Jumbo could do pretty much everything except talk, but occasionally the stubbornness of his kind took possession of him. At such times the trick mule was wont to do the most erratic things.
“How’d you like to ride him in?” chuckled Miaco, who stood regarding the lad with a broad smile.
“If I had a saddle I wouldn’t mind it,” grinned Teddy’s funny face as an accompaniment to his words.
Jumbo’s equipment consisted of a cinch girth and a pair of bridle reins connected with a headstall. There was no bit, but the effect was to arch his neck like that of a proud stallion.
“You’d make the hit of your life if you did,” laughed Miaco. “Wonder the boss don’t have you do it.”
“Would if he knew about it,” spoke up a performer. “The really funny things don’t get into the ring in a circus, unless by accident.”
In the meantime the ringmaster was making his loud-voiced announcement out under the big top.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he roared, after a loud crack of his long-lashed whip, to attract the attention of the people to him, “we are now about to introduce the wonderful performing mule Jumbo, the only broncho-bucking, bobtailed mule in the world. You will notice that he performs without a rider, without human interference. Please do not speak to Jumbo while he is going through his act. Ladies and gentlemen, Jumbo, the great educated mule, will now make his appearance unaided by human hand.”
The audience applauded the announcement.
At that moment the band struck up the tune by which Jumbo always made his entrance. At the first blare of the brass a fun-loving clown jabbed Jumbo with a pin. The mule did the rest.