The Brown Fox Mystery (24 page)

“Ah, heebie, hebby, hobby, holey, go-long!”

They chanted in unison as they made the long stakes crawl into the earth.

Even before the kitchen was entirely erected, fresh meat, bread, vegetables—all kinds of provisions—began to arrive, things that had been ordered weeks before to be delivered the minute the kitchen tent went up.

Under the tent the butcher began to cut up carcasses of beef, mutton, and pork into chops and steaks and gaily tossed them to the cooks, who already had coal fires going in their ranges. Waiters in white aprons were scurrying around the restaurant tent as the roustabouts drove in the stakes with their eternal chant, rattling dishes and tableware as breakfast came into being.

Djuna’s head was spinning as he watched other gangs spreading the canvas for the big top, the menagerie, the side shows, and watched the “razorbacks” unload the cages and the “animal men” take over with the animals. He saw the horse tents and blacksmith shop being raised and the small “juice joints” or lemonade stands erected near the big top. He saw the “stringer” and “jack” and “plank” wagons carrying the various portions of the seating arrangements into position, and he saw a swarm of Riverton boys who were working for free passes to the circus carry them into place under the big top. He heard the leather lungs of the boss canvasman and his assistant bellowing their orders; heard the head menagerie men down by the flatcars unloading the elephants or “bulls,” the horses or “ring stock,” and the smaller, hay-eating animals of the menageries, known as the “led stock.”

It was while Djuna and Tommy were watching everything they could watch, and listening as well as they could to Socker’s explaining of what was going on, that a tall heavy-set young man with sandy hair and blue eyes came along and shouted at Socker.

“Glad to see you’re back with us, Socker,” he said as he came toward them. His face was rather pale and sallow but no one would have noticed that because of the warm smile that wreathed it as he shook hands with Socker.

“I’m glad to be back, Sonny,” Socker said heartily. “Once the circus gets in your blood it’s hard to get away from it.”

“We’ll make a kinker out of you yet,” the big man said as he slapped Socker on the back.

“Say, Sonny,” Socker said. “I want you to know young Djuna here and Tommy Williams, and Mr. George Boots. You know Cannonball McGinnty, of course. They’re all good friends of mine and came over from Edenboro to see you unload.”

Djuna and Tommy and Mr. Boots all shook hands with the heavy-set man while Socker explained, “Sonny—Sonny Grant—owns the circus. He only took it over a short time ago, so he has a lot to learn.”

“And how!” said Sonny Grant and he shook his head dolefully. “Just make yourselves at home, boys, and you, too, Mr. Boots. If there is anything I can do for you, just look me up. Any friend of Socker’s is a friend of mine.”

“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Grant,” Mr. Boots said, and added, “I used to know your father.” Then he turned to Socker and said, “Do you s’pose you could keep an eye on these boys today, Socker, and see that they get back to Edenboro this evenin’? I got a heap of work to do, but I was willin’ to let it go so the boys could see the circus. I’d appreciate it if you’d look out for them so I can git home an’ git at it.”

“I would consider it an honor and privilege,” Socker said. “But don’t count on my bringing them back this evening. Tell Miss Annie and Tommy’s mother that they’re with me, and if they’re not tired of the circus by tonight I’ll keep ’em over here with me at my hotel and see that they get home all right in due time. Okay?”

“That’s all right with me,” Mr. Boots said, and he turned to Djuna and Tommy and warned, “Now, do what Mr. Furlong tells you to and don’t get in any trouble!”

When he said “trouble” he looked at Djuna so long that Djuna finally dropped his gaze and looked at the toe of his shoe as he scuffed it in the dust.

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Boots,” Socker said. “They won’t get in any trouble. We’ll see you in a day or two.”

“Oh, I know they won’t. Good-by,” Mr. Boots said and hurried away to get his truck.

“Now, Sonny, my boy,” Socker said as he turned around and addressed the owner of the circus, “I want you to haul out a couple of those general admission passes you have in your pocket and give each of these young lads a pass that will take them into
everything
on the lot.”

“You,” Sonny Grant said to Socker as he reached in his pocket, “would steal the pennies off a dead man’s eyes.” But he grinned at Socker as he said it, and at Djuna and Tommy as he handed them each a general admission pass.

“Jeepers, this’ll take us into the side shows ’n’ everything, Mr. Grant?” Tommy asked.

“Into everything,” Sonny Grant said with a nice smile. “It’ll even get you a meal in the chow tent.”

“Jiminy crimps!” was all Djuna could say as he stared at the pass in his hand.

“Well, Socker, I’ll be seeing you around,” Sonny Grant said. “If there is anything you want, let me know.”

“I’ll let you know, Sonny. Thanks,” Socker said as Mr. Grant walked away.

“Say, he’s an awful nice man, isn’t he?” Djuna finally managed to say as he still stared at the pass.

“Yeah,” Socker said thoughtfully as he in turn stared at Djuna. “He’s an awful nice guy.”

When Djuna looked up and saw Socker staring at him with a rather faraway look in his eyes he frowned and said, “Jeepers, Socker! What’s the matter?”

After a moment Socker lifted his gaze and looked at Cannonball McGinnty, and at the same time hooked his thumb so that it was pointing at Djuna.

Cannonball narrowed his eyes for a moment and then a grin twisted his lips as he said, “He can probably do more about it than we can.”

“Jeepers,
what’s the matter
, Mr. Furlong?” Djuna asked.

“Socker to you, big boy,” Socker said and scowled sternly.

“‘Scuse me—Socker!” said Djuna.

“Can your pal, Tommy, keep a secret?” Socker wanted to know.

“keep a secret!”
Tommy said in a high-pitched voice after a moment of astonishment. “Tell him, Djuna, how good I can keep a secret!”

“Tommy won’t tell a soul,” Djuna said solemnly.

“Okay,” Socker said. “I’m going to let you both in on why we’re here. You have pretty sharp eyes, Djuna, and maybe you can help us. BUT—
and remember this
—if you come across anything,
don’t try to handle it yourself!
Come to us. Now, will you remember that?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Djuna said.

“Well.” Socker looked all around to be sure that there was no one near them who could hear him talking, before he went on. “This outfit is cluttered up with grifters. That’s —”

“What’s a grifter, Mr. Furlong?” Tommy asked.

“Socker to you, too, young fellah,” Socker growled. “’Scuse me, Socker.”

“A grifter,” Socker said quietly, “is a crook. In the old days, a long time ago, the circus owners and the police used to give the grifters protection. They used to travel right along with the circuses. There used to be pickpockets, three-card monte dealers, short-change men, shell-game men and regular highwaymen and burglars. In those days it was customary for the local paper to broadcast a warning to the people of their town the day before the circus arrived. ‘Beware of pickpockets; lock your houses,’ it would tell its readers. But the next day when the circus arrived in town and people were crowded around the ticket window to buy tickets one of the pickpockets would climb on a box and say: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the management wishes to inform you that pickpockets have been following this show. We have done everything in our power to keep them away and protect you from them. But you can’t tell but that some of them may be around. We would hate to see you lose your money, and our advice to you is to guard your pocketbooks.’”

“The
pickpocket
would say that?” Djuna asked.

“That’s what he’d say,” said Socker. “And do you know what all those people crowded around the ticket window would do?”

Tommy and Djuna both shook their heads.

“They’d all reach for their pockets to see if their pocketbooks were safe,” Socker explained. “The pickpockets would be watching to see just where they kept their pocketbooks. It became a simple operation then. If a pickpocket couldn’t lift a half-dozen pocketbooks from the end of the ticket line to the ticket window he was considered an amateur.”

“Chattering chimps!”
Tommy Williams said; and he reached for his hip pocket to see if
his
wallet was safe!

“Old man Canavan, my boss on the
Morning Bugle
,” Socker continued, “got wind of it and sent me up to Bramford, when the circus was playing there, to check on the information he had. I stayed with the circus for over a week—that’s how I got acquainted with Sonny Grant—and I heard plenty of complaints. And I picked up some nice human-interest stories for Mr. Canavan. There wouldn’t be any story for my paper if there were just a couple of pickpockets operating, because that happens all the time, in spite of the best police protection. But this looks as though it might be a regular gang of grifters, practicing up to hit in really a big way when they strike a big city. They could make a tremendous haul because people don’t expect circuses to be dishonest any more.”

“Do—do you think Mr. Grant has anything to do with it, Socker?” Djuna asked.

“Oh, no,” Socker said quickly. “I thought at first that he might have something to do with it, because the organization of grifters seemed to have attached themselves to the circus shortly after he took over, after his father died. But we watched him pretty carefully for a couple of days and decided he was clean, eh, Cannonball?”

Cannonball McGinnty nodded his head and then shrugged his huge shoulders. “They’re a slick bunch of grifters. There are plenty of complaints, but we can’t pin the jobs on anyone. You boys just keep your eyes open and if you see any of them working just catalogue them in your mind so that you’ll remember them, and then come and find us.”

“Do you get the idea, boys?” Socker asked.

“Oh, sure!” they said in unison and nodded their heads eagerly as they glanced at each other.

“This,” they both thought, “is a hundred times as exciting as we thought it was going to be!”

“BUT
remember!”
Socker said and he fixed Djuna with a very stern look. “Don’t try to take things into your own hands.
Come to us!
“

“Oh yes. Sure,” Djuna said. “I—” he stopped speaking as Socker shouted at a thin, wiry man who was walking across the circus lot with a baseball cap on his head.

“Hey, Spitfire!” Socker shouted and waved his hand.

The man looked up and a smile flitted across his face for a moment and as quickly disappeared. He changed his course and came toward them.

“Hi-yah, Socker,” he said. “Hi, Cannonball! Haven’t you guys had enough of this outfit?”

“Couldn’t get enough, kid,” Socker said as he wrung the hand of the man he had called Spitfire. “Hey,” he went on, “I have a couple of friends here I want you to meet. Djuna, Tommy—this is Spitfire Peters, the best flyer who ever cracked a shoulder blade.”

A rather pensive smile appeared on Spitfire Peters’s face for an instant as he shook hands with each of the boys, and they in turn looked puzzled as they shook hands with him.

“Spitfire?” Djuna said. “Do you fly an airplane in the circus—a Spitfire?”

“Oh, no,” Spitfire said and this time he laughed. “Spitfire is a name your friend, Socker here, gave me. Everyone else calls me just plain Bill.”

“He doesn’t fly airplanes, Djuna,” Socker explained with a laugh. “He’s an aerialist, a flying-trapeze artist, and probably the best one in the business.”

“You—you per-perform on those fly-flying trap-trapezes away up in the top of the te-tent?” Tommy stuttered as he gazed at Spitfire Peters with round eyes filled with awe.

“There’s nothing to it, Tommy,” Spitfire said, and he snapped his fingers nonchalantly to show how easy it was. “After you’ve practiced enough it’s just as easy as going to bed.”

“Hear that, Cannonball?” Socker said with a grin. “Why don’t you become a flyer with the circus and make yourself some real dough?” Before Cannonball could reply Socker pulled his hat around again and barked, “La-ay-dies an’ gen-n-n’umen! On the pedestal board, f-a-a-ar above your heads, is Cannonball McGinnty, that intrepid, dauntless daredevil who is a-a-about to swing off on the fly-y-y-ing trapeze and turn a double somersault, defying a-a-all the laws of na-a-ature in his daring flight through space!”

When everybody had stopped laughing, including Cannonball McGinnty, Spitfire Peters said, “I’m afraid Cannonball would be a little heavy for a catcher to handle.”

“A catcher?” Djuna said. “What’s a catcher, Mr. Peters?”

“A catcher?” Spitfire repeated. “Why, a catcher catches the flyers after they— But say, why don’t you boys come on down to the big top with me? I’ve called a rehearsal of my troupe this morning, as soon as they set up the rigging.” He looked at Socker and said, “Ned Barrow, my catcher, missed Trixie Cella last night when she was doing a double. She went into the net and hit a ridge rope. She might have torn her shoulder off. And he missed me twice, on a triple. I don’t know what’s the matter with him. I’m going to try to find out this morning. You boys want to come along and watch?”

“Jeepers! Is that all right, Mr. Furlong?” Djuna asked.

“You’ll be through in time for them to see the parade?” Socker asked.

“Sure,” Spitfire said and he looked dejected. “Don’t I have to do my stuff in the doggone thing?”

“Don’t you like to be in the parade, Mr. Spitfire?” Tommy asked in astonishment.

“No, and I don’t like to march in the grand spec either,” he replied. “I—”

“What’s the grand spec, Mr. Spitfire?” Tommy interrupted again.

“That’s the grand spectacle parade in each performance,” Spitfire said bitterly. “We have to wear strange costumes that make us look like monkeys when we march around the hippodrome track. But come on. Are you coming along, Socker?”

“No. Keep an eye on ’em, Spitfire,” Socker said. “I’ll pick ’em up in the big top in a little bit.”