“No, not exactly football,” he replied. “It was worse than that.”
“Whew!” whistled Dave. “You must have been ‘up against it,’ as Borden would say.”
“Up against a grindstone; yes,” assented Hiram. “Go ahead, Bruce, and let’s hear about it.”
“It’s a long story about how my father died, and how Martin Dawson got hold of his estate,” began the homeless orphan. “I’ll tell you all the particulars of that some time, and maybe you can advise me, and help us to get our rights. Old Martin Dawson has treated me meanly. He hired me out to all kinds of hard work, and half-starved me, and kept me in rags. As I told Hiram when I first met him, Mr. Dawson had a regular set of bad men around him. They were all rough characters. There was one fellow who traveled with circus shows. His name was Wertz. It was about two years ago when Mr. Dawson farmed me out to him. Wertz tried to train me for the trapeze, but I wasn’t limber enough for that. Then he said he would use me in his knife-throwing act. He made me stand against a wooden shield while he threw knives at me. I’ve got two bad scars on my body now, where he missed, and the knives cut into me. Then one day when practicing he clipped off a little piece of my right ear. I ran away from him then, but he got me back. I made him agree that after that he wouldn’t aim at my head, only my arms and the rest of my body. One night at a circus, though, he got reckless. He aimed at my ear—the left one—intending to set a circle of knives all around my head. One clipped my other ear, as you have seen. It hurt dreadfully, and I fainted away. The audience was roused up about it, and the humane society got after Wertz and he ran away. Then I went back to Mr. Dawson. A doctor fixed up my ears, but they are not quite healed yet.”
This story aroused the sympathy and interest of Dave, and he decided to employ Bruce. The watchman, Dennis, was called away by a partner to a country fair and Bruce was installed as watchman in his place. The young airman knew he could trust him and he found Bruce willing and grateful.
“You see,” proceeded Hiram, “it’s only six days to the meet. Monday the contests begin, and we want to get everything in ship-shape order.”
“That is true,” agreed Dave. “What is it you have to suggest, Hiram?”
The latter drew from his pocket a double printed sheet and handed it to Dave.
“I got one of the first programmes,” explained Hiram.
Dave scanned it casually. He had been informed in advance, as had most of the entrants, of the nature of the various contests. Towards the last, however, something new and unexpected met his glance.