Circus Shoes (24 page)

“The groom that goes with ‘im will tell ‘im.”

“But don’t you think you ought to write as well? Just to make sure?”

Ben spat out his straw.

“Not to Mr. Jenson. He knows more about ‘osses than any other man in this business. You don’t need to tell Mr. Jenson anythin’. He feels ‘ow a ‘oss feels. He was over here once. Wanted me to go back with ‘im.”

“What, to America?” Ben nodded “Why didn’t you?”

“Well, I reckon as there was no need for an’ Mr. Jenson in one circus. You see, here I’m wanted. Mr. Cob the Kenets, and Maxim, they’re all fine riders and know a lot about ‘osses. But now and then there’s somebody that does a bit more than know about them. Mr. Jenson’s one of them and I’m another. I reckoned it would be better if we were split up.”

“Would you have earned a lot of money in America?”

“Yes. Powerful lot. But what for? I’ve got a place to sleep, enough to eat, and a bit put by for when I’m too old to work. No man wants more. My work’s with the ’osses, and where I reckon it’s best for them I should be, it’s best for me.” He looked along the rows of sleek backs. “Bless ‘em. That’s what I say. Goodnight.”

He moved slowly away, walking a quietly as he talked. Peter had a feeling the “Goodnight” had been to the horses and not to him.

The lights were dimming, the grooms yawning their way to bed. Peter left the stables. It was a glorious night. Talk and laughter drifted across from the men’s mess-tent. Here and there a cigarette glowed. One of the lions gave a sleepy roar. Peter hurried as fast as he could across the ground. Gus would be angry, but it was worth it to know that Lorenzo was going to join Canada.

Peter was lucky. Gus was not at home. He was still at supper with the Kenets. He scuttled into bed. When Gus came in he was asleep.

Peter swam at Bognor, Santa a week later at Brighton. Gus came down to Brighton beach to watch them both. He never bathed himself because he considered it put his eye out for his work. So he stood on the promenade where he could see.

Peter plunged straight into the water and swam with good, bold strokes. Santa floundered a bit. She took quick, nervous strokes. But there was no question but that she was swimming.

Gus was pleased.

“You’ve done well.” He felt in his pocket and brought out two new half-crowns. “There you are. Buy something you want. You may go on the beach when you like, but keep in your depth till you’re more used to it. Well, I must go back and put some paint on my face. “

Peter and Santa did not go back with Gus. They said they would like to walk.

“I say,” said Peter, “that was awfully nice of him.”

Santa looked admiringly at her half-crown.

“I’ve been thinking lately that he likes us more. Very often now he lets me cook the breakfast.”

Peter wrung out his bathing-dress.

“And he asks me to clean the car. I think he’s finding us useful. I wish he’d say something. There’s not an awful lot of time left. There’s Eastbourne, that’s one week. Then there’s Hastings, three days, and Folkstone three days. That’s two weeks. Then there’s Canterbury and Maidstone. That’s three weeks. Then Dover and Deal. That’s a month. Then there’s only one week after that. Whitstable and Margate. Just think, in five weeks this’ll be finished.”

Even the pleasure of having learned to swim and having received a reward of half a crown faded. They walked gloomily up to the front and turned homeward.

“I can’t believe he means to send us to Saint Bernard’s Home for Boys or Saint Winifred’s Orphanage for Destitute Female Children, “ Santa said hopefully.

“He must know we’d hate them worse than ever after this.”

“I hope not.” Peter did not sound very hopeful. “But you remember he told us we didn’t know they’d h awful because we’d never

“Shall we ask him?”

Peter stopped to take a pebble out of his shoe.

“I’d rather we didn’t. If he said we were going to Saint Winifred’s and Saint Bernard’s it would spoil the five weeks that are left.”

“I know,” Santa agreed. “But if he said we were stopping with him near the winter quarters it would make the rest of the time more heavenly than it is.

Peter stopped. He held out his half-crown.

“How about us tossing for it? Heads we ask, tails we don’t.”

He tossed. It was tails. Santa sighed.

“In a way I’m sorry. I’ve got a sort of feeling just in the middle of me. It comes whenever I think about what’s going to happen to us.”

Peter put his half-crown in his pocket.

“Let’s go and have an ice. It’ll make us feel better.”

“Yes, let’s.” Santa skipped at the idea. “But don’ let’s go into any shop that says ‘Vanilla,’ because I want strawberry. “

The weather went on being lovely. Every day Eastbourne, Hastings, and Folkestone Peter and Santa swam. When they got to Canterbury there was, course, no bathing, so they had more time for games on the ground and violent practice on the water-act cloth. It was at Canterbury they first heard there was trouble in the Petoff family. Fifi mentioned it as they came back from afternoon school.

“There was a terrible noise in your caravan last night, Olga. It woke us up.
Maman
has a migraine today. She says it is because you make such a noise she cannot sleep.”

Olga turned a cartwheel.

“It’s terrible. Father cried. Mother screamed. We all had a dreadful mood. It was already light before we felt better and had some tea.”

“To drink tea foolish was when one a mood has,” said Fritzi severely.

Sasha hopped along on one leg.

“Not to us. Tea makes us feel good.”

“What was all the row about?” asked Peter.

Olga took his arm. He tried to wriggle free but she held on. She lowered her voice dramatically. “Alexsis said he would run away!”

“Why?” said Santa.

Olga looked at her impressively.

“The Elgins have an engagement in Paris for Christmas. They wish Alexsis to go with them. Alexsis tell my father. There was a terrible row.”

“Me and Olga”-Sasha hopped to the other side of Peter-“felt as if our beds was shook. Never we had a bigger row.”

Peter pulled his arm free of Olga’s. “Won’t your father let him go?”

“Certainly not. He is needed for the horses.” Olga turned another cartwheel. “This very Christmas he is to work in the act.”

“Has Mr. Cob given him a contract?” asked Fifi. Olga shook her head.

“Not yet. But he will.”

Fifi made an immense gesture with both hands. It expressed her complete disbelief in such a contract. Hans accepted it as if she had spoken.

“Fifi right was. Unless the contract signed is, nothing is known. It may be the Elgins will go to Paris, and Alexsis remain, and he no work will have.”

Olga finished a flip-flap
.
She caught up with the rest of them.

“And still my father won’t let him go. He says he has to work with the horses. When Sasha is older it will be different. Even if Alexsis may not work this Christmas my father will train him all next year.”

“You see,” Sasha explained to Peter and Santa, “the Kenets have no contract with Mr. Cob after one more year. It may be they will stay. But it may be they will get more money if they go. If they go there’s only my father and Paula for the high-school. That’s not enough.

Hans, Fritzi, and Fifi nodded. It was not enough. Hans spoke for them all.

“Alexsis will not be able to go.”

“Well, I think it’s a shame,” said Peter. “I hope he runs away.”

Fritzi looked shocked at such stupidity. “That all talk is. Where would he run?”

“I don’t know.” Peter’s voice was stubborn. “But I think it’s a shame if he has an offer he can’t take it. He could come back to his father if the Kenets go.”

Fritzi tapped his arm.

“When one has nothing of sense to say it is better to silent be. How will he practice when he has no horses?”

It was an unarguable point, but Peter felt (not for the first time since he had known her) that he would like to hit Fritzi. He could see that Santa felt the same.

They told Gus all about Alexsis’s troubles driving to Maidstone on Thursday morning. It was not a very good day to talk about troubles because the country was looking so nice. There were nuts in the hedges. Trails of traveler’s joy looked like snow. The first berries were forming on the bushes. The leaves were turning color. Peter sniffed at the air. This was one of those October mornings when Mustard missed the hunting. “When it’s sharp, and you get a smell of leaves,” Ben had said. It was sharp today. There was a smell of dropped leaves. Peter made a mental resolution to take Mustard a little something extra.

Santa started the story of Alexsis. Gus had heard bits of it, but not that Maxim had definitely refused to let Alexsis go.

“Well,” he said, when they had finished telling him, “like most arguments there are points to both sides.”

Santa, who was sitting in front, looked back at Peter. They both thought it a mean-spirited answer. Everybody ought to take sides.

Gus drove along in silence for a while. Then he slowed down the car.

He stopped again. They were coming near Maidstone. He had his eyes on the road ahead, looking for the first green stars.

“Talking of Alexsis reminds me it’s time I had a word with you two. After these three days at Maidstone we’ve only a fortnight’s tenting to go.” He paused and Peter and Santa held their breaths. “When you first came and were such a couple of ninnies I had planned to send you to those orphanages after we were through on the road. I thought a year or two in one of those places would put stamina into you and teach Peter not to argue.”

“And you don’t mean to now?” Santa hardly dared ask the question.

“No. You’ve come on a lot. And you don’t like being separated, so I’ve fixed something different.”

He stopped again. They were coming nearer Maidstone. He had his eyes on the road ahead, looking for the first green stars.

“What are you going to do with us?” asked Peter.

“Watch for the stars, you two.” Gus went dead slow for a flock of sheep. “Well, I’ve written to that Reverend Stibbings. He speaks well of Mrs. Ford. I’m fixing to take two rooms for you in her house. You’ll go to school from there. Later there are good technical schools in the neighborhood. We’ll see how you shape. They’ll maybe be able to fix you both in offices.”

“Gus, you wouldn’t send us back to Mrs. Ford.” Santa’s voice had a crack in it.

Gus was hurt.

“What funny kids you are. I thought you’d be pleased. After all, it’s that or the orphanages.”

Peter and Santa somehow directed Gus to the ground. It was not easy. All the green stars swam. Both of them had tears in their eyes.

At the ground they did not wait even to fill the kettle. They dashed off in different directions. Santa lay on her face behind the staff wagons. She shook with sobs.

“Back to Mrs. Ford. I can’t bear it.”

Peter did not cry at first. He stood in a corner of the ground where he could see the stables built up.

No more horses. To go in an office. It couldn’t be true. He swallowed. Then tears ran down his cheeks.

The End of Tenting

THE end of anything you have enjoyed very much is dreadfully depressing, even when you are going home or somewhere else that will be nice. But when you are going to a place you know you will simply hate it’s difficult to be brave about it. Peter and Santa did manage to seem fairly cheerful when they were with people. By themselves they sank into depths gloom. They tried to cheer each other up.

“I imagine you can be a groom just the same,” Santa said.

But Peter knew it was a false hope.

“What, after just six months with horses? Not likely. If I’d had another year I might have had a chance. Fat chance I’ve got of even seeing a horse, living with Mrs. Ford.”

“It’s the same with me. If I’d had a bit longer lessons with Ted I might have been able to train to teach gymnasium. I wouldn’t like it much, but I’d like it more than going in an office.”

“Well, you can practice your exercises. That’s more than I can my riding.”

Santa shook her head.

“I’m not twelve yet. Over two years of living with Mrs. Ford will kill all ambition in me. When I’m fourteen I’ll just take the first job I’m offered.”

“We’ll be very lucky if we get jobs in offices. I might start as an office-boy, but I shouldn’t think I’d ever get any farther. I can’t spell.”

“Nor I.” Santa sighed miserably “Ours is a very bad outlook.”

“All the same we’ll have to try.” Peter looked a bit embarrassed. “Gus is spending his savings on us.”

“I know. He’s giving us a fine start. Everybody says so.”

Peter made a face.

“I do wish he wouldn’t. There one thing, we shan’t cost him anything at technical schools. I shouldn’t think we’d ever get in. It’s a shame he’s got such stupid relations.”

“Oh, I wish we could ask him if we couldn’t stop with him,” said
S
anta “I’d work my fingers to the bone looking after him

“My goodness, how he’d hate that.”

“I know, “ Santa agreed. “Such a pity Gus isn’t the kind of man who likes being looked after.”

As the days went by they felt worse and worse. Everybody else seemed to have such nice things to do. The Moulins were off to Paris. They would show the dogs in theaters. Fifi was to work with them over Christmas. Then, when the Moulins and the dogs came back to tent in April, she would stay to train with Mink.

The Schmidts were going to Germany. They would see the relations who were The Flying Mistrals. Fritzi would have more lessons on the trapeze. Hans would stay with the uncle who had the five lions, three panthers, four bears, and two tigers, with which he would work when he was fifteen. Then they would go back to England and spend another lovely six months tenting.

The Petoffs were going to the winter quarters, as were Ben, the Kenets, and Gus. Peter envied them most of all. They were to break some new horses, and work at new acts for the Christmas show.

The only person who was as miserable as Peter and Santa was Alexsis. When the Elgins went to Paris his hopes went with them. They had finished their contract with Mr. Cob. After Paris they were going to America. All his chances of working with them faded the farther away they went. He felt as Peter and Santa did. He was going where he did not want to go, and, like them, could not help himself. It was no good his threatening to run away. He could not go to France with the Elgins without a passport. How could he get a passport without his father knowing?

It is appalling how fast last days go. There had been a fortnight and three days left when Gus told them what was to happen to them But somehow they did not last as long as a fortnight and three days should. Before you would think even one day had passed they had moved on to Dover. It was too wet and cold there to bathe; besides, time was getting so short they hated to leave the ground. In fact, Peter would not. Every second that he was not on school he spent in the stables. The weather was very bad when they got to Whitstable. Just three days there. Then on the Thursday they moved to Margate. That was the end.

To make matters worse, considering that they were going to live with Mrs. Ford, they made big strides in their work. Ted Kent was really surprised at Santa. On the Friday at Margate he gave her a last lesson after tea.

“Mind you,” he said, speaking rather stuffily through a piece of candy which he was sucking, “old Gus is doing right by you. Nothing like education. Never had much of it myself, but I know it’s a fine thing to have. All the same, it’s a pity you can’t keep this up. You’ve come on wonderfully. If I could have had you another year I’d have made a smart little acrobat of you.”

Santa had to turn away so that he should not see she was crying.

“It’s been awfully nice of you to teach me,” she gulped, as she put on her coat.

Ted looked at her in surprise.

“You got a cold?”

“Just a bit.”

“You come over to my caravan. I’ll mix you a glass of peppermint and hot water. Nothing like it in the winter for keeping out the cold.” He looked in her face. Then he gave her arm a squeeze. “Nor for keeping your spirits up.”

They sat at the table in the caravan and drank their peppermint. Ted told her funny stories about the circus until he made her laugh. Something, either the funny stories or the peppermint, certainly did her good. She went back to her own caravan feeling better.

Ben never was one to say things that would make trouble. He did not tell Peter that he thought it a pity he had to give up riding. It was Gus’s decision that the children should stay in one place and be educated. Peter was Gus’s nephew. If Gus thought it right there was no more to be said. But Peter knew Ben was sorry. He knew he was pleased with the way he had got on. He was doing very difficult work now: the Spanish walk, all sorts of pirouettes, piaffers; and he was learning to rein back without touching the reins.

On the Friday morning after the lesson Ben came with Peter to feed Mustard.

“Shan’t be able to take you tomorrow. There’s a lot of work when we finish tentin’. Some of the stuff goes one place, and some another.” He paused while he picked up a straw. “You work hard where you’re going. you try to get into this technical school, because that’s what Gus fancies, and ‘e’s payin’ the piper and ‘as the right to call the tune. But if you can’t make it, then let me know. I’ll have a talk with Gus. Maybe we could fix something for you.” Peter’s face lit up. Ben put his hand on his arm. “But mind you, don’t you write to me unless you can say honestly that you worked as hard as you could. Neither in a stable nor anywhere else is there room for one who doesn’t.”

The Saturday at Margate was a day in keeping with the way Peter and Santa felt. Santa was sleeping in the caravan again because the weather was turning cold. She and Peter woke in the night to a new sensation. The caravan was rocking. They could hear the screaming wail of the wind overhead. They woke in the morning to find gray lowering clouds scudding across the sky. The sea was black and angry. Great waves reared up and hurled across the sea front, scattering pebbles as they went.

Everybody in the circus was anxious. In spite of its being a busy day they had time to stand in knots and watch the sky and stare at the big top. All the morning gossip drifted up from the town. Some tiles had been blown off a church roof. Bathing huts had been smashed and were drifting out to sea. An old woman had been blown across a street.

At one o’clock Mr. Cob called a committee: the tent-master, Maxim, the eldest Kenet, and Gus. Was there too much wind? Should they play for safety and pull down the big top?

It was the end of the season. Tents the size used in a circus cost a great deal of money. On the whole everyone was in favor of packing up, but Mr. Cob was worried. He did not mind about the booked seats. That was easily taken care of. He could give people their money back. He was thinking of the children who had been looking forward to seeing the circus for weeks, and the poorer of the grown-up people who had perhaps been saving to come.

“Tell you what,” he said, “we’ll risk it. We’ll play the matinee and see if we can stand up. Then we try the first show. Then, all being well, we’ll try the last show. My old father used to say. ‘A showman’s duty is to his public.’ Well, pulling down the big top may be safe, but it’s not my duty to my public. Put out watchers. If the big top tears the orchestra plays the people out and we pack up.”

The wind did not diminish. It seemed extraordinary, hearing it howl by, to think that a great tent could stand. But stand it did all through the matinee. The house was packed. “Oohs” and “Ahs” and the roars of laughter carne from the audience. Only the people of the circus knew that round the tent in a circle stood watchers staring at the roof. Would the big top beat its worst enemy-wind?

The first evening show was over safely. The people were battering their way through the gale to the last show.

“Thought maybe it would be too windy for you to keep up,” one man said to Mr. Cob, as he hurried his wife and six excited children into their seats.

Mr. Cob smiled as if he had not a care in the w rid and was not a ring-master with one eye glued to the

“It is a bit windy, sir,” he agreed cheerfully, “but unless it gets worse we hope to get through the show.”

Peter and Santa were too nervous to stay in any one place. So were the artistes and staff. Usually on a last night there are many extra gags and funny make-ups and people congregating in the artistes’ entrance to say just one extra “Good-by.” So it would have been with Cob’s Circus that night. Plenty of jokes had been planned. There were a lot of sad good-bys to say. So many of the artistes were off to other parts of the world. These performers might never see each other again, or they might meet in Buenos Aires or San Francisco; it was a matter of luck. But tonight, with the wind howling and tearing at the canvas, nobody had time for jokes or good-byes. It was “Hurry, hurry! Shall we get through before the wind blows us down?” Peter and Santa watched part of the show from the entrance and the rest of the time stood with the watchers outside. In a way it was less frightening outside. There you were just banged about with the gale. You could only stare through the night at the roof of the big top. If a ray of light came through the canvas ripped, then there must be the quickest pull-down on record. No ripped canvas could live many minutes; once the wind found a way to get in, it would tear it to pieces.

All the children were running round. The Petoffs and the Schmidts would see each other that summer but Fifi was not coming back, nor were Peter and Santa. They made wild plans to meet. Fifi said she would come to England for August and stay with her family. Peter and Santa said they would persuade Gus to let them come for the summer holidays. If that happened they would all be together again next year. But even as they made the plan they knew it would not happen. The six months when they had done everything together were finished. It was no good planning to repeat them.

The interval was over. Peter caught hold of Santa’s arm.

“Come and see the Liberties.”

Glittering and jingling, the horses came into the ring. Maxim, looking as cool as usual, gave his orders. He had to raise his voice a little. The side curtains flapped and banged. The tent-props creaked. The wind screamed among guy-ropes. The chestnuts finished their act. In came the grays. They stood in a neat ring, all their forelegs on the fence, their faces looking out over the audience with amused tolerance. The band played
The Blue Danube.
Juniper and Ferdinand got into position. Then suddenly a man raced up to Mr. Cob. Mr. Cob nodded. He held up his hand to the orchestra. They stopped playing. The grooms ran m and led out the horses. Mr. Cob took off his top-hat. He stood in the middle of the ring.

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, the wind has made a rip in the canvas of this tent. If we leave it up it will tear to pieces. I must ask you all to leave as quickly as possible. And please forgive us for disappointing you, but even a showman cannot rule the weather. Thank you.”

Some of the audience grumbled, but they were silenced by others who knew what wind could do to a tent. The orchestra played a cheerful tune. The commissionaires hurried the people out. “Pass along, please ” They could not say, “Pass along, please, as quickly as you can, or the tent may blow down on you” for that would have resulted in a panic.

The moment the show was stopped everybody got to work. The girls dragged at the baskets and flew round throwing the covers off the chairs. Santa, Fifi, Olga, and Fritzi helped. They had seen it done so often there was no need to tell them what to do. Peter, Hans, and Sasha helped the men get the seating down.

There was never a pull-down like it. Crash! Bang! Hammer! “Pass along, please!” Those who had eyes to spare to look could see the rip in the tent now. It was a piece of material torn dean away. It flapped like a banner.

The people were out now, the chair covers packed, part of the seating down, the lorries backed up waiting for their loads. The wagons with the big lamps came and stood by in case the tent should go and the inside wiring snap. Gus and Ted Kenet worked like beavers packing their stuff. The Frasconi father and his sons almost tore their trampoline in pieces to get it apart.

They were getting the tent-poles out now. Men outside were dragging up the staples. All the ordinary routine of the circus was gone. The quickest way was the best way tonight. Then suddenly Mr. Cob was back in the ring. He had a megaphone.