So, led by Jerry, who seemed strangely excited for a boy who had been part and parcel of the show for several days, they made their way to the main tent, Nelson carrying Barry in his arms to keep him from being walked on. They fought their way through the narrow entrance and found seats near the end of the tent. There was one ring and a stage. Suddenly Tom nudged Nelson.
“Look, I’ll bet they’ve got Donello back,” he said. “See there? That’s the ladder and the tank like pictures show them.”
“Yes,” said Jerry; “I heard they’d found a fellow to take Donello’s place, but it ain’t Donello himself. Here comes the grand march.”
The curtains at the far end of the tent were pulled aside, and a procession of horses and chariots and animals entered and lumbered around the tan bark to the martial strains of the overworked band. Hercules wobbled along in a world-weary way, swaying his trunk as though keeping time to the music. The camel followed. Tom said he looked as though he was trying to do a cake walk. Then the three clowns suddenly appeared, fell over the ropes in time-honored fashion, and the performance began. It wasn’t a half-bad show, the boys agreed, Bob pointing out the fact that it was an advantage to have only one ring because you didn’t get cross-eyed trying to see two or three things at the same time. The bareback riding was good, the trick roller-skaters fair, and the clowns quite as funny as clowns ever are. Everybody ate peanuts and threw the shells on everybody else, the air grew heavy with dust, and the band played tirelessly. Tom sat with fascinated gaze and saw everything that went on. Jerry told interesting inside history of the performers, and was greatly pleased at the evident enjoyment of his friends. It was the first time in his life that Jerry had ever treated anybody and acted as host, and he was proud and elated. The afternoon wore along and the performance with it. The ringmaster mounted the stage and invited everybody to remain for the Minstrel Show and Popular Concert to be held immediately after the conclusion of the performance.
“An amusing, instructive, and moral entertainment,” he declared, “that no one should miss. Tickets are ten cents apiece. Gentlemanly agents will now pass through the audience, and all wishing to do so may purchase tickets to the Concert. Remember, they are but ten cents apiece. Keep your seats, Ladies and Gentlemen! The best part of the afternoon’s performance is still to be seen!”
Whereupon, as if by magic, vociferous men appeared everywhere shouting “Tickets to the Minstrel Show and Concert! Only ten cents! Tickets here! Who wants a ticket?”
“Here he comes!” whispered Jerry excitedly.
“Who?” asked Nelson.
“The fellow that’s going to dive,” answered Jerry. “That’s him coming along there by the ropes. See?”
But they couldn’t see very well, for Donello’s substitute was at the other end of the tent from them and various persons intervened. They did, however, catch sight of a figure in pink fleshings with green velvet trunks. Then the ringmaster introduced “Signor Donello, the World-Renowned Aërial Diver,” and the drums rolled while the figure in pink fleshings bowed gracefully and turned to the ladder. Up he went, nimbly, hand over hand, until he stood on the tiny two-foot platform attached to the top of the ladder high up under the creamy canvas roof. Then he turned and looked down, and for the first time the boys saw his face.