Circus Shoes (23 page)

“I was saying it’s Gus’s birthday next Wednesday, and shall we get the gloves today?”

Ben spat out his straw.

“Gus got a birthday next week?”

“Yes.” Peter suddenly thought what a good idea it would be to ask Ben’s advice. He always knew things. We asked all the others what we’d do about it. We thought of asking some people tea and a cake. Then we want to give him some new driving gloves.

Ben picked up another straw.

“If you asked the kids what to do I reckon they’ll ‘ave fixed a fancy dress party or some such.”

Santa looked at Peter.

“I wish we’d asked him before.”

Peter gave Mustard another carrot.

“They want a picnic, and then to give him a concert afterward. Not Santa and I, of course, because we can’t do anything, but they will. And then they did say fireworks. But if we buy the fireworks we shan’t have enough for the gloves.”

Ben chewed thoughtfully.

“You don’t want to go payin’ much attention to what the kids say,” he said after a bit. “Full of plans, they are. Most of ‘em won’t come off. This one won ‘t.

For why? Gus, ‘e wouldn’t turn out for a picnic, not if you dragged ‘im
.
You can’t ‘ave fireworks. One, on account the law don’t allow it. Can’t have a lot of folks sending off fireworks in the middle of the town. Second, Mr. Cob wouldn’t ‘ave it. On account of upsetting the animals. They ought to ‘ave thought of that.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Santa, “they haven’t said anything more about them.”

“Nor will.” Ben gave Tapioca a friendly smack, “Like as not they spoke of them at home. They’d soon be told it was foolishness.”

Santa looked worried.

“But if we don’t have a picnic what’ll we do about the cakes? Mrs. Schmidt has made a proper birthday one, or at least she’s bought the things for it, and Mrs. Moulin is making little ones.”

“Well eat ‘em.”

“Where?”

“Out or in. All accordin’ to how the weather is.”

“Will Gus like that?” asked Peter.

“Well”-Ben sucked his straw-“ ‘course as you’re gettin’ on you don’t care for birthdays like you did. Especially a man in Gus’s profession. Don’t want be too old, doing the work he does. Mind you, when you get as old as I am you don’t mind. I have my birthday round Christmas. They ‘ave a bit of supper for me now. Mr. Cob ‘e proposes my health. ‘Here’s to Mr. Willis,’ ‘e says. ‘May ‘e live to be a hundred and still with us.’ Then all the artistes and my boys drink to me. ‘Mr. Willis,’ they say. Just as if they always called me that. I reckon Gus’ll like a cake and that. He’s not had much fussin’ over, Gus hasn’t. A little won’t do him any harm.”

It was fine on the Wednesday at Torquay. Peter told Santa as he went off to his riding lesson:

“It’s fine, Santa.”

Santa came outside to do her practice. The Schmidt twins came flying up to her.

“It’s fine, Santa. It was a beautiful day.”

Fifi looked out of her caravan window at the Schmidt twins walking by.

“Good morning, Hans. Good morning, Fritzi. It’s fine.”

They gave Gus his gloves at breakfast. They put the parcel by his plate. Gus picked it up.

“What’s this?”

At that moment Hans and Fritzi came and stood outside and sang.

“It’s for you, Gus,” Santa said anxiously. “It’s for your birthday. You must listen.”

Gus did listen. He stood on the steps of the caravan and heard the song right through to the end. Hans and Fritzi sang it nicely. When they had finished Gus grinned at them.

“Fancy you making a song for me. Very nice, thank you. Well, my breakfast will be getting cold. So long.” He came in and sat down and opened his parcel. “Funny, these foreigners,” he said as he cut the string. “Singing for my birthday!” But he seemed rather pleased.

He was quite stunned by the gloves.

“Cabbages and cheese, look at them! We shan’t know ourselves on Sunday mornings.” He grinned at Peter. “I’ll have to clean up the car to live up to them.” Then he turned them over. “Where did you kids get money? Thought you hadn’t any.”

Peter expected that question.

“I earned it. I can’t tell you how. But it’s all right.”

Gus nodded.

“That’s fine.” He looked at the gloves. “Very handsome. Well, how about bacon and eggs?”

The party was a great success. As soon as Gus heard about the cake he asked the parent Moulins Schmidts, and Petoffs, as well as the children. The grown-ups sat on chairs and had plates on their knees. The children on the ground. Gus even liked the concert. He grumbled about the way the Petoffs slurred their movements, and he told Hans he looked too solemn while he was working. Peter and Santa were worried that Olga, Sasha, and Hans would not like being criticized, since they were doing it for Gus’s party. But nobody minded. In fact it started a very good discussion on hand-stands. The party finished with Gus, Maxim Petoff, Mr. Schmidt, Mr. Moulin, Hans, Fritzi, Fifi, Olga and Sasha doing hand-stands at once. They were quite startled when Lucille looked at her watch and said she must go and make up.

“That’s the worst of a good time,” said Gus. “It goes so quick.”

Santa dug her elbow into Peter. He dug back. Nobody could want a nicer compliment than that about a party.

Gus Speaks

IT WAS not as easy to swim, even after weeks of doing it on a box, as Syd had hoped. Every day at Torquay and Bournemouth they struggled, Syd, up to his waist in water, walking beside first one and then the other with a hand under their chins, saying, “One, two. One, two.” Then at Portsmouth Peter did six strokes alone, and was too worried to be pleased about it. On the Thursday night at Bournemouth, Canada was boxed and sent with one of the bereiters over to Southampton to sail to America. Early on Friday Peter went to call on Lorenzo to see how he was feeling and to bring him some carrots. He seemed quite cheerful. The same thing happened on Saturday morning. On Sun day he was waiting in the stables when Lorenzo was ridden up from the station. He was still all right. On the Monday morning Peter had only time to give him a pat and a lump of sugar after his riding lesson, as school had begun again. He had meant to run down and see him after afternoon school, but Syd was waiting to take them swimming.

“Have to make it snappy,” he said. “We’re not so near the sea, and I must be here by half-past five sharp.”

As soon as he came back from bathing Peter got some lumps of sugar and hurried to the stables. Mr. Cob, Ben, and two of the stable hands were standing round Lorenzo’s stall Lorenzo was looking wretched. He drooped all over. All the brushing he had received not made his coat shine.

“I gave him a bran mash ‘stead of his oats ration,” Ben was saying. “He didn’t finish it. There’s nothing really wrong with him, except that ‘he’s pinin’.”

Mr. Cob shook his head.

“Looks like you were right, Ben. I shouldn’t have separated him and Canada. Seems queer, though. He was all right at first after he went.

“Not quite right, he wasn’t quite himself to me.”

Mr. Cob shook his head.

“That’s because you were looking for trouble. Nobody else saw any. Maxim was watching him in the ring. He said seemed all right.”

“He wouldn’t ‘ave if he’d had to follow Canada instead of Canada’s place bein’ behind ‘im. Besides, he always waltzed with Masterman these last two years. Far as ‘is ring work’s concerned there wasn’t any change.”

“But if he was missing Canada all that much why didn’t he start the hullabaloo on the Friday? That’s what I can’t understand.”

Ben chewed his straw thoughtfully.

“The way I look at it, Mr. Cob, is this. You brought Canada and Lorenzo when they were just about two. You gave ‘em to me to break. On account of them coming at the same time they were stabled side by side. When they were broken to Liberty work we took them tenting. Again they were stabled side by side. Well, you know how ‘tis, a ‘oss doesn’t think
ahead, same as you an’ I. What ‘e has is memory. All last week at Bournemouth he’s fussed because Canada isn’t there, but there’s nothin’ to make ‘im think he won’t be by tomorrow. But yesterday when we built up the stable we didn’t put up a stall for Canada. Lorenzo finds himself alongside Pepper, and he doesn’t like it.”

“Well, he’ll have to learn.” Mr. Cob turned away. “He’ll get used to it in time. And he’s got Masterman one side of him. He’s used to him.”

Ben spat out his straw. He watched Mr. Cob disappear round the bend in the stables. He turned to the grooms.

“Put on his harness.” He shook his head at Peter. “‘E pinin’. ‘Osses have eyes same as you an’ I. Lorenzo’s been fussed since Canada went. Now he’s downright upset. ‘E can see Canada’s stall hasn’t been built. There’ll be trouble. You’ll see.”

“He’s still got you,” Peter suggested.

Ben gave Lorenzo an affectionate pat.

“That won’t do him any good. Tell you a funny thing, Peter, which most folks who love ‘osses try to deny. But it’s the truth. ‘Osses don’t care for men.
M
aybe they’ll come at the call of one voice, or neigh when someone comes into the stable. But that’s ‘abit. Sell the ‘oss. Get another man to teach him the same tricks. Two or three days and he’ll be comin’ to the call from a new voice, and neighing fit to bust himself when the new owner comes in the stable.”

Peter hated this. He stammered with indignation.

“Mustard would miss me now I went. I know he would.”

Ben turned away.

“That’s the way I like to think son, about all the ‘osses. But ‘tisn’t so, and facin’ facts never hurt anybody.”

Lorenzo was a clever horse. He was the best waltzer of all the Liberties. He had always been impetuous and excitable. A very different type from his quiet friend Canada. Habit made him conform to the circus routine. He knew just at what hours he would be fed and watered, just at what hours he would be dressed for the shows, just what was expected of him when he got in the ring, and what long, quiet hours he would have to gossip with his friend. A change in his routine not only upset him, but brought all his natural excitability and impetuosity to the top. He did not plan what he would do, but he let his feelings run away with him. If one bit of his routine was upset, then it was all upset. His friend of years had been taken away. Then suddenly found he did not want to work. Then he did not want to eat. He did not want to gossip. And when he got into the ring on Monday night he

Maxim was not expecting trouble. Of course he knew that Lorenzo was off his feed, and missing his friend, but he had not known him in the early days when he was being broken. He did not know what a lot of temperament lay under that placid exterior. The trouble started at once. The grays came cantering into the ring. Maxim cracked his whip and whispered to them. That should have been the signal for each of them of them to stop and put their forelegs on the ring fence. So all the horses did except Lorenzo. He did not move. He stood in his place in the ring with Masterman on one side of him and the leader Allah on the other. But Allah should not have been there according to custom. When they formed a circle it should have been Canada who stood between him and Allah. For days he had been uneasy at this change. Now he knew he could not stand it.

Maxim cracked his whip again. Gently he came over and fondled Lorenzo’s head. “Up,” he whispered. But Lorenzo would not move. Maxim cracked his whip beside him so that the end just flicked him. He stood like a rock. It was bad policy to allow disobedience, but for this performance Maxim let it pass. He could not go on keeping the audience waiting. The orchestra broke into the
Blue Danube
waltz. The horses stood in pairs. Jumper led off with Ferdinand, Biscuit followed with Halfpenny, Robin with Pennybun. Then Canada and Allah should have come, but since Canada was gone Allah was sent out of the ring before the waltzing started, so that it was now the turn of the star waltzers, Masterman and Lorenzo. Masterman got into his position. Maxim cracked his whip. Masterman took his first steps. Lorenzo felt a surge of rebellion. He would not waltz. He would not do anything. His world was turned upside down and he could not bear it. He kicked up his heels, jumped over the ring fence, galloped through the artistes’ entrance to his own stall, and stood there with a hanging head. All the spirit had gone out of him.

It had done him good to rebel. But now the rebellion was over and he was just a lonely horse missing his friend.

No horse could be allowed to behave that way. As soon as the first performance audience were out of the big top, the grays were brought back. They were put through their whole performance, only this time Lorenzo had Alexsis on his back. It was weary work. It took ten minutes to get his forelegs up on the ring fence, twenty minutes to get him to waltz properly, and another quarter of an hour to force him to bow at the end of his performance. Long before they had finished the audience were coming in for the next house. As Lorenzo at last made his bow, Maxim patted him and gave him two lumps of sugar. He followed him out of the ring. In the artistes’ entrance he stood mopping his forehead. He had been able to get neither able to get neither food nor rest between the shows, but he was satisfied. By nothing but patience he had once more taught the horses that he would have unswerving obedience.

Peter had, of course, heard how badly Lorenzo had behaved. He stood under the seats by the artistes’ entrance to watch the second house. He watched the first half without seeing it properly. His mind was fixed on Lorenzo. Had he learned his lesson? Would he do it right this time?

The Liberty act came after the interval. Peter gave a silent prayer: “Please God let him do it properly, they’ll only make him do it afterward if he doesn’t, and he’s so unhappy already.”

But Lorenzo did not do it properly. His will had been overcome at rehearsal. The combined cajoling of Maxim and Alexsis had worn him down. But now he had no one on his back. Things were wrong. Why should some parts of his life go on as usual while other old habits were changed? He had always stood next to Canada. Why not now? He did not even wait in his place in the ring, much less put his forelegs on the fence. He kicked up his heels, pushed his way between Halfpenny and Robin, jumped over the fence gate, and, disregarding everybody, galloped back to his stall. Peter hardly dared go down the stables after the show. What would they do to a horse that behaved like that at two shows running? He peered out from under the seats to see if Gus was about. They were not allowed to watch the second house in term-time. But tonight he had risked it. He simply had to know how Lorenzo was getting on.

Gus was not in sight. Peter ran down the stables. A
few of the audience were passing through. The voices of the grooms saying “No smoking in the stables, please” came with monotonous regularity. To Peter’s surprise the grays were in their stalls
.
He had thought they would be going back for rehearsal. Lorenzo was in his stall too. His head drooped. Nobody was looking at him. Peter knew it was not the thing to do to a disobedient horse, but Lorenzo looked so depressed he simply had to. He went into his stall and gave him all the food he had in his pocket. It consisted of three carrots and five lumps of sugar. Lorenzo ate the lot.

Peter was glad; he knew he had not eaten much all day. He might be a sinner, but he would feel better with something inside. He turned to go out. Ben was looking at him.

“When a ‘oss has disobeyed,” he said quietly, “it’s actin’ stupid to pet him.”

Peter was so sorry for Lorenzo he lost his temper.

“I should think somebody better. You know he’s going to be beaten until he does it right.”

Ben found himself a nice straw. He got one for Peter.

“None of the ‘osses is ever beaten. Mr. . Cob goes made if a groom so much as speaks rough to ‘em. I’ve ‘eard ‘im threaten to flog one of my boys because he saw him give old President a smack. If ever a ‘oss needed smackin’, President does.”

“Well what’ll they do to Lorenzo? I bet they don’t let him off. And it’s very unfair, because he wouldn’t work only because he’s miserable.

“You’re getting ‘ot before you need, son.” He felt in his pocket and brought out an old envelope. “Take a look at that. It s a copy of a cable that went tonight.”

Peter took the envelope. On it was written:

Jenson. Jencir. Newyork.

If you still want that other gray you can have him

stop Cable immediately as will ship Friday Cob.

Peter looked up.

“Is it Mr. Jenson who bought Canada?”

Peter handed back the envelope.

“Will he have him, do you think?”

“Yes. Wanted him from the beginnin’.

“Well, will you send a letter with him to say he must be stabled next to Canada?”

Ben put his straw on the other side of his mouth.