But at the entrance to the circus three small boys, in every way representatives of the coming “tough,” waylaid him for ten cents to get into the side show—only ten cents, that was all they wanted. They did not aspire to such a pinnacle of happiness as the circus itself. But Young Van Bibber saw a way to use his box and to show his smart friends how somebody, at least, appreciated his invitations.
“Go get three more boys like you,” he said; “dirty boys that haven’t seen the circus, and I’ll take you in.”
The three youths looked at him uncertainly for a moment.
“Ah, he’s kiddin’ us,” said one of them, doubtfully.
But there was such an innocent and embarrassed expression on young Van Bibber’s face that they concluded he must mean it.
“Besides,” said one of them, “don’t you’se see he’s a priest? He wouldn’t tell no lies.”
Van Bibber for the first time became conscious of his white lawn tie and his long cape-cloak.
“Priests don’t go to circuses,” suggested one of the trio.
“Are you going to get those other boys or not?” asked Van Bibber, impatiently. It really seemed as if nobody was willing to go with him. But there was over a dozen boys about him by this time, and he picked out three of the smallest and raggedest. Then he shoved them all into the circus before him like so many chickens and saw, without caring, that the men by the door were laughing at him.
The boys raced about at first and yelled to each other to come see this animal, and to watch that one shaking the bars. Van Bibber wandered around after them. They seemed to be having a very good time, and he felt a queer sensation of satisfaction in some one else’s pleasure which was oddly pleasing. Then they flocked back to him again and informed him it was time to “get into the show part,” and so he led them, to the grave disgust of the attendants, to the principal box in the place.