TOBY TYLER;
OR, TEN WEEKS WITH A CIRCUS.
BY JAMES OTIS.
Chapter IV.
THE FIRST DAY WITH THE CIRCUS.
When Toby awakened and looked around he could hardly realize where he was, or how he came there. As far ahead and behind on the road as he could see, the carts were drawn up on one side; men were hurrying to and fro, orders were being shouted, and everything showed that the entrance to the town was about to be made. Directly opposite the wagon on which he had been sleeping were the four elephants and two camels, and close behind, contentedly munching their breakfasts, were a number of tiny ponies. Troops of horses were being groomed and attended to; the road was littered with saddles, flags, and general decorations, until it seemed to Toby that there must have been a smash-up, and he now beheld ruins rather than systematic disorder.
How different everything looked now, compared to the time when the cavalcade marched into Guilford, dazzling every one with the gorgeous display! Then the horses pranced gayly under their gaudy decorations, the wagons were bright with glass, gilt, and flags, the lumbering elephants and awkward camels were covered with fancifully embroidered velvets, and even the drivers of the wagons were resplendent in their uniforms of scarlet and gold. Now, in the gray light of the early morning, everything was changed. The horses were tired, muddy, and had on only dirty harness; the gilded chariots were covered with mud-bespattered canvas, which caused them to look like the most ordinary of market wagons; the elephants and camels looked dingy, dirty, almost repulsive, and the drivers were only a sleepy-looking set of men, who, in their shirt sleeves, were getting ready for the change which would dazzle the eyes of the inhabitants of the town.
Toby descended from his lofty bed, rubbed his eyes to thoroughly awaken himself, and under the guidance of Ben went to a little brook near by and washed his face. He had been with the circus not quite ten hours, but now he could not realize that it had ever seemed bright and beautiful. He missed his comfortable bed, the quiet and cleanliness, and the well-spread table; even though he had felt the lack of parents' care, Uncle Daniel's home seemed the very abode of love and friendly feeling compared to this condition, where no one appeared to care even enough for him to scold at him. He was thoroughly homesick, and heartily wished that he was back in the old town where every one had some slight interest in him.
While he was washing his face in the brook he saw some of the boys who had come out from the town to catch the first glimpse of the circus, and he saw at once that he was the object of their admiring gaze. He heard one of the boys say, when they first discovered him,
"There's one of them, an' he's only a little feller; so I'm going to talk to him."
The evident admiration which the boys had for Toby pleased him, and this pleasure was the only drop of comfort he had had since he started. He hoped they would come and talk with him, and, that they might have the opportunity, he was purposely slow in making his toilet.
The boys approached him shyly, as if they had their doubts whether he was made of the same material as themselves, and when they got quite near to him, and satisfied themselves that he was only washing his face in much the same way that any well-regulated boy would do, the one who had called attention to him said, half timidly, "Hello!"
"Hello!" responded Toby, in a tone that was meant to invite confidence.
"Do you belong to the circus?"
"Yes," said Toby, a little doubtfully.
Then the boys stared at him again as if he had been one of the strange-looking animals, and the one who had been the spokesman drew a long breath of envy as he said, longingly, "My! what a nice time you must have!"
Toby remembered that only yesterday he had thought that boys must have a nice time with a circus, and he now felt what a mistake that thought was; but he concluded that he would not undeceive his new acquaintance.
"And do they give you frogs to eat, so's to make you limber?"
This was the first time that Toby had thought of breakfast, and the very mention of eating made him hungry. He was just at that moment so very hungry that he did not think he was replying to the question when he said, quickly, "Eat frogs! I could eat anything, if I only had the chance."
The boys took this as an answer to their question, and felt perfectly convinced that the agility of circus riders and tumblers depended upon the quantity of frogs eaten, and they looked upon Toby with no little degree of awe.
Toby might have undeceived them as to the kind of food he ate, but just at that moment the harsh voice of Mr. Job Lord was heard calling him, and he hurried away to commence his first day's work.
Toby's employer was not the same pleasant, kindly-spoken man that he had been during the time they were in Guilford, and before the boy was absolutely under his control. He looked cross, he acted cross, and it did not take the boy very long to find out that he was very cross.
He scolded Toby roundly, and launched more oaths at his defenseless head than Toby had ever heard in his life. He was angry that the boy had not been on hand to help him, and also that he had been obliged to hunt for him.
Toby tried to explain that he had no idea of what he was expected to do, and that he had been on the wagon to which he had been sent, only leaving it to wash his face; but the angry man grew more furious.
"Went to wash your face, did yer? Want to set yourself up for a dandy, I suppose, and think that you must souse that speckled face of yours into every brook you come to? I'll soon break you of that; and the sooner you understand that I can't afford to have you wasting your time in washing, the better it will be for you."
Toby now grew angry, and not realizing how wholly he was in this man's power, he retorted: "If you think I'm going round with a dirty face, even if it is speckled, for a dollar a week, you're mistaken, that's all. How many folks would eat your candy if they knew you handled it over before you washed your hands?"
"Oho! I've picked up a preacher, have I? Now I want you to understand, my bantam, that I do all the preaching as well as the practicing myself, and this is about as quick a way as I know of to make you understand it."
As the man spoke he grasped the boy by the coat collar with one hand, and with the other he plied a thin rubber cane with no gentle force to every portion of Toby's body that he could reach.
Every blow caused the poor boy the most intense pain, but he determined that his tormentor should not have the satisfaction of forcing an outcry from him, and he closed his teeth so tightly that not a single sound could escape from his mouth.
This very silence enraged the man so much that he redoubled the force and rapidity of his blows, and it is impossible to say what might have been the consequences had not Ben come that way just then, and changed the aspect of affairs.
"Up to your old tricks of whipping the boys, are you, Job?" he said, as he wrested the cane from the man's hand, and held him off at arm's-length to prevent him from doing Toby any more mischief.
Mr. Lord struggled to release himself, and insisted that since the boy was in his employ, he should do with him just as he saw fit.
"Now look here, Mr. Lord," said Ben, as gravely as if he was delivering some profound piece of wisdom: "I've never interfered with you before; but now I'm going to stop your games of thrashing your boy every morning before breakfast. You just tell this youngster what you want him to do, and if he don't do it, you can discharge him. If I hear of your flogging him, I shall attend to your case at once. You hear me?"
Ben shook the now terrified candy vender much as if he had been a child, and then released him, saying to Toby as he did so, "Now, my boy, you attend to your business as you ought to, and I'll settle his account if he tries the flogging game again."
"You see, I don't know what there is for me to do," sobbed Toby, for the kindly interference of Ben had made him show more feeling than Mr. Lord's blows had done.
"Tell him what he must do," said Ben, sternly.
"I want him to go to work and wash the tumblers, and fix up the things in that green box, so we can commence to sell as soon as we get into town," snarled Mr. Lord, as he motioned toward a large green chest that had been taken out of one of the carts, and which Toby saw was filled with dirty glasses, spoons, knives, and other utensils such as were necessary to carry on the business.
Toby got a pail of water from the brook, hunted around, and found towels and soap, and devoted himself to his work with such industry that Mr. Lord could not repress a grunt of satisfaction as he passed him, however angry he felt because he could not administer the whipping which would have smoothed his ruffled temper.
By the time the procession was ready to start for the town, Toby had as much of his work done as he could find that it was necessary to do, and his master, in his surly way, half acknowledged that this last boy of his was better than any he had had before.
Although Toby had done his work so well, he was far from feeling happy; he was both angry and sad as he thought of the cruel blows that had been inflicted, and he had plenty of leisure to repent of the rash step he had taken, although he could not see very clearly how he was to get away from it. He thought that he could not go back to Guilford, for Uncle Daniel would not allow him to come to his house again; and the hot scalding tears ran down his cheeks as he realized that he was homeless and friendless in this great big world.
It was while he was in this frame of mind that the procession, all gaudy with flags, streamers, and banners, entered the town. Under different circumstances this would have been a most delightful day for him, for the entrance of a circus into Guilford had always been a source of one day's solid enjoyment; but now he was the most disconsolate and unhappy boy in all that crowd.
He did not ride throughout the entire route of the procession, for Mr. Lord was anxious to begin business, and the moment the tenting ground was reached, the wagon containing Mr. Lord's goods was driven into the inclosure, and Toby's day's work began.
He was obliged to bring water, to cut up the lemons, fetch and carry fruit from the booth in the big tent to the booth on the outside, until he was ready to drop with fatigue, and having had no time for breakfast, was nearly famished.
It was quite noon before he was permitted to go to the hotel for something to eat, and then Ben's advice to be one of the first to get to the tables was not needed.
In the eating line that day he astonished the servants, the members of the company, and even himself, and by the time he arose from the table, with both pockets and his stomach full to bursting, the tables had been set and cleared away twice while he was making one meal.
"Well, I guess you didn't hurry yourself much," said Mr. Lord, when Toby returned to the circus ground.
"Oh yes, I did," was Toby's innocent reply. "I ate just as fast as I could;" and a satisfied smile stole over the boy's face as he thought of the amount of solid food he had consumed.
The answer was not one which was calculated to make Mr. Lord feel any more agreeably disposed toward his new clerk, and he showed his ill-temper very plainly as he said, "It must take a good deal to satisfy you."
"I s'pose it does," calmly replied Toby. "Sam Merrill used to say that I took after Aunt Olive and Uncle Dan'l: one ate a good while, an' the other ate awful fast."
Toby could not understand what it was that Mr. Lord said in reply, but he could understand that his employer was angry at somebody or something, and he tried unusually hard to please him. He talked to the boys who had gathered around, to induce them to buy, washed the glasses as fast as they were used, tried to keep off the flies, and in every way he could think of endeavored to please his master.
[to be continued.]
[THE YOUNG ESQUIMAUX.]
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
"It's no use, Fred."
"Why not, Rory? We could do it. I just know we could."
"You and I wouldn't be enough. Besides, we haven't the things, and we can't get 'em."
"No white bears, do you mean?"
"Yes, and no canoes, and spears, and bows and arrows. And look at the way they're dressed. It's no use playing Esquimaux, and not have anything to do it with."
"Now," said Fred, with another long look at the picture in the book, "you're going for too much. We can get all the boys."
"Guess we can, now they daren't start another snow-ball match."
"Think of all the snow, Rory. It's just thawed enough to pack. We can go back of the orchard and make a snow house as big as that."
Fred had spent his whole evening, the night before, over that book of Arctic Voyages, and he had brought it to bear on Rory the first thing after breakfast.
"I'll read it when we get home," said Rory; "but I'd better go around after some boys now."
"And I'll go and pick out a good place, and start the house."
The snow was deep enough anywhere that winter, but it was not a very cold day, and every drift and level was in prime condition for snow-balling. The difficulty was that too much of that kind of fun had been going on all the week, and so the grand "match" set for that Saturday had been forbidden by the Academy Trustees.
"They'd about half kill themselves if we'd let 'em," had been the solemn comment of old Squire Garrison, and nobody dreamed of disputing his decision, for he was President of the Board, and the wisest man in the village.
Rory was not gone long, and when he returned, and went through the yard and garden into the orchard, half a dozen boys were following him.
Fred had been at work. He had carried out the big wooden snow-shovel and the grain-scoop shovel and the spade, but the first question Bob Sanders asked was:
"Boards? What are they for? You don't want any boards in a snow house."
"And the Esquimaux don't have any," said Rory.
Fred had put down four of them flat on the snow, and was now shovelling a heap of snow upon them from the spot he had chosen for the house.
"Boards?" he said. "Why, boys, that's our brick-yard."
"Brick-yard? Snow bricks? What's the saw for? You can't cut snow with a saw."
"I'll show you. Just you fellows pile on snow, and bang it down hard with a spade. We're going to do just what the Esquimaux do."
"I've brought my own shovel," said Bill Evans, "and so has Barney Herriman."
"We want this foundation trodden hard and level first. It's pretty near ready. Now I'll mark it out."
There were other boys in that crowd who could beat Fred at some things, even at base-ball and swimming, and he had not taken a single prize at the end of the school term; but when it came to "making" anything, he could step right ahead, and they all knew it.
It was just as Barney Herriman said: "Come on, boys. Fred Park is boss of this job."
He was bossing it, as a matter of course, and it looked as if he knew pretty well what he was about.
He stuck a peg in the snow for a centre, and around that, with a string five feet long and another peg, he marked a circle that was just ten feet across.
"Now, boys, there's eight of us, and we can build the biggest snow house you ever saw. The snow packs splendidly. We'll make our bricks a foot wide and a foot high and a foot and a half long."
How they did pile the soft snow upon those boards, now they understood what they were meant for!
Bang! stamp! bang! down went the sticky heap, until Fred said he guessed it would cut.
"Keep on, boys; pile it up."
They couldn't help stopping to watch him, though, while he cut out his first bricks with that saw. It went through the snow so nice and easy, and Bill Evans remarked, "Can't he handle a saw!"
He worked away, till a dozen bricks were ready, and he made them a little shorter on one side than on the other.
"What's that for?" asked Bob Sanders. But then Bob never opened his mouth without asking something; and all Fred told him was,
"So they'll fit around in a circle. The short side goes in."
"It's the way the Esquimaux do," said Rory. "He read all about it in a book last night."
"Go ahead, boys," said Fred. "It'll take just thirty of those bricks to go around. It won't take so many after that."
They pounded and shovelled, while he cut and set the bricks, and then he went all around that circle with the back of the saw, shaving it off so it sloped inward a little.
"Won't it let 'em slip off?" asked Bob.
"Guess not. Don't you see how that one sticks? It only leans in a little. You'll see. Let's pitch in. The snow's grand."
So it was—just as if it had been made for bricks; and before long Barney Herriman found he could saw them out while Fred was putting them on, so that the house went up faster.
The round wall curved in and in, but each successive tier of snow bricks held itself up, just as Fred had seen in the picture of the Esquimaux at work.
It was not long before he had to send Rory into the house for a chair to stand on.
"I've got to stay inside."
"Well," said Bob Sanders, "don't you mean to have any door? How'll you get out after your roof's on?"
"Give me the saw, and I'll fix that while Rory's gone for the chair."
It was easy enough to cut a hole two feet square down at the floor, and Fred said, "We can make a long crawl-hole entry, such as the Esquimaux use, when we've finished the house."
"The roof's the toughest part of the job," said Bill Evans.
He was mistaken in that, however, for the last rounds of bricks were fitted in just as easily as any others, only Fred made them shorter and shorter, till there was only a hole a foot square left at the middle of the roof.
"Going to plug that up, are you?" asked Bob.
"Plug it up? Don't you suppose we want a chimney?"
"Well, but what'll you do for windows?"
"Tell you what, boys, if we had some slabs of ice that weren't too thick, we just could have some windows."
"Guess we can fix that," said Bill Evans. "Squire Garrison's men sawed a couple of loads of ice out of the pond yesterday, and it didn't freeze more'n an inch last night."
He and Joe Herriman and Wash McGee set off almost on a run after some of that ice, and they were back in less than twenty minutes with enough of it to glaze one of the big windows at the Academy.
Fred shouted when he saw it: "That beats the Esquimaux! Why, it's as clear as glass. The light'll come right through."
So it did, when the ice windows were finished, and you could see to read inside the house, but you could not enjoy the scenery much through those windows.
"Won't need any blinds," said Barney Herriman, "to keep folks from looking in."
"Hullo! see what Rory's got."
"Buffalo-skins!"
"Two of 'em."
"Boys, we must put in some furniture. Snow benches—"
"And a snow stove."
"No, I guess the Esquimaux get along without a stove. But then they have piles and piles of bear-skins, and seal-skins, and reindeer-skins, and all sorts, and they eat whale blubber to keep 'em warm."
"Won't roast pork do just as well?" asked Bob Sanders.
"Well, it might, if it's the fattest kind of pork."
"'Cause that's what we're going to have for dinner at our house. I'll eat enough to keep me warm, if I stay in there all the afternoon."
"Come in, boys," said Fred. "And bring in the buffalo-skins. Let's try it."
They all crept in, one after the other, and sat down on the soft furs like so many Turks.
"They'll want these in the sleigh by-and-by," said Rory.
"Isn't this jolly, though?"
"It's warm enough without any kind of fire."
"I don't want any blubber."
"Nor any pork, either."
"Tell you what, boys, if it freezes good and hard to-night, this house'll be wonderfully strong. We'll make an entryway just such as I saw in the picture, and we'll get some old carpet, and some stools—"
"Hullo, boys! Fred! Rory! What have you done with my buffalo-robes?"
It was the voice of Dr. Park himself, outside; and then they heard the great, deep, gruff tones of Squire Garrison himself.
"I declare, Doctor, they've done it! Bricks! All of a size."
"Cost them a good deal of hard work, I should say."
"Don't tell 'em, Doctor. Don't let 'em know it was work. They'd never build another. Couldn't hire 'em to."
Fred and Rory were crawling out with the buffalo-skins, and their father said to them:
"It won't do, boys; the Esquimaux never kill any buffaloes."
"Bears, father—white bears—"
"And seals, and whales, and walruses, and—"
"Doctor," exclaimed Squire Garrison, "I'm for a look inside."
The other boys had been keeping as still as so many mice, except that they had very promptly kicked the buffalo-skins out from under them, and half of them had their hands before their mouths now to keep from laughing, as Squire Garrison knocked his tall hat off against the snow bricks, and his big gray head came poking in.
Chuckle, chuckle, from the boys, and the Squire looked up.
"I declare, Doctor! Such a lot of young bears!"
"Bears? Oh no, Squire, they're Esquimaux Indians. I heard them talking it over this morning. Can you see inside?"
"See? Why, I can stand up! It's capital. Windows, too. Is that glass?"
"No, sir, it's ice."
"Tell you what, boys, this is nice."
"We're going to stick icicles all around, and make it real pretty, by-and-by," said Fred.
"Then you come over and get my big square barn lantern, and see how that'll make it look after dark."
The Squire was a good friend of boys and fun, after all, and both he and the Doctor came out that evening to see the white walls of the Esquimaux hut, and the liberal allowance of icicles the boys had stuck up, glitter and shine and wink in the light of the great lantern.
THE NEW YEAR.
[CAPTAIN WEATHERBY'S FUR CAP.]
BY DAVID KER.
"If you're going out again to-night, my friend, I'd advise you to leave this new fur cap of yours at home, and take your sea cap instead."
So spoke a hospitable Russian merchant to his guest, Captain Cyrus Weatherby, skipper and part owner of the good ship Seabird, of Boston. The Captain had reached St. Petersburg late enough in the fall for it to be already pretty cold at night, and his first exploit on landing was to buy a magnificent fur cap, which, as he said, would "astonish his folks at the Hub some" when he got back.
"What should I leave it at home for?" asked the skipper. "I s'pose I ain't going to be arrested as a Nihilist 'cause I've got a new cap on?"
"No; but if you go out with it, you'll most likely come back without it."
"Somebody going to steal it, eh?"
"Just so, and I'll tell you how. There's a fellow going around here just now who makes a regular trade of snapping up all the good caps he can lay his hands on. He hires a hack carriage, and drives about the streets after dark at a rattling pace, the driver being, of course, a confederate of his own. Then, whenever he passes a man with a high-priced cap on—like yours, for instance—he leans forward and snatches it off,[1] while the driver puts his horse to speed, and is out of sight before there's time to cry, 'Help!'"
"Pretty smart that," growled the Massachusetts man. "I guess I must give that land-shark a wide berth. Whereabouts does he cruise, so as I may keep clear of him?"
"Well, you might meet him in any of the streets near the Isaac Cathedral, but his general place is the Bolshaya Morskaya [Great Marine] Street."
"All right."
Up to his room went Captain Weatherby, and taking out the precious cap, began to stitch on to it, with sailor-like dexterity, two huge ear-laps, each furnished with a stout ribbon. Then he tied it on, and tested the strength of the fastenings by a vigorous tug.
"Won't do," he muttered; "they mightn't break, but again they might, and then it would be all up. Guess a strap won't do any harm."
The strap being drawn round his head, and buckled firmly under his chin, the worthy sailor seemed more at his ease, and grunted, defiantly, "Now, then, let's see if a Boston boy ain't a match for any Russian that ever ate tallow!"
Out went the Captain; but his friend's warning seemed to have made very little impression upon him, for instead of avoiding the neighborhood of the Isaac Cathedral, he went straight toward it. The vast golden dome, towering over its massive pillars of polished granite, made a gallant show in the brilliant Northern moonlight; but just then the Captain had something else to think about. At the very corner of the great square he suddenly caught sight of a bare-headed man shouting lustily for the police, while a drosky (hack carriage) was just vanishing in the distance.
"Well, if that pirate hain't scuttled one craft already!" muttered our hero; "but he don't catch Cy Weatherby so easy, all the same."
Away tramped the valiant Captain along the sidewalk of the Morskaya, turning up the cuffs of his pilot-coat with a business-like air as he went. He had scarcely gone a hundred yards when his quick ear caught the roll of wheels coming toward him from the other end of the short street, which, for a wonder, was almost deserted.
"Stand to your guns, boys," chuckled the Captain; "here comes the enemy."
A drosky came dashing by, and its occupant, just as he passed, bent forward and made a snatch at the new cap. But the strap held firm; and instantly the sailor's iron hand grasped the fellow's wrist, and jerked him from his seat. The next moment he lay writhing on the sidewalk, under a shower of battering blows dealt with all the power of a fist that might have done duty for a sledge-hammer; while his worthy confederate, so far from helping him, drove off as fast as he could go.
"What's all this?" asked a gruff voice in Russian, as a tall frieze-coated figure, with the cap and badge of a city policeman, appeared at Weatherby's elbow.
The Captain was not much of a Russian scholar, but his expressive signs, and a glance at the robber's face, soon enlightened the policeman, who rubbed his big hands gleefully.
"You've done us a good turn, father, whoever you are. This is the very fellow we've been looking for, and there's a good big reward offered for him. Here comes one of my mates, and we'll just bundle the scamp off to the tchast [police office] at once."
This was soon done, and Captain Weatherby got his fair share of the reward, as well as the satisfaction of having been "too smart for a thieving Russian," which, as he assured his Boston friends on his return home, was well worth double the money.
[THE DORMOUSE.]
Sometimes when people are asked whether they ever kept tame dormice, they answer, with a shudder, "Oh dear no!" It then turns out that they have never seen one, but think, because they dislike common mice and rats, that these must also be disagreeable animals, and are quite surprised to hear that they are not really mice, but belong to the squirrel tribe. They were always great favorites with us, and we have had a long succession of them as pets ever since we were babies. What can be prettier than the fat, round little things, with their soft red-brown hair, long furry tails, white chests, and great black eyes?
Bertha tells me that the first thing she can remember doing in her whole life is running about the room, tossing her pinafore up and down, to the great delight, as she supposed, of a dormouse that was in it, and then suddenly seeing him clambering up the table-cloth at the other side of the room.
The first dormouse that I can remember was one called Mouffette. He also belonged to Bertha. He was so tame that she used to put him in a doll's cart, with a tiny whip in one hand and the reins in the other, and draw it round the garden; and she often walked about out-of-doors with the little thing on her shoulder. Another was very fond of cream, though it was said to be bad for his health, and was sometimes allowed to drink it out of a tiny ivory cup that he held in his hand.
At one time, when both my sisters had a dormouse, my father said that whichever of them learned first to work a shirt front very nicely should have a beautiful new cage for her pet. Unfortunately, Emily's "Bear" had, two days before, got loose, and ran up the bedroom chimney, and since then nothing had been seen or heard of him; so she was very unhappy, thinking that if she did get a new cage, there would be no dormouse to put in it. However, that evening, as they were going to bed, they heard a little noise in the chimney, and presently down walked Master Bear into his cage, which had been placed on the hob, and began to eat nuts.