Circus Shoes (25 page)

“Everybody outside. There are forty rips in the top. We must drop the canvas.”

It was not a minute too soon. All the wooden tent props that were left standing were snapping like was matches. The wind was tearing through the roof, the whole great tent swaying like a ship in a bad sea.

Everybody ran, the men carrying what they could. The tent-master gave his order. There was no measured lowering of the canvas tonight. Down it came with a rush.

It lay in the ground, a great white patch in the darkness. They turned the lights on it. Then they saw the damage. In falling the tent was pierced and torn in dozens of places by what remained of the seating and structure. As for what the wind had done, it was heart-breaking. There was no strip of the tent left that was worth saving. What they were looking at was a pile of useless fragments of canvas. What had had been worth about five thousand dollars would not sell for five cents.

Mr. Cob’s face showed up in the light as he peered at the damage. They were fond of him. There was no one there who would not have liked to say he was sorry, and one there would dare to do it. There was good luck and bad luck and you took it as it came. Mr. Cob was not a man who like pity.

“Get on, boys, and clear up what you can.” He turned to the tent-master. “Everyone’s done fine. Thank ‘em for me.”

Peter and Santa had run with the rest. It was difficult to know were to run to. Everything was being packed outside. The lorries were standing close in. They found themselves pressed against the side of the stables. They just waited to see the top fall. Then they climbed though a flap and went in.

The horses were being ridden off to the station. Ben was supervising in the other half of the tent. Owing to the to the show being stopped his system had broken down. The bereiters were not back from the station yet to fetch the Liberties. He was getting the grays away, but the chestnuts were still waiting.

Peter and Santa stood looking sadly at the bareness: at the place where the lions had stood; at the stalls that had held President, Rajah, Emperor King, Rainbow, Whisky, Forrest, Magician, Pie-crust, Wisher, Allah, Jupiter, Ferdinand, Biscuit, Halfpenny, Robin, Pennybun, and Masterman. Bens voice came drifting with the wind.

“Don’t hustle ‘em. But if you pass the other boys on the road send ‘em back as quickly as you can. That’s right, Alexsis ride Carter. He’ll be easier when you’re leadin’ so many than Mike.”

It was difficult to hear even at that short distance because the wind was driving down to Ben. It was difficult to stand up. With the big top down the gale was raging through the stables. Something came with it that for a moment Peter and Santa did not see. Somebody had thrown down a lighted cigarette. It blew in at the door glowing red. It buried itself in the straw in Soda’s stall.

With a draught like that it did not take a second for the straw to catch. Nor a second for Peter and Santa to see what was happening. Nor a second for Soda to lose his bead. He reared and kicked. Peter could not be afraid of a horse even when he was panicking. He raced into the stall and untied Sod a. Santa screamed for help, but her scream was part of the screaming of the wind. Ben outside, seeing off the rosin-backs, never heard it. It was no easy job leading out Soda. The flames were getting a hold on the straw. He did not want to go past them, but Peter saw how quickly the flames could blow into Rice’s stall, and so up the line. It was no time to wait for help. Using every ounce of strength and every soothing noise he knew he dragged Soda out.

“Hold him,” he said to Santa, “then lead him into the other half of the tent. Tell Ben what’s happened.” He pulled off his coat.

“What are you doing?” Santa gasped.

“Putting out the fire, of course.”

All the straw in the stall was now flaming or smoking. Santa could see that one boy could not deal with it all. Scared though she was of horses she dragged Soda over to President’s stall. She tied him up. As she turned back she saw Peter throw his coat on the blazing straw and roll on it. In a second she had hers off and was doing the same.

Ben came into the other half of the tent with two of the grooms. They stood sniffing. Then they all ran.

There was no need for the hurry. Peter had seen that the danger lay in the straw of the other horses catching, for that was the way the wind was going. It was the straw nearest Rice he put out first. When Santa joined him she rolled on the rest. When Ben and the grooms arrived the fire was out. Peter and Santa, holding their charred overcoats, were stamping on anything that smoked.

Quickly they told Ben what had happened.

“You burnt?” he asked. Peter had a small blister on his thumb. “Back you go to the caravan,” he said. “Shove on some tea-leaves. That’ll keep out the air.” He went over to soothe Soda. He gave him a pat. “You’re lucky, old man. If there were always people about who could keep their heads, we’d do fine.”

There was almost a party in Gus’s caravan that night. Ted Kenet came along, and Ben and presently Maxim and Alexsis, the Moulins and the Schmidts. Santa was kept busy. She made bacon and eggs for them all. Everyone said she was a good cook. Then suddenly there was a knock on the door.

“Marrow-bones and gravy, who’s that?” said Gus. “I thought the rest had dossed down.”

Ted Kenet, who was nearest, opened the door. It was Mr. Cob.

“I smelt bacon and eggs,” he said. “May I come in?”

At once a place was found for him. Santa looked round from the stove.

“How many eggs, Mr. Cob?”

“Three, Santa.” He looked at her. Then he looked at Peter. “What are you doing with these kids, Gus? I hear they saved what might have been nasty trouble in the stables.”

Gus explained about Mrs. Ford and the technical schools later on. Mr. Cob nodded.

“That’s fine. But there’s all sorts of education, Gus. It strikes me on the showing of tonight they’ve learned a good piece traveling with us. Can’t you keep ‘em with us?”

Gus shook his head.

“I would, but there’s no future for them here. You’ve got to think of the future.”

“Who says there’s no future?” Ted sucked at a piece of candy. “I reckon that by the time she’s old enough I’ll have Santa better than any of your dancing butterflies. She’s got a natural aptitude”-he winked at Santa-“when she works.”

Ben leaned across the table, not to Mr. Cob but to Maxim.

“If I can keep this boy, Maxim, you can let your boy go. It’ll work right all round. I’ve got Peter coming on nicely. He’s born to it. Takes to it naturally. Your Alexsis is sore. You’re draggin’ at ‘is mouth. That’s liable to spoil any young thing. Peter will be fourteen by Christmas year. If you need ‘im by then, I’ll ‘ave ‘im ready.”

Mr. Cob turned to Gus.

“I’d like it, Gus. I owe the kids something. They can go to the quarters with you and go to school nearby. Then Santa can work with Ted and later practice with the girls, and Peter can keep on under Ben. It’s a big chance, really.”

“It is a big chance.” Maxim looked at Alexsis. “You wish to go with the Elgins?”

Alexsis did not need to answer, the expression on his face was answer enough.

Maxim turned to Ben. “Peter has real talent?”

Ben nodded. “I said so. I don’t make mistakes about ‘osses or riders.”

Everybody looked at Gus looked at Peter and Santa.

“Kedgeree and rum! Don’t stare at me, as I had to do anything. There’s your offer, kids. Will you take it?”

Would they? Peter looked at Santa. They saw the years ahead. Long hours working in the ring for Peter. Long hours of training for Santa. They saw summers spent tenting. The lines of caravans traveling up dusty lanes. They saw green stars pointing the way. They saw flaring posters- THE CIRCUS IS COMING.” They were so happy it hurt.

“They don’t need to answer,” said Mr. Cobb. “‘Course they’re stopping with us. They belong.”