Nelson turned away and retraced his steps. The coffee had warmed him up, and he wished the others could have some. He stopped one of the canvasmen and asked the time.
“Twenty-five minutes after six,” said the man, consulting a big nickel watch.
Nelson thanked him and went on. But it wouldn’t do to wake up the others yet, for, of course, the telegraph office wouldn’t be open before eight, and they wouldn’t want to wait around without any breakfast. So instead of joining them he turned and looked about him. The big tent was up, and so was the dressing tent alongside. The ticket seller’s box was set up beside the main entrance, and men were stretching a forty-foot length of painted canvas across some upright poles. He walked toward them and watched. When finally in place the canvas advertised the attractions of the side show. There was a highly colored picture of “Princess Zoe, the Marvelous Snake Charmer.” The princess was an extraordinarily beautiful young lady and was depicted standing in a regular chaos of writhing snakes, while two others proved their subjugation by twining themselves caressingly about her arms and neck. Then there was a picture of “Boris, the Wild Man of the Tartary Steppes.” Nelson didn’t find Boris especially attractive. According to the picture he was a squat gentleman with a good deal of hair on his face, a remarkably large mouth, a flat nose pierced by a brass ring, and an expression of extraordinary ferocity. Add to that that he was shown in the act of making his dinner on unappetizing-looking pieces of raw meat, and you will understand Nelson’s lack of enthusiasm. Queen Phyllis, the fortune teller, while not particularly beautiful, was much more pleasing to look upon. The last picture was that of “Zul-Zul, the Celebrated Albino Prima Donna,” singing before the crowned heads of Europe. Having exhausted the fascinations of Zul-Zul, Nelson wandered unchallenged into the main tent and found a squad of men erecting the seats. Even that palled after awhile, and he went out again and walked through the lane formed of the chariots and wagons. The cages were still boarded up, but the legends outside threw some light on the identity of the occupants. “Numidian Lion,” he read; “Asiatic Zebra,” “Black Wolves,” “Royal Bengal Tiger.” Now and then a cage would rock on its springs as its occupant moved about, and sometimes a snarl or a grunt reached his ears. A strip of canvas festooned the big tent on the roadside and bore the inscription in big black letters:
MURRAY AND WIRT’S
MAMMOTH COMBINED SHOWS.
AMERICA’S GREATEST CIRCUS
AND HIPPODROME!
At a little after seven, having seen all that was to be seen at present, he returned to the camp. On his way he stopped for a look at the elephant and camel, which were breakfasting on a bale of hay. In broad daylight the elephant was distinctly disappointing. He wasn’t much larger than the camel, as far as height and length went, but there was a good deal more of him. He was secured by a short chain which led from an iron ring around one hind foot to a stake driven in the ground. He ate slowly and thoughtfully, with much unnecessary gesticulation of his trunk. He was sadly deficient in the matter of tusks, for he showed only one, and that one had been broken off about three inches from his mouth and looked much in need of cleaning. Yes, Nelson was disappointed in the elephant. Nor, for that matter, was the camel much more satisfying. He was a dirty, rusty camel with a malicious gleam in his little eyes and a forbidding way of snarling his upper lip back over his discolored teeth.
“Oh, don’t be so grouchy,” muttered Nelson. “I’m not going to swipe any of your old hay.”
When he got back to the knoll he found only Barry fully awake, although Dan showed symptoms of wakefulness, muttering away at a great rate and throwing his arms about. While Nelson watched, the expected happened. One of Dan’s arms descended forcibly on Tom’s nose, and Tom awoke with an indignant snort.
“Hello, Nel,” he muttered. “What time is it?”