Dallie stood up like a bit of thistle-down and, poised lightly on her horse, went riding around. First one of her feet and then the other went forward to balance, and then suddenly both went tight together and she took several preliminary leaps in the air to get herself limber. Having stretched her muscles, she gave a little cry. Three men, lined up together to catch her if she fell, got ready, and up and over in the air she went like a little human ball. The first time she did not land on the horse but in the ring. But after that she did her turn all right and was driven out to make room for others needing practice.
Cupid had picked the little horsewoman out for his mark in these early days of the circus, but so closely guarded was the secret that it was days before we knew that her heart had taken up its lodging in young Ledgett’s breast, and his breast had become the cabinet of her affections. Shy glances and low and tender voices in secluded spots finally told a revealing tale and we watched the progress of the devotion with intense interest and some concern. We knew the stern traditional circus antipathy toward affairs of the kind and wondered whether the fixed opposition of the aunt could be overcome. No comrade was so disloyal and unchivalrous as to carry the story to those in authority, but soon the love-making conveyed itself to their very eyes. Then began a systematic effort to end it abruptly, and the memory of the courage and faith and hope which forced surrender to Hymen’s cause will linger with us long.
The burden of obstructions was directed at the girl—he was too strong and self-reliant; and when her aunt was not advising against her conjugal plans, the ringmaster engaged himself in telling that marriage would jeopardize her future. So it was that between the prodigious shakings of the head and the love that absorbed her, Dallie grew thin and pale and unsteady in her work. Her judge of distance, so necessary in her dangerous aerial revolutions, became bad, and often she alighted on wooden ringbark or horse’s head or tail when her feet should have been fixed to Gypsy’s moving back. She became a bruised and humble maiden, but with purpose unwavering. Her aunt’s vigilance was unrelaxing and unrelenting; she vowed that the two should not have each other’s company.
To the casual circus goer, this determined disapproval of innocent attachment may seem brutal and unreasonable, but there are reasons underlying which those directly involved feel justify their course. It is the history of circus love affairs which progress during the active season that they impair performances. Once the yearning enters show persons, indolence and indifference characterize them in the ring. It is not a desire to oppress, but a warning instinct of professional deterioration, that causes sardonic smiles and harsh flings. To the relative who has acted as mother for years, the prospect of premature separation is naturally obnoxious.
It was not until summer was on the wane that we saw signs of approaching capitulation. Dallie had risen supreme over her temporary weakness and was again the skilful mistress of the ring. Fred, patient and artful, had won first an enduring place in the aunt’s esteem and then her permission and encouragement. The management yielded before their combined eloquence.
So it was that one Sunday afternoon, Dallie, swaying under a great breadth of silk, and her sweetheart, awkward in encumbering black, but looking very proud and joyful, started hand in hand down the long road of life. A very glorious supper was served that evening in honor of the event. The owner gracefully proposed the health of the bride, and the tent resounded with the enthusiasm of the response. Fred expressed his thanks in well-put words, and Mrs. Fred blushed prettily in her happiness. And best of all, about the corners of the aunt’s lip there rested a smile of pleasure, of approval and of contentment.
CHAPTER VII
THE MENAGERIE TENT
Into the menagerie tent, with its great variety of animals caged and unconfined, streams the open-mouthed human parade, stopping to comment and observe on its way to the “big top.” The lions and tigers pace up and down their cages with hungry eyes that gleam in green and gold. They stare steadily through the iron bars but take no heed of the pigmy humans who stare back. There is something in those shining eyes that tells of thoughts far from the circus, perhaps of a jungle in far-off Asia. The insatiable elephant swings his greedy trunk tirelessly, and the black leopard sulks in the darkest corner of his den. Watching closely the scene in all its aspects is a jovial, deep-voiced man who urges the immediate necessity of securing advantageous seats under the adjoining canvas. He controls the peanut and lemonade privilege. Long experience has taught him all the arts and devices of his business. He appreciates that his sales will not begin in any volume until the audience is comfortably settled inside. Then he displays his commercial craftiness by overwhelming the big area with peanut and popcorn vendors. No lemonade is in evidence. Thirst comes on apace. Throats become dry and salty, and there is clamor for liquid. When its assuaging presence is finally seen in the hands of dozens of hawkers, the sale is invariably tremendous. If sudden rain comes on during the performance, he varies his sales with the disposal of umbrellas. He is ready for any meteorological condition.