Like all other good things in this world, however, it had its disadvantages. Bosko had to be watched constantly. Twice he had smuggled the little black bottle which was his constant companion, when not before the public, into the pen with him. Fortunately, no one had seen him taking surreptitious pulls at it either time, but there was always the possibility.
Stetson had also been alarmed, during his preliminary harangue to the crowd one day, to see smoke issuing from the top of the pen, and, on looking in, found Bosko stealthily puffing away on a cigarette. Murphy was quickly dispatched to the little trap-door in the bottom of the cage, and the smoking immediately ceased.
To be sure, it took more and more whiskey every day to get Bosko “keyed up” to that state when he would consent to go on with the part; but whiskey was cheap, especially the brand furnished by Poole Brothers, so there was no kick from the powers above. They realized that this particular impersonator of Bosko couldn’t last very long—a quart of raw whiskey a day is a terrible strain for any man’s nerves, even a negro’s; so they “indulged” the snake-eater.
The only thing that worried Stetson was the fear that perhaps Bosko wouldn’t be able to keep up the part till the Amalgamated Shows came together in the fall. He had watched the “nigger” a good deal of late, and saw certain unmistakable signs. He was the only man in the show who knew the exact amount of the poison that Bosko drank every day before assuming his part, so he was in a position to read those signs very correctly.
The first trouble came just after the circus struck Vermont. In the interval between the close of the afternoon and the beginning of the evening performance, Bosko went up street at a small town called Montpelier, and stayed till after time for the evening show to begin.
Murphy and the camp doctor, Foley, were sent for him, and finally located him in the town jail. He had bought some alcohol at the local agency, prepared some “splits,” and drunk about a pint of the stuff. A few minutes later he had developed an acute attack of something so terrifying to some street urchins, who found him in a back street, that they had run to the only officer in town, and informed him that there was a mad man loose.
After a certain amount of “fixing” with the high sheriff, who was also constable, health officer, and game warden, the doctor was finally allowed to take Bosko back to the circus grounds. But the “Strangest Freak” was not on exhibition that evening, being too busily engaged with snakes of his own, not furnished by the management of the Royal Roman Hippodrome.
During the next week several changes were tried in regard to Bosko. He was given a decrease in pay and a decrease in liquor, as a punishment for his misdemeanor. This not being exactly what you might call a success, he was given a raise in pay, the decrease in whiskey still being continued.
Fluctuations in salary proved, however, to have no effect on Bosko, so long as he was not allowed to spend the money according to his own lights. The arrangement which was finally settled upon was, therefore, a total discontinuance of pay and an increase in whiskey.
Three days after the first trouble, even while an instalment of the afternoon’s crowd was eagerly watching the snake-eater and listening to Stetson’s description of him, Bosko was suddenly visited by his other collection of snakes.