“So am I,” said Nelson.
“I guess we might as well all go,” said Dan. “I’ll come back in an hour,” he added to the operator. “It ought surely to be here by that time, don’t you think?”
“I should think so,” answered the operator. “Sorry I haven’t got it for you now.”
“Thanks. It isn’t your fault, though. Come on, fellow-poverns.”
“What’s a povern?” asked Tom.
“It’s a chap who hasn’t any money,” answered Dan glumly, “like you and me, Tommy, and Bob and Nelson—and Barry.”
“Oh,” said Tom disappointedly; “I thought maybe it was something to eat. I guess I was thinking of muffins.”
“Don’t do it; that way lies madness.”
When they turned into the circus grounds again they put Barry back on his leash, for he showed a most unchristian attitude toward the elephant and camel. For an hour they wandered about or sat on some packing boxes at the back of the dressing tent and tried to forget that they were hungry. Then Dan and Barry left them and set off for the telegraph office once more. By that time the scene had become animated again. The horses were being hitched to the wagons and chariots, performers in costume were issuing from the dressing tent, and the elephant and camel were being decked in spangled red blankets. Tom made inquiries and learned that there was to be a parade through Millford and on a mile farther to where the summer colony was situated. Things were quite exciting for the next half hour and when all was in readiness the boys went down to the road to watch the procession pass out.
First there was an intensely dignified gentleman in hunting costume, pink coat, high hat, and all, who rode ahead on a big white horse. Then came the band, eight dejected-looking men in red tunics sitting in a boat-shaped barge. After them followed the elephant conducted by an Irishman in Arab dress who carried a short spear. The elephant’s name, if the faded red blanket was to be believed, was Hercules. The blanket said so in large letters. But the Irish Arab called him “Charlie.” A lady with golden hair, attired in a flowing white costume of cheesecloth made up according to the fashions prevailing in Greece many centuries ago, stood in a golden chariot and drove three well-behaved black horses abreast. A second chariot, drawn by three bay horses, was presided over by a red-faced gentleman in Roman costume. A line of animal cages followed. Then came a small pony cart hauled by a black-and-white pony and driven by a clown, a very sad-looking individual indeed. More cages, many empty; a calliope with the musician smoking a big black cigar; a float upon which five white-cheesecloth-attired ladies sat in various attitudes of discomfort; two lady jockeys driving white horses in tandem; more clowns, one riding a donkey and the others occupying a small carriage; the camel ridden by a man in a pair of baggy blue trousers and a green jacket; three trick ponies led by small boys; an ancient barouche occupied by four gentlemen in full dress and bearing placards advertising the show. That was the last of it. It trailed slowly away in the direction of the village, and the boys slipped off the fence.