll be satisfied,” said Leo.

“So will I,” added Carl Boss.

“Good!” said Nathan Wampole; but as he turned away a cunning smile crossed his wrinkled features.

It needed but an hour to the time for the performance for the evening to begin, and soon after Carl and Leo separated to fit themselves out for their separate “turns,” as specialty performers call their performances.

Carl Ross was an orphan, having lost both of his parents six years before in a terrible railroad disaster in the West.

Carl’s father had in his time been a juggler and magician, and it was but natural that the son should take up the same calling.

When left an orphan Carl had been placed under the care of a well-known conjuror, who had taught the youth many of the finest stage tricks ever performed. A number of these wonderful tricks will be mentioned and explained as our story progresses.

After the conjuror had had Carl under his care for four years the man had been called to Germany. He had left the youth with Nathan Wampole, who had agreed to give him a good position in his traveling company.

It did not take Carl and Leo long to shed their street costume and don their stage dress. This done they began to practice several new “turns” for the stage.

Outside of the small theater a “barker” was collecting quite a good-sized crowd.

“Walk up, ladies and gentlemen! The show is just about to begin. Nowhere on the face of the earth can you get so much for your money as right here! Remember, it costs you but half or quarter of a dollar to see our great company of sixty high-priced and talented artists! Walk up and get your tickets without delay!”

The barker succeeded in getting several scores of people to enter the building. Nathan Wampole was in the box-office, taking the money for the tickets. He smiled as the cash came in.

“The more the better,” he muttered to himself. “Won’t somebody be knocked out when they learn the truth!”

CHAPTER XV. – AN ACT NOT ON THE BILLS

The performance had been going on for half an hour. Leo had done some very clever acts and been well received, and now it was time for Carl to make his bow.

The little orchestra struck up a grand flourish, and suddenly the young magician bounded upon the stage, bringing with him a small, square box.

He came down to the front, made a bow and threw the square box into the air. Down it came into his hands, and as he whirled around on his heel the box disappeared from view.

“My, look at that!”

“Where did that box go to?”

“Must have gone up in smoke.”

Such were some of the remarks passed.

The trick was a decidedly clever one, yet as simple as could be when explained.

True to our promise, we will let our readers into the secret.

The box consisted of nothing but six perfectly square and thin boards, all hinged together in such a manner that it would collapse into a perfectly flat mass when pressed on any two sides. With a little study any boy can make such a box.

As the box entered Carl’s hands he flattened it, and, as he whirled around, he slipped it into the bosom of his costume.

This trick performed, the young magician brought out several other tricks and then began to juggle ten teacups, throwing them over his head and under his arms. There was a perfect stream of teacups in the air, and not a one was so much as cracked.

“He’s certainly clever-handed!”

“He’s the best part of the show!”

Hearty hand-clapping followed, and then Carl threw the teacups to Leo, in the wings, and started to do a great balancing act on four chairs.

He had just arranged the chairs in position when he heard a commotion in the wings.

“I say the hall ain’t paid for, and the show can’t go on!” he heard, in the angry tones of the theater owner.

“Where is Wampole?” several asked.

“I can’t find him.”

“He was taking the money at the box-office.”

“Well, he’s not there now.”

“He must be somewhere around.”

“I’ll give you five minutes to produce him. If you can’t, out go the lights.”

Realizing that matters had reached a crisis, the young magician proceeded with his act as quickly as he could. The orchestra struck up a lively air, but scarcely had they played half a dozen bars when the proprietor of the theater came out on the stage and silenced them.

“This show can’t go on, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I haven’t been paid for the hall, and the head man of this company has skipped out with all of the funds.”

“What’s that?”

“Skipped out?”

“No more of the show?”

“That’s a shame! Give me my money back?”

A hundred other cries arose on the air. The owner of the place prudently retired, and in wonder the orchestra did the same. A second later the curtain came down, and the lights were lowered.

“Is it true that Wampole has skipped?” asked Carl of Leo hurriedly.

“Yes; and he took every cent of the receipts with him,” was the bitter answer.

Carl said no more. He followed Leo to the dressing-room and hurried into his street clothing.

Overhead the pair could hear the tramp of many feet. Presently came the crash of a breaking bench.

“Some of the audience are getting mad,” Leo muttered to himself. “I fancy – ”

“We must run for it,” gasped Carl, in a low voice. “Hark! Some of the toughs that were in the gallery have threatened to mob the entire company!”

“I am ready to go,” said Leo, as he picked up his valise.

He turned to go out into the hallway. Then he leaped back and slammed the door shut and locked it.

“Too late. They are coming; they are here!”

The young gymnast spoke the truth. Heavy footsteps came up to the door. A hand tried the knob.

“Open that door, you confounded fakirs, or we’ll smash it down!” was the cry. “You can’t escape us! We are bound to get square with you!”

“Shall I open for them?” whispered Leo.

“No, no!” cried Carl. “They would half kill us, they are so enraged over the loss of their admission money.”

“But what’s to be done?”

“Here I have it – the window. Out you go.”

“And you?”

“I’ll follow. Quick!”

Leo leaped for the window, a small affair, opening on a narrow and dirty alley.

The opening was barred, but he easily wrenched the irons from their rotted fastenings and crawled through the opening.

As Carl followed there was a crash, and the door fell in.

Half a dozen young men, the worst in the town, swarmed into the apartment, only to find it empty.

Up the alleyway sped Leo and his companion, nor did they stop until the theater had been left several blocks behind.

Deeming themselves now safe, they dropped into a walk and began to discuss the situation.

Soon they met several other members of the company. From these they learned that Nathan Wampole had indeed run away, carrying every cent of the box-office receipts with him.

“The scoundrel!” burst out Carl. “What are we going to do here, penniless and over two hundred miles from New York?”

No one could answer that question, and, as there was nothing else to do, Leo and Carl turned their steps toward the boarding-house at which they had been stopping.

CHAPTER XVI. – AN UNPLEASANT POSITION

The bad news had preceded Leo and Carl Ross, and they found Mrs. Gerston, the landlady, waiting at the front door.

“So Mr. Wampole has run away, eh?” she said sharply.

“It seems so,” said Carl soberly.

“And who is to pay me?”

“He is responsible, madam,” replied Leo.

“Well, you’ll not come in this night, unless you pay,” cried the landlady, blocking up the doorway with her portly form. “I’m not running a boarding-house for fun.”

“I have no money to pay with.”

“Neither have I,” added Carl.

“Then you can just leave.”

“Very well; give us our baggage and we will.”

“I’ll not give up a thing until I’m paid,” was the determined reply.

Both Carl and Leo were nonplussed. They could not blame the woman, yet it was a hard situation to face.

“We have lost more than you,” said Carl. “Mr. Wampole owes us both three weeks’ salary.”

“That’s not my affair. When you pay the ten dollars due me you can both have your traveling bags, and not before.”

And with this the boarding-housekeeper shut the door in their faces.

“Knocked out all around,” said Leo, with a grin.

It was not in his nature to grieve over misfortune.

“Where shall we go for the night?”

“I don’t know. Let us look around for Wampole.”

The two set out on a search. It availed nothing, and by midnight they were worn out.

Fortunately the night was warm, and coming to a deserted mill on the outskirts of the town, they determined to remain there and rest. They found some old sacks, and on these made their bed.

Carl awoke with a start the next morning. Looking up he saw a young man of eighteen standing near him. The young man had a pleasant face, and he was smiling.

“Thought I’d wake you up,” he said. “How is it you are bunking here for the night?”

“We are out of funds,” replied the young magician.

“Tramping?”

“Hardly that; but we may be soon.”

“We belonged to the specialty company that went to pieces last night,” explained Leo, who had roused up.

“Oh! Were you on the stage?” the young man asked of Carl.

“Yes.”

“Are you the magician?”

“Yes.”

“And he is the gymnast, isn’t he?”

“I am,” replied Leo.

“I saw you both. You did finely. So you are out of money and out of a job?”

“We are.”

“It’s strange. Do you know I intended to call on you to-day.”

“On us?” cried Carl in wonder.

“Yes. You see I am from Raymondsville, the next town. My name is Walter Raymond, and my father owns about half the place. My brothers and sisters are going to give a lawn party this afternoon, and I promised to see if I couldn’t get some of the members of your company over to liven things up.”

“I would like to appear for you, first rate,” said Carl quickly, thinking he saw a chance to make a few dollars.

“So will I appear,” added Leo.

“How much will you charge for an entertainment lasting say an hour?”

Carl looked at Leo. They did not wish to ask too much, and at the same time wanted to make all they could.

“Two city performers generally get twenty dollars,” said Leo; “but we might go a bit cheaper.”

“I wouldn’t mind giving twelve dollars,” replied Walter Raymond. “If you can come for that, I’ll drive you over as soon as you can get ready.”

A bargain was struck, and then the two performers returned to the vicinity of the theater. Nothing could be learned of Nathan Wampole, and an hour later they left for Raymondsville.

They found Walter Raymond very kind. He treated them to a liberal dinner, and aided them to get their stage things into proper shape.

“It’s lucky we got our stuff from the theater,” said Leo. “We may pick up quite a little money by giving private performances throughout this district.”

“That twelve dollars will help us to get our baggage from Mrs. Gerston,” said Carl.

The Raymond homestead was surrounded by beautifully laid out grounds, and directly after the noonday hour the guests began to arrive, to the number of a dozen or more. Carl and Leo had been given a dressing-room in the mansion, and here they prepared for their acts.

Leo was the first to perform, and at the conclusion of his initial act he was loudly applauded.

Then Carl appeared, followed by one of the house servants, who brought his paraphernalia.

“Isn’t he handsome!” whispered several of the girls.

Carl began to juggle with several balls and a hoop. He threw the balls through the hoop and around it. Then he brought forth several daggers and juggled them in one hand, while he kept the balls going with the other. The hoop he balanced on a stick set on the end of his nose, and placed a ball on top of all.

This was a remarkable feat, requiring great delicacy of touch and a keen eye. The boys and girls watched him breathlessly, and then began to clap their hands.

“Wonderful! wonderful!”

“I never saw anything to equal that!”

“It’s as good as a performance in a circus or a theater!”

The juggling continued, Carl getting down on one knee and also on his back, without making a miss of anything that was in motion.

At the very height of the act came a loud cry from the house.

“Help! help!”

“Look out for Jack Darrow’s dog!”

“The brute is mad!”

The cry was taken up on all sides. The boys and girls looked around in terror.

And well they might, for a few seconds later an ugly-looking bulldog with glaring eyes and mouth dripping with white foam leaped into their very midst.

For an instant he stared at the spectators – the next he turned toward Carl, and with a loud snarl leaped straight for the young performer’s throat.