However, “the wagon” is not mentioned in the alcoholic sense. I have yet to see the elephant that is a believer in prohibition. Which reminds me of a beer party that still is circus history, and which led to one of the queerest exhibitions of the circus business.
It happened in Venice, California, where a big show maintained its winter quarters for a season. Things had been a bit slack in the line of entertainment and the menagerie crew had decided upon a Dutch lunch, timing it so that there would be no interruption from the manager. The usual limburger and wienies were purchased, as well as the necessary Dill pickles and the case of beer. Everything was set. The luncheon was spread; the menagerie crew was about to seat itself when there came a hurried announcement from the night watchman, entering on the run:
“Nix! Ditch the eats and the brew! Here comes the Old Man!”
Frenzied activity. One concerted swoop and the food had been piled into a covered grain box, while the case of beer was hidden in the straw behind the elephant line. When the owner entered with a group of persons whom he had brought on a sight-seeing tour, the menagerie house presented only a dormant place, with men sleeping beneath the cages and the night watchman propped back in a chair. The Old Man led the way to the picket line.
“Now here are the elephants,” he began, “we—” Then he halted at the sight of one of the herd nonchalantly taking a drink from a bottle! “Night watch!” he called. “Rajah’s got a bottle—take it away from him! He’s liable to cut himself.”
But Rajah wouldn’t let go. He flapped his ears and trumpeted and squealed—but held on. Just then the owner noticed something more; the fact that the leader of the herd had raised another bottle, regarded it calmly, as a toper would test the clearness of the brew, then placing it on the ground, had pried off the cap with a big toenail and now was drinking also! There came an excited accusation to the effect that his night watchman was attempting to get the herd drunk. Only one thing was possible, a confession of the facts, and the watchman made it. For a moment the owner frowned. Then:
“You know I kick against drinking around these quarters. But—” and he grinned—“you’ve given me a hunch that’s worth it. Tell the boys to go ahead with their shindig.”
The next day an advertisement appeared. The circus paid a great share of its winter quarters’ expenses that year by charging an admission price to see the elephants drink beer!
Incidentally, it was this same winter which brought forth another unusual attraction,—that of the biggest rat-killer in the world. The animal barn was not the newest place in the world, and in the wall beside Beelgie’s position in the picket line, was a rat-hole. One day a rat came forth.
Beelgie jumped, squealed and struck with his trunk, all at the same instant, and got the rodent! The animal men saw him quiver with fright, strain at his chains, flop about as though to incite the rest of the herd to flight, fail, and then, pulling back, regard for a long moment the intruder which he had killed. At last, satisfied, he turned his attention upon the rat-hole, and watched it carefully, at last sliding down on his haunches, with his trunk tight curled, ready for the next invasion.