He was landed at his own request on the Middlesex side of Kingston Bridge, and having generously made the lad who had rowed him richer by the sum of sixpence, he started, with renewed vigour, to cross the bridge into the town. No sooner had he crossed than a coffee-shop met his eye. It was the very thing he wanted. With the air of a capitalist he entered and ordered a sumptuous repast--coffee, bread and butter, ham and eggs. Having made a hearty meal,--and a hearty meal was a subject on which he had ideas of his own, for he followed up the ham and eggs with half a dozen open tarts and a jam puff or two, buying half a pound of sweets to eat when he got outside,--he paid the bill and sallied forth.
It was cattle-market day, and unusual business seemed to be doing. Not only was the market-place crowded with live stock, but they overflowed into the neighbouring streets. For the present, Bertie was content to watch the proceedings. In the position of a capitalist he could travel to London in state and at his leisure. Just now his mind was running on what the ferryman had said about the circus and the fair. He could go to London at any time. It was not a place which was likely to run away. But circuses and fairs were things which were quick to go, and once gone were gone for ever. Bertie resolved that he would commence his journey by seeing both the circus and the fair.
Nor was his resolution weakened by a joyous procession which passed through the Kingston street.
"Badger's Royal Popular Cosmopolitan and World-famed Hippodrome" was an imposing title for a circus, but not more imposing than the glories revealed by that procession.
"Supported by all the greatest artists in the world chosen from all the nations of the universe" was the continuation of the title, and, judging from the astonishing variety of ladies and gentlemen who rode the horses, who bestrode the camels, who crowded the triumphal cars, and who ran along on foot distributing handbills among the crowd, it really seemed that the statement was justified by fact. There were Chinamen whose pigtails seemed quite real; there were gentlemen of colour who seemed warranted to wash; there were individuals with beards and moustaches of an altogether foreign character; and there were ladies of the most wondrous and enchanting beauty, dressed in the most picturesque and amazing styles. Bertie Bailey, at any rate, was persuaded that it would be absurd for him to think of going on to town till he had attended at least one performance of Badger's Royal Popular Cosmopolitan and World-famed Hippodrome.
He followed the procession to the fair field. And there, although it was not yet noon, the fair was already in full swing. All those immortal entertainments without which a fair would not be a fair were liberally provided. There were shows, and shooting galleries, and bottle-throwing establishments, and seas upon land, and resplendent roundabouts, and stalls at which were vended goods of the very best quality; and all those joys and raptures which go to make a fair in every part of the world in which fairs are known.
But Bertie cared for none of these things. All his soul was fixed upon the circus. He attended the performance. As befitted a young gentleman of fortune he occupied a front seat, price two shillings. A hypercritical spectator might have suggested that the procession had been the best part of the show. But this was not the case in Bertie's eyes. He was enraptured with the feats of skill and daring which he witnessed in the ring. Only one consideration marred his complete enjoyment. Unfortunately he could not make up his mind whether he would rather be the gentleman who, disdaining all ordinary modes of horsemanship, standing upon the backs of two cream-coloured steeds, with streaming tails, dashed round the ring; or the clown whose business it was--a business which he seemed to think a pleasure--to keep the audience in a roar. He was not so much struck by a gentleman who performed marvels on a flying trapeze; nor by the surefootedness of a lady who walked upon an "invisible wire,"--which was, in this case, a rope about the thickness of Bertie's wrist.
But he quite made up his mind that he would be either the clown or the rider; and that, when he had determined which of these honourable positions he would prefer to fill, he would lose no time in laying siege to one of the ladies of the establishment, and to beg her to be his. But here the same difficulty occurred;--he was not quite certain which. However, by the time the performance was over, and the audience was dismissed, on one point he was assured, he would enlist under the banners of the world-famed Badger. Dick Turpin, Robin Hood, Robinson Crusoe, Jack the Giant Killer, might do for some folks, but a circus was the place for him.
When he regained the open air, and had bidden an unwilling adieu to the sawdust glories, the afternoon was pretty well advanced and the fair was more crowded than ever. But Bertie could not tear himself away from Badger's. He hung about the exterior of the tent as though the neighbourhood was holy ground.
Several other loiterers lingered too; and among them were four or five men who did not look, to put it gently, as though they belonged to what are called the upper classes.