Arrangements were accordingly made to transfer the behemoth to another cage; and while the roustabouts were still something of a hindrance to the youthful superintendent, matters progressed smoothly until Sport appeared on the scene, fawning humbly and wagging his tail with obsequious joy at the sight of his master.
Sube had placed the dog in solitary confinement before leaving home for the express purpose of preventing his attendance at the circus, and he was greatly annoyed at this display of presumption. He intimated as much in a gruff undertone followed by the vicious throwing of several imaginary rocks. Sport retired with a deeply injured air, and was soon lost to sight in the crowd.
But just as the huge hulk of the blood-sweating behemoth was passing from one cage to the other the faithful animal came back and made a heroic effort to save his master's life by attempting to attack the hideous beast through the bars of the temporary fence by which it was confined.
The unexpectedness of the onslaught caused the behemoth to shy so violently from its assailant that it knocked down the fence on the farther side of the lane through which it was being urged, and suddenly found itself free and unfettered. Meanwhile Sport was pressing his attack with great vocal enthusiasm, and was showing signs of closing in on his quarry. He abandoned this idea, however, when the behemoth turned and made a counter-charge. It was then that a parade not on the program took place.
It was led by Sport, at a pace totally at variance with the ordinary formal circus-wagon parade, for Sport was capable of much more speed than his years and his rheumatism would have induced one to believe. In fact, the only thing that prevented him from making a world's record was his tail, which kept getting tangled up with his front legs.
A short distance behind Sport came the behemoth, lumbering, careening and snorting, but making very rapid progress. Then after a long blank space came Sube the Showman, on a bicycle he had commandeered for the occasion, pressed to the utmost to maintain the pace set by the leaders. Not far behind Sube came a motley crowd of blasphemous circus-hands and howling urchins. The rear guard was made up of the more mature onlookers whose curiosity was mightier than their caution.
The parade proceeded by the most direct route to Canes' barn, the First Section arriving only a few feet in advance of the Second. Nor did the First Section tarry long in the barn; but hurled itself through a small hole in the rear wall that led into its kennel—and there it fell exhausted. The Second Section brought up with a loud snort in an abandoned horse stall, and stood puffing and wheezing and wondering what to do next, when the Third Section arrived and by almost superhuman efforts managed to close the big barn-door all but a few inches.
The Third Section was peering so intently through the crack of the door in an effort to see whether the Second Section was sweating blood exackly as advertised, that it failed to note the coming of a rubber-tired runabout drawn by a team of milk-white Arabians, until the red-faced individual in charge of the conveyance exploded:
"Well—I'll—be—blowed!"
Sube quickly turned around, and recognizing at a glance that the man belonged with the circus, cried exultantly: