Circus Shoes (8 page)

“There’s the poodles,” Santa put in. “You like them, don’t you?”

Ben chewed thoughtfully at his straw “Very pretty little act,” he said at last. “But you know to me those dogs aren’t dogs, if you follow. Myself I always fancy a fox-terrier. But clever!” He put out his straw and stooped to choose another. Almost indecently clever those French dogs are. D’you know, if those dogs spoke English instead of what they do, which is French, I’d mind what I said in front of them. ‘Tis my belief they’d understand every word.”

Peter and Santa looked at him carefully to see if he was joking. But he was not. His face was quite serious. He realized what they were thinking. . “No I’m not joking. If you’d seen as much of circus animals as I have you’d know what I mean. There’s some so clever t’isn’t natural.”

Peter picked up a straw and chewed it too. He did not like it very much but it seemed the right thing to do in a stable.

“Do you like the sea-lions?”

Ben grinned.

“Yes. I’m always glad when we have them out with us. Doe you good to hear the children laugh when they come in the ring.”

Santa leaned against a tent pole. “Are they clever?”

Ben looked across at the sea-lions’ wagon. He smiled at it affectionately.

“Never made up my mind. You know how ‘tis with some children. Sharp as needles. They don’t know they’re clever. Just born that way. Sometimes I think that’s how ‘tis with sea-lions. Born for the job.” He paused and broke a piece off his straw. “Great artistes are like that. That’s how it ‘tis with the best of my ‘osses.”

Peter moved away out of reach of one of the elephants. It was blowing down his ear.

“Which are the best of the horses?”

Ben jerked his head to show them they were to come with him. He went past the ponies and over to Mack, Fred, Carter, Mike, Paul, and Joseph. He felt in his pocket and got out some sugar. He gave half to Peter and half to Santa.

“You go up and give them a bit. Gentle as babies they are!” He gave Fred a friendly slap to make him move so that Santa could get into his stall. “Get over, Fred.”

Peter looked round from giving a lump of sugar to Carter.

“They look much bigger than the other horses.”

Ben spat out his straw.

“So they are, too. We use’m for what we call ‘jockey acts.’ You’ll see when you’ve watched how. These six are Suffolk punches. Can’t beat m for rosin-backs.”

“Rosin-backs?” Santa came out of Paul’s stall. “What’s that?”

Ben found another straw. He cleaned it on his coat. “It’s hard tellin’ you two things. Gus was saying you’ve never seen a show. But maybe he’ll get Mr. Cob to pass you in tonight. Well, you watch ‘The Arizonas.’ That’s what they call them on the program. It’s a trick-riding act. The Kenets do it. Four brothers, Ted, Jo, Willy, and George; and they’ve Paula Petoff in with them.”

Santa gave her last lump of sugar to Joseph. She came back to Ben.

“We’ve met Mr. Ted Kenet, and we almost know Paula Petoff. At least we’ve met Mr. Petoff, Alexis, and Olga, and Sasha.”

Ben finished cleaning his straw and put it in his mouth.

“Well, when you see this jockey act the Arizonas do you have a look at the ‘osses coats.” He ran his hand over Mike’s back. “You’ll see a gray look on them. That’s rosin. Keep the artistes’ feet from slipping.”

Peter moved to one side to get out of the way of some people who had come from the town to see the animals.

“May anybody come in?” he whispered.

Ben shook his head.

“Pay sixpence. And half the time they give as much trouble as if they’d paid a pound. Mr. Cob sticks up great notices to say ‘No smoking.’ But half of them don’t seem able to read. You would think a baby of two would know you can’t go throwing cigarettes about in a stable. But they don’t. I’ve my boys watchin’ all the time. Even then we had a fire once.”

Goodness!” Santa leaned against the wall of Mike’s stall
.
“What happened?”

“Well”-Ben moved his straw to the other side of his mouth-“it wasn’t in this Mr. Cob’s time. It was in his dad’s. ‘Course in those days tenting wasn’t what now. We’adn’t the staff of grooms and all we carry mow. What’s more we ‘adn’t water laid onto the ground. Well, after the show the folks could pay same as they do now to see the menagerie. Nasty night it was, with a bit of a wind. Some fool, we never knew w ho, must have thrown an old end of cigarette in the straw of one of the stalls. Well, maybe the straw was damp. Anyway, it didn’t catch at once. We were all dossed down for the night. The grooms’ bunk house-that’s what we call the men’s sleeping tent-was away at the other end of the ground. I was sleeping in the rage tent which was where it is now, just behind the elephants. Suddenly I sat up. You ever smelt fire?”

“No.” Peter shook his head. “Was the tent on fire?”

Ben chewed his straw a moment. His eyes looked far away as if he were seeing that night all those years ago.

“Funny, smartin’ was all I felt at first. Then suddenly there came a puff of wind, and one of the horses reamed.” He shook his head at Peter and Santa. “We were out of that forge tent before you could say the word fire. Somebody was sent running to call up the men. The stables weren’t as big as they are now. It was more all-in-one. I was only Just turned fifteen at the time, I’ll never forget the noise in that tent. We’d eighteen ‘osses and they were all screaming. We’d a mixed wild animal act. One lion, two panthers, three polar bears, and a monkey. The lion was trying to tear down the bars of his cage, and it seemed as if the panthers and the polar bears had gone crazy.”

“What was happening to the monkey?” Santa asked.

“I didn’t see the monkey myself, I was busy with the ‘osses. But a groom told me later he was actin’ like a child. Sittin’ in the corner of his cage with great tears runnin’ down his cheeks. Pitiful to see it was. We also had five elephants all trying to stampede at once. Well, of course, the first thing to do was to get our ‘osses out, and meanwhile somebody was runnin’ for the men who trained the wild animals and the elephants. Then all the ring boys carne along and they started a chain of buckets. Then before we knew where we were there was the fire engine up from the town. The wind had got up and was ragin’ round and blowing the flames toward the big top.”

He stopped. Santa tried not to hurry him but she did want to know what had happened. “And did the big top catch fire?”

“No. They saved it.”

“And how about the animals?” asked Peter. “Did you get them out all right?”

Ben’s face was sad.

“All except the ‘oss in whose stall the fire started. Brandy-ball his name was. Been a hunter. We used him in a high-school act. He was burned to death.”

Santa’s face was horrified.

“How awful!”

“It was.” Ben began to move slowly up the stables.

“Sometimes today Mr. Cob will ‘ear me speak a bit harshly to someone I catch smokin’. Mind you, I ever do the first time. But if they don’t put it out quickly I may speak a bit sharply. But I always say to Mr. Cob, ‘You’d speak sharply if you could remember old Brandy-ball.’”

Santa and Peter got on either side of him. Peter looked up.

“What’s high school?”

Ben chuckled.

“You two want to know too much all in one time. You say to me, ‘Ben, which is the best of the ‘osses. Well, I don’t answer that in a direct way. I get you to meet the rosin-backs. This stable is much like the world outside. There are simple people, and clever people. Well, those Suffolk punches are simple. They’re like farmin’ folk. Shy may be, but stanch when you know’n. Well, you get to know’n. You watch them work. When you know all about them you shall meet some of the others. No good gettin’ a whole lot of words in your head and not knowin’ what any of them mean.”

They were level with the lions’ cages. Santa stopped.

“Are they clever?”

“Wonderful what Satan does with them. ‘Course he picked ‘em as cubs. He wouldn’t have one in his troupe that was clumsy. But I myself have never fancied performin’ cats, that’s what we call ‘em. I don’t like to sec any act that ‘as to be done behind bars. All the other animals are loose and enjoy their work.”

“Don’t lions?” asked Peter.

Ben shook his head.

“Some say so. But there are many who feel with me, and Mr. Cob’s one of them, that it’s a pity any circus has a cat act. Same’s it’s a pity there’s so much dangerous stuff, high aerial and all that, done without a net.”

Santa propped herself up against the rail that was in front of the lions’ cages.

“Well why does Mr. Cob have them?”

Ben took a thoughtful suck at his straw.

“On account of ‘uman nature being what it is. There are ‘undreds and thousands of people that don’t come to a circus on account of the skill and the beauty and all, but on account of seein’ what’s dangerous.”

Peter was puzzled.

“Why?”

Ben looked reflectively at the lions.

“Nobody knows. It’s one of the things left over from the time we were savages maybe. Lots of people haven’t got so far from that now. Anyhow it’s a fact, and anyone in the circus business will tell you so, that it’s the savage animal and the dangerous act, that half the time pulls ‘em in.”

Santa made a face at him.

“Pulls who in, where?”

Ben spat out his straw.

“That’s the way we speak when we mean getting an audience. If we get some specially big attraction Mr. Cob’ll say to me, ‘That’ll pull them in, Ben.’ Do you follow?” Peter and Santa nodded. Ben gave them a smile. “Well, I must be gain’ to my tea. Now if Mr. Cob passes you in tonight don’t forget to watch out for my rosin-backs. And you watch how Paula and the Kenets work.”

Peter and Santa looked after him. Santa threw her hair back off her shoulders.

“I suppose it’s our tea-time too. Do you suppose pass you in means Mr. Cob will let us see the circus?”

Peter spat out his straw as nearly as possible in imitation of Ben.

“Sounds like it. We’ll ask Gus.”

“Right.” Santa started to run. “Don’t let’s fuss about tenting anything. Let’s race. Bet I get there first.”

Peter shot after her.

“Bet you don’t.”

The Circus

Gus was awake when they got back. Or rather he was just opening his eyes.

“Well,” he said, “what have you been up to?”

They explained they had been seeing the animals and talking to Ben. Gus yawned. He looked at his watch.

“Tea-time. Fill the kettle, Peter.”

Peter took the kettle outside. Santa got out the cloth and began to lay the table. Gus came in from the other room and looked at her approvingly.

“That’s right. I don’t always lay the cloth at tea time, since I only have a cup of tea, but with a woman about it’s different.”

Peter came back with the kettle and put it on the stove. Santa gave him a look to show that Gus seemed to be in a nice temper and so this was a good time to ask about seeing the circus. Peter cleared his throat.

“If you please-I mean Ben said that perhaps-I mean-“

Gus gave him a pained look.

“Kedgeree and rum, boy, can’t you say straight out what you want? ‘If you please’-and ‘Ben said’ and ‘I mean ...’ Well, what is it?”

Peter turned red. He was being made to look like fool again. He wished he had left the asking to Santa, However, Gus had his eye fixed on him. He must finish now.

“We wondered”-he paused and Santa held her breath, afraid he was going to hesitate again, but he got it out at last- “if you would ask Mr. Cob if he would pass us in tonight?”

Gus did not answer at once. He went to the glass and straightened his tie. Peter and Santa thought he must be thinking whether he would or would not. But he was not. He was trying to be fair to Peter. From the first moment he had set eyes on him in his neat blue coat and kid gloves he had annoyed him. He was sure that underneath the boy was not as namby-pamby as he looked. But kid gloves and a very polite manner were not his idea of a boy. Just before going to sleep he had spoken severely to himself for being unfair. After all, he had told himself, what could you expect from somebody brought up by Rebecca? He had decided to be more tolerant. Now the first second Peter spoke he had let him get on his nerves. That as why he tied his tie before answering. He was giving himself time so that he would answer quietly. He turned round, smiling.

“Don’t see why not. It’ll have to be the first show because you kids must be in bed early.”

Santa got out the butter and skipped with it to the table.

“Oh, thank you very much, Gus.” Gus looked at the table.

“Is that all right for you? What do you generally have for tea?”

Santa put out some jam. “Just this. Bread and butter and jam. Sometimes cake, but not often, because they take eggs to make and Aunt Rebecca didn’t have much money.”

Gus sat down.

“Then you’ll have supper, I suppose, before you turn in?”

“Yes.” Santa measured out the tea into the pot. “Nothing much. The duchess didn’t think children needed a heavy meal before they went to bed.”

“Never did care for the old duchess, so what she said doesn’t cut any ice with me. Would bread and milk or a milk pudding or something of that sort about right?”

Santa put the teapot on the table.

“It would be very nice. We often had bread and dripping with Aunt Rebecca.”

Gus poured out the tea. He nodded at the food on the table.

“You get on with that. Never eat anything at tea time myself. I have a big supper later. I’ve arranged to have it with the Kenets now that you two are here, Wake you up if I’m clattering about.”

Peter spread a piece of bread with jam.

“We shan’t mind.”

Gus’s eyes flashed.

“It isn’t what you mind, young man, it’s what I arrange.”

Santa saw that Peter’s ears were tuning red, a bad sign. She could see rows of angry answers welling up inside him. She gave him a look to ask him to say nothing. They ate for a while in silence. Then she said, “Where are we going to sleep?”

Gus sipped his tea. He was furious with himself. What an uncle they must think him. Picking on Peter every time he opened his mouth. He smiled at Santa.

“The Schmidts have a spare camp-bed and bedding. It’s coming in here for you. Peter will sleep with me in the other room.”

Santa cut another piece of bread.

“Are they the Schmidts who own the sea-lions?”

“That’s right.” Gus poured himself more tea. “You’ll see them around somewhere. They’ve a couple kids about your age. Twins they are. Fritzi and Hans.”

Santa spread her bread with butter. “Will they come to school with us?”

Gus stirred his tea.

“That’s right. There’ll be quite a lot of you now.”

Santa finished a mouthful.

“Olga and Sasha Petoff, and Peter and I, and Hans and Fritzi Schmidt. Six.”

Gus paused to drink.

“No. There’s seven of you. The Moulins have a kid.”

Peter let his mental eye go up and down the stables. He looked in a puzzled way at Gus.

“The Moulins haven’t any of the animals, have hey?”

Gus leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. “Yes. French poodles.”

“Oh!” Santa raised her eyebrows. ‘Lucille’s French poodles.’”

“That’s right. That’s what they call them. That’s Madame Moulin. Her name’s Lucille. They’ve on girl. Fifi they call her. She’s very smart.”

Santa was surprised. Although Gus was a neat man himself he did not appear to be the kind of person who would like smart clothes on children.

“Are they very rich?”

Gus looked puzzled. Then he laughed.

“I don’t mean what you mean. When I say smart I mean clever. She’s a very neat little acrobat, though she can’t be more than ten.”

“Is she?” Santa was surprised. “Will we see her in the circus?”

“No.” Gus blew a smoke ring up to the roof. “She can’t go in the ring in England. That’s on account of the law. Twelve is the earliest you can get a license, and then there’s a lot of trouble. The kids don’t go in the ring in England till they’re fourteen.”

Peter finished eating. He lolled back in his seat. “What about Alexsis? Doesn’t he go to school?”

Santa thought that a silly question.

“You know he doesn’t. He was sitting in the big top with us this morning.”

Gus got up.

“Alexsis had his fourteenth birthday round Christmas.”

Peter and Santa got up too. They began to clear the table.

“Funny he isn’t in the act now,” Santa said. “Olga and Sasha said he was going in next winter if he worked.”

Gus stood in the doorway.

“He would be working now if Maxim had his way. But Mr. Cob wouldn’t give him a contract. He’s got sense, Mr. Cob has.”

Santa folded the tablecloth. “Why? Isn’t Alexsis any good?”

Gus threw away the butt of his cigarette.

“All depends.” He came back to the table. “I’ll get Alexsis to take you in tonight. He’ll be along by the time you’ve washed up. I’ll go and fetch that bed.”

The washing-up basin stood on a sugar box at the side of the caravan. Peter brought out the kettle of water and filled it. Santa washed up while he dried. While they worked they looked around them. The circus was changing again. All afternoon it had had a sleepy look. Scarcely anyone had been about except Ben and the grooms who were watching the stables while the townspeople saw the menagerie. But now there was an air of bustle. It was not so much that any thing was happening as that there was a kind of excitement in the air.

Peter, who was drying a plate, moved to the other side of the caravan. He came back in a moment.

“Come and look. There are hundreds of people waiting outside to come in.”

Santa took her hands out of the bowl, and, holding them away from her so as not to wet her coat, went to look.

It was true. The ticket wagon was pulled forward. A long queue was formed ready to buy tickets as soon as the pay windows opened. Peter and Santa stood staring at the people with interest. Then suddenly they felt embarrassed. It is an odd feeling to be stared at by about a hundred and fifty people at once, and that was what was happening to them. They hurried back to the washing-up bowl. Santa giggled as she put a cup in the water.

“I think they must have thought we belonged.” Peter picked up the other plate to dry it.

“Well, so we do.”

Santa stopped washing and stared at him.

“Do we?”

Peter nodded.

They both looked round them. At the big top. At the line of caravans. At the wagons. At the tents. They heard all down the line of caravans talk and laughter in perhaps five different languages. They heard a short hoarse bark. They heard deep roars.

Santa looked at Peter. They both began to laugh. It was so unlike any world they had ever dreamed of. But it was true they did belong. The situation was so queer that the only thing you could do about it was to laugh.

Gus came along with two fair-haired children. Between them they were carrying a camp-bed, some blankets, and two pillows. Gus put down the bed and stood it up against the caravan.

“Here’s my nephew and niece. These are Hans and Fritzi Schmidt.”

Peter and Santa grinned, and the Schmidt children grinned back.

They were rather a nice-looking pair. They had hair nearly as fair as Santa’s. Hans’s was cut so short he looked as if he scarcely had any. Fritzi’s was worn in two braids; the braids were turned up and tied close her head with bows.

“What do you think, Santa?” said Gus. “Mrs. Schmidt wanted to come over and make up the bed for you. She said she didn’t think you’d know how to.”

Santa washed the last knife.

“ ‘Course I can make a bed.” She did not add that the duchess had insisted on Lady Moira, Lady Marigold, and the Manliston girls learning all the domestic things. She had said, “Every woman must be able to do the work herself, or how can she direct others?” Although Aunt Rebecca had never seen much possibility of Santa’s having any others to direct, she had trained her carefully. She had trained Peter too. After all she was not as young as she had been, and she had worked all her life. She was glad of help in the house. In fact, training in housewifery was probably one of the few things that Aunt Rebecca would have insisted on, even if the duchess had never said anything about it.

“My mother makes the joke,” Hans explained solemnly.

Fritzi climbed the caravan steps.

“Santa and I the bed will make. My mother thinks that in England no woman the things of the house is taught.”

Gus and Peter pulled the bed up the steps. When there were four of them inside, as well as Hans looking through the door, there did not seem to be much room for a camp-bed, but somehow it went in.

“Come on, Peter,” said Gus. “We’ll leave the rest to the women. I’m going to buy a tent tomorrow. That’s where we’ll put the bed in the daytime. And in the summer you can sleep in it, Santa. You’ll find sheets in the drawer under my bed.”

Santa and Fritzi went into the other room. There was a large drawer running the full length of Gus’s bed, inside were a number of sheets, pillow-cases, towels, and kitchen cloths. Everything was neatly folded and marked in the corner, “G. Possit.” Fritzi was overcome with admiration. She clasped her hands and gasped.

“ Kolossal!
Such a man is he. It as neat as my mother’s is.”

They took two sheets and two pillow-cases and went back into the other room. Used as she was to making beds, Santa noticed that Fritzi was quicker and more thorough than she was. She would not allow a crease. Santa was quite glad when it was finished. Fritzi was severe that she was afraid they might start to make it all over again. As Mrs. Schmidt had lent the bed, blankets, and pillows, she would not have liked to refuse. But in her own mind she marked Fritzi down as very fussy. When they had finished they came out and found Peter and Hans sitting on the steps. Peter looked up at Santa.

“I was asking about the sea-lions. The ones they use come from California. Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt bought them when they were quite little.”

Fritzi patted the place beside her to ask Santa to sit too. “My grandfather he does not sea-lions show. He has the wild beast.”

Hans nodded.

“He in all Germany the best wild animals had.” Peter stretched out his legs.

“Well, why doesn’t you father have them?”

Hans looked up at Fritzi. They both made gestures to show they did not know.

“My father he with some bears works,” Hans explained; “and in Hamburg he my mother meets.”

Fritzi patted Santa’s knee to be sure she was attending.

“She two sea-lions has. They work well.”

Hans nodded at Peter.

“You see?”

“No.” Peter shook his head. “Why didn’t your father go on with his bears?”

Hans looked at Fritzi. Fritzi nodded and took up the story. She spoke slowly, as if she were dealing with abnormal intelligences.

“The bears my grandfather’s was.”

Peter turned round.