# Dapples of the Circus/Chapter 4

THREE small boys called Freckles, Pickles, and Beany sat on the top of the high board fence that surrounded the railroad switch-yards, waiting for the first section of Bingham and Daily's Great American Circus, which was to show in town that day. Of course the three boys had other names, but these names were what the "fellers" called them, and that is what goes in Boytown.
The clock on the city hall had just struck four, and yet the boys had been there for half an hour. The top board of the fence cut into them badly, yet they did not mind. They could not have told whether they were sitting on a sharp cut​ting board, or in an easy-chair, for they were thinking of nothing but the coming show. The first rosy streak of day was just appearing in the east. The robins had just begun their morning song. Even the milk wagons had not yet rattled into the city.
Yet there were others astir besides the enterprising three. Farther on down the yard other boyish figures might be seen—balancing on the fence. A truck farmer who had come early to town had stopped with his load of wares just outside the yard. He expected a good business at high prices. But he was not likely to "put anything over" on the circus people. They are well prepared. They come to town expecting to meet all emergencies, so they would not be as easy as the farmer thought.
Freckles, the largest of the three boys, was an orphan. He lived up at the poor-farm, but, notwithstanding that, he was very popular with the boys.
​Pickles was conducting the party, for he had an uncle in the circus business, who had told him all about the great American show. So he was expected to explain everything to the other two.
Freckles had come down to the yards partly because of his great love for horses, a love that he had not been able to fully indulge. True, he had ridden the colt up in the pasture at the poor-farm, until he could ride like a monkey, but this had been on the sly. For Mr. Perkins, the keeper of the farm, was a rather stern man, and he did not approve of Freckles running the colt up and down the lot half the time, as he would have liked to do. Besides, the colt was just an ordinary horse. Freckles loved him more than any other animal in the whole world, but he was a rusty brown and his mane and tail were not heavy nor luxuriant. His boyish heart yearned for a real beautiful, prancing, dancing steed that would race with him until he dropped.
​"Gee," said Beany at length, "I wish it would hurry up. This board is gettin' sharp." But the words were barely out of his mouth when the locomotive whistle sounded and the yardmaster and switch-men hurried into the yard to help in the disposition of the section. Presently it came thundering and panting, hissing and roaring, into the yard.
A mighty locomotive drew the section, which was made up of about thirty gaudy, gilded cars. They were almost a show in themselves, even before they disgorged their wonderful freight. The locomotive stopped almost in front of the three boys, and they were all excitement.
"Now, fellers," cried Pickles, "you just keep your eyes open and I will tell you all about it. See that chap with the blue coat and the eap, the one just climbing down from the first car? That is the mailman. He's headed straight for the post-office. He goes three times a day and gets a bushel of mail each time. See that ​big, swell-looking guy just behind him. He is the general manager. Things go about as he says or there is trouble. See that third feller. Looks like a baseball player or a wrestler. He is the show's detective, and he is headed for the police station. He tells the local cops what to look out for. The feller in the ticket-wagon has got a stiff job, too. Often after the night show there are thousands of dollars left in the wagon. That feller sleeps on two guns, and if any one tried to rob that wagon they would get plugged, you bet. He can shoot like an Injun, and he ain't afraid, either. My uncle says that the crooks haven't ever robbed a circus ticket-wagon yet."
"What are all these people coming out of these two first cars?" asked Beany. "They don't look much like circus people."
"You just wait until you see 'em in the ring. Tights and spangles and war paint make a lot of difference. Those coming ​from the first car are the general manager's helpers. Those from the other are tumblers and acrobats and all sorts of dare-devils. See 'em rubbing their joints and limping down the steps; guess some of 'em get pretty stiff. My uncle says it's hard work, and no mistake. Come, fellers, let's go down to the tail end of the section and see them unload the wagons. That's where all the fun will be now." So the three slid down from the fence and ran for the last car.
They were none too soon, for old Whitey, the unloading horse, was already in place. A heavy pulley had been rigged. One end of a large rope was fastened to a convenient telegraph pole, while old Whitey's whiffletree was fastened to the other. When all was in readiness, the short chain connecting with the pulley was fastened to wagon Number One, and quicker than you could say it, the wagon came rolling off the sloping platform at the rear of the car, and was landed ​safe on the ground without so much as a scratch. Six heavy draft-horses were waiting for it. In no time they were hitched to the first wagon. The driver clambered to his seat, his whip cracked, and the first stake-and-chain wagon had started for the grounds.
"We'll see them drive those stakes and stretch the ropes when we get down to the lot," explained Pickles.
Then there were more stake-and-chain wagons, canvas wagons, centre-pole and side-pole wagons, water-tank wagons, and wagons containing all the thousand and one things that were needed at once on the grounds. No matter how fast old Whitey pulled the wagons off the train with his pulley, the team of horses which belonged to the wagons was always in waiting. The whole moved along like a great machine. Everything was in place. Nothing was missing. Each man and animal knew just what he was to do, and did it in the shortest possible time. "Gee," said Freckles, ​when he had watched in silence for a while, "they work like soldiers."
"You bet they do," replied Pickles. "My uncle says that the circus won't stand for no nonsense. They are good to you as long as you keep at your work, but if you get to fooling or don't deliver the goods, it is good-night to your job."
In half an hour's time the section had been unloaded, and the wagons were rattling away toward the circus grounds. But this was none too soon. For, just as the last wagon disappeared, the second engine-whistle sounded and another gorgeous, gilded section rolled into sight. This was switched on to a track close to the first, and again Whitey began snaking the wagons from the long cars.
"More people in the first two cars," explained Pickles. "All sorts of performers and their togs and all their trunks in the cars behind. Gee, fellers! The elephants and the giraffes and the camels are on this section."
​Again the three youngsters took a commanding position and watched while the section disgorged its load of wonders. They were the most interested in the unloading of the animals. But Freckles's attention was soon claimed by some of the chariot and ring horses, that now stepped daintily from a car devoted especially to them. But he fairly went wild when they began unloading a car of special riding ponies, among which were several Shetlands.
One of these, a beautiful dapple bay, especially claimed his attention. This pony's coat shone like satin, and he held his head high and stepped like a thoroughbred.
"Fellers, fellers, look at him!" cried Freckles. "Ain't he a peach! I mean the dapple bay pony. Gee, wouldn't I like to ride him." Freckles was so excited about the dapple pony that he wanted to follow after him to the circus lot at once, but the others would not. ​They wanted to wait and see the other sections unloaded.
"In the third section there will be all animals in cages. That section has got some of the best wagons. We mustn't miss that," explained Pickles. So Freckles assented, although he could think of nothing but the pony that had just trotted away to the circus lot. Finally the last section had been unloaded, and Pickles had pointed out the owner's car, at the, very end of the last section.
"He's the High-Mucky-Muck. He allus travels in that last car, so he can see it is all moving along all right ahead of him. If there is a wreck, he is on the ground in no time. That's him, the big fat feller. I saw his picture on a bill-board the other day. Gee, I guess he is a rich guy. He could buy this whole town."
"Come, fellers, let's go to the lot," put in Freckles.
"All right," assented his companions. ​So the three started on the run for the grounds.
To their great surprise, when they reached the lot, the dining-tent was already up, as well as the restaurant and the barber's tent, complete even to its painted pole.
"You see, the dining-tent goes up first; they call it a top," explained Pickles, drawing upon his superior knowledge. "These circus fellers can eat like Annie Conda, my uncle says."
His companions did not know what sort of young lady Annie Conda might be, but they did not dare display their ignorance by asking questions.
"See that guy with the steel tape, measuring and driving down small stakes. He is laying out one of the big tops. I guess it is the menagerie tent. Pretty soon the stake-and-chain wagon will come along. There it is."
Hundreds of feet of large rope and countless stakes were soon tumbled out on ​the ground, and men with sledge-hammers began driving in large stakes where the small ones had been. Almost before they knew it, the perimeter of the menagerie tent had been laid out.
"Come, fellers, run. They are hauling up the big top. Hurry."
The three made all speed toward the spot where the big top was going up. Two horses were raising the centre-pole and much of the canvas at a single stroke. When the centre-poles had been hauled into an upright position, they were made fast by guy-ropes, and the framework for the big top was in place. Meanwhile other men had been setting up the sidepoles. These were twelve feet high and twelve feet apart. Still other men were lacing together the canvas for the side walls. That likewise went up like magic, and everything was ready with the exception of the seats. But while the wondering boys were speculating about these, a chair wagon rattled up and men began ​placing the seats in seemingly endless tiers.
Meanwhile, as the big top rapidly approached completion, other small tents were springing into place everywhere. Side-show wagons were taking their positions. Already the cries of venders had begun on the outskirts of the grounds. Soon the cracking of! whips and the cries of the side-show men would be heard everywhere.
"It makes me dizzy," said Beany. "I never saw things go up like this, Gee, wouldn't it be fine to live with the circus and see all this every day?"
Freckles was thinking the same thing, but he said nothing.
The three boys hung about the circus grounds, munching peanuts and watching this wonderful life until the parade made up. If they had been amazed at the way in which this tented town had sprung up before their very eyes, they were equally astonished to see the circus wagons trans​formed and made ready for the street parade. Pompons and tassels were placed on the horses' heads, and in some cases gay blankets were thrown upon their backs. Then cowboys, Turks, Moors, Indians, and all sorts of picturesque people began pouring out of the dressing top and taking their places in the parade. Two huge elephants appeared from no one knew where, with their glittering howdahs in place and dark Hindoos driving them. They were followed by three camels, upon whose broad saddles sat dark Moors, men who, an hour before, had been sweating away with tent-pole and canvas. Then they were French or Italians, but now they were Moors. There was no mistake about that. When everything was nearly in readiness the boys started for the main street of the small city, that they might get a good place to view the parade. They were amazed to see the crowd that lined all the street along which it had been shouted from the housetops for weeks that ​the circus would parade. They had some difficulty in finding just the place that they wanted, but they finally managed it.
When the glittering pageant at last appeared, they were perched like three monkeys on the top step of one of the churches of the town. They were sure of a fine view, for the parade would pass immediately in front of them. First rode one of the managers dressed like a herald. Then came the Queen of Sheba, mounted upon a wonderful milk-white horse. Her crown sparkled in the sunlight, and her regal robes fairly made the eyes ache. She carried herself with dignity, even if she had once been a waitress in a hotel. Close behind her the first of the three blaring circus bands poured out a flood of stirring music. Their instruments shone, and their uniforms glittered as only those of a circus band can.
Then came the two stately, swaying elephants, looking for all the world just as ​though they had stepped right out of India. Close behind them came the camels, with their gay trappings and their tiny bells tinkling softly. Then followed such an array of strange people from all parts of the world that I despair of ever describing it. Probably the group that most strongly appealed to the three boys was that of the cowboys, Indian fighters, and Indians, all suggesting dare-devil stunts which would come later on in the ring.
Small children laughed and clapped, men and women asked questions of each other and called to the little people to see this or that. While above the babel of human voices the three bands blared and the calliopes shrieked, and the rattle of the heavy wagons went steadily on.
Midway in the parade the strangest rig that the boys ever had seen suddenly appeared. It was a dilapidated old express wagon, drawn by a rat-tailed white horse. The harness was mended with rope, and a bunch of straw clung to the pad. The ​strange rube who sat in the wagon was dressed in blue denim overalls, and wore a jumper. His hat was a battered palmleaf, and a wisp of his red hair stuck through the crown. He continually guided his ramshackle rig from one side of the street to the other, while the men in the parade shouted at him and threatened him with their whips.
"Look at the rube! Look at Uncle Jerry from Punkin Holler! Ain't he a scream!" cried Freckles. "See him, fellers. Did you ever see such a rube before?"
"Ah, pshaw, Freckles, you are green. Don't you know he's a part of the parade? I saw them unload his old rig this morning, but I did not remember what my uncle told me then.
"They always carry a rube along to get all mixed up with the parade and make fun. He's one of the clowns."
"You mean to say that he belongs to the parade?" asked Beany incredulously. ​"I don't believe it. Why, see how he is hindering things."
"But just see how the crowd enjoy him," returned Pickles. "Why, he's the best laugh-maker in the parade. He's a part of the parade all right."
But at this point the dappled Shetland, which had so captivated Freckles's heart in the morning, appeared. He was wearing a shining harness and drew a glittering basket phaeton. He was driven by a boy of about Freckles's own age. The boy seemed to have perfect control over the small horse, for he danced, waltzed, and even reared on his hind legs at a touch of the whip and a pull on the line by the young driver.
Freckles fairly gasped at the sight of him. "See him, see him, fellers. Look at him dance. See him rear. My, ain't he a pippin? Ain't he the dearest little horse?" Here words failed the orphan from the poor-farm, and he sat in speechless admiration until Dapples and his ​driver had disappeared. When they were out of sight he sighed deeply and caught his two chums by their sleeves. "Fellers," he said, and his voice trembled and there were tears in his eyes, "I would ruther be that boy and drive that pony than to own the whole rest of the circus."
"Ah, pshaw," returned Pickles. "Why, the owner of this show is a millionaire."
"I would ruther be a cowboy than drive that pony, anyhow," put in Beany scornfully. "The Wild West for me every time. I like shooting and scalping."
From this point on the three sat in silence while the wonders of the great American show rattled by. When the last wagon finally disappeared, they climbed down from their church step and made an appointment to meet at the entrance to the menagerie top at two o'clock. All three had been fortunate enough to earn tickets by helping on the lot, and there was a red-letter afternoon ahead of ​them that nearly spoiled their appetites for dinner.
They spent a wondering half-hour roaming through the menagerie tent and inspecting the animals and birds from all parts of the commonly known world, and some from parts very little known. They especially enjoyed feeding the elephants peanuts.
When the mammoth three-ringed show finally opened in the big top the boys were perched upon one of the high seats in readiness for all the circus had to give. Nor were they disappointed. It was as the bills had announced, larger and more stupendous than ever before. Tumblers and trapeze men and women kept them in breathless suspense. Men and women seemed to perform in the very top of the tent just as unconcernedly as though they had been only a few feet from the ground. The bands blared, and wild animals performed, while the clowns sweated and screamed to keep the crowd good-natured. ​Wonder succeeded wonder, and miracle succeeded miracle.
Beany and Pickles went wild and shouted and gesticulated, but Freckles was quiet, watching and waiting for the coming of the little horse, who, he knew, was called Sir Wilton III. He had discovered this from a bill-board, and his driver was Tony Riata, the world's greatest boy equestrian, whatever that might be.
Finally Dapples appeared, and Freckles settled back in his seat in perfect bliss.
First he appeared as a saddle pony. He galloped, trotted, and ran. His rider clung to the saddle by one hand and one foot, then sprang from his back and raced by his side, only to spring lightly on at the right moment. They at once captivated the crowd. Finally they disappeared, and a few minutes later the little horse reappeared as Sir Wilton, the trick pony. Here Dapples again went through all the tricks that his old groom, Jerry McCoy, ​had taught him in England. He told the time by the boy's watch. He multiplied, subtracted, and divided. He brushed his small master's clothes, just as he had Jerry's. He went carefully through his schoolmaster stunt, to the great amusement of the children, and finally he mounted a small platform to do his trapeze act. The trapeze was a swinging floor just large enough for the small horse to stand on, and about three feet above the platform. The boy went up to the trapeze and started it swinging. Dapples, with legs braced, stood watching it carefully. Finally, at just the right second, when it had approached very close to him, he sprang upon it, and, turning about, made a low bow to the audience. Then he faced about again and set the trapeze to rocking so that he could spring back on the platform. This he accomplished with ease. His small driver then sprang upon his back, and both disappeared amid thunderous applause.
​It seemed to Freckles at this point in the show that he could scarcely breathe. There was something about the little horse that made him want to cry. Not that he felt bad, he could not have just told how he felt, but the Shetland stirred him all up inside, as he told his chums.
When the afternoon show was over, the three went to the horse tent, at Freckles's suggestion, to see if they could get a closer view of Dapples. Here they found Tony, the driver, and one of the ringmasters in a lively wrangle. The man had the greatest boy equestrian by the collar and was pointing out to him three cruel-looking whip marks on Dapples's sleek side.
The boys drew closer to hear what it was all about.
"How did he get those whip marks? Tell me the truth if you know what the truth is," growled the ringmaster.
"Well, if you must know, I give 'em to him. He wouldn't mind," returned the boy sullenly.
​"Haven't I told you again and again that you mustn't whip him? He's too high-strung. You'll spoil him."
"As long as I drive him I will whip him whenever I think best," returned Tony defiantly. He was Italian, and his blood was hot. But the ringmaster had a temper also.
"You defy me, do you, you young cub. Well, I'll teach you." He lifted the boy by his collar from the ground and shook him as a cat would a mouse. The greatest boy equestrian kicked at him savagely and then began to cry.
"You let me go, you fool. If you don't, you will wish you had. If you don't, I'll—I'll poison Sir Wilton. That's what I'll do."
"You will, will you? I am glad to know what evil you have in your dirty heart. You are fired. Go to the paymaster and get your wages this minute, and you leave the circus within the hour or I will have you arrested. I will ​teach you to threaten this show. Now git."
The now thoroughly frightened boy did not need a further invitation, but very promptly "got."
Freckles went up to Dapples and tenderly stroked the whip marks on his sides. He was boiling with rage. He wanted to go after the boy and thrash him within an inch of his life, although he was much larger than Freckles. There were tears in his eyes, and several of them coursed down his freckled face. The ringmaster saw it and was amazed.
"I see you like horses, boy," he said kindly.
"I love them," blurted Freckles. "Why, I would kill the man or boy that would lick this little horse. I'd like to see that feller for a few minutes behind the poor-farm barn."
An idea came to the ringmaster. It came like an inspiration. He was used to taking a chance, and he was now in trou​ble. One of the circus's best attractions was minus a performer. Dapples could not perform alone.
"So you live at the poor-farm, do you?" he inquired of Freckles.
"Yes, I have always lived there."
"Have you any parents or relatives?"
"No," returned Freckles, "not a one that I know of."
"If you like horses," the ringmaster said, "perhaps you can ride. Some boys ride naturally. They don't have to be taught."
"Ride, yes," cried Freckles. "I can ride anything that has four legs and a tail and is called a horse. I can do almost as well as this equestrian wonder on the poor-farm colt."
"How would you like to ride Sir Wilton?"
Freckles looked at the ringmaster in amazement for several seconds, then buried his face in the heavy mane of the Shetland and sobbed for joy.
​Finally he lifted his tear-stained, beaming countenance to the ringmaster.
"Mister," he said, "if you wanted me to, and I had to, I could ride this little horse through fire and not git burned a bit."
The circus man threw back his head and laughed long and loud.
"I like that kind of talk," he said at last. "That is the true circus spirit. Bring the pony into the ring and I will see what you can do."
It needed only a few minutes to convince the circus man that Freckles was a natural-born rider. He rode like a monkey. Nothing could break his hold in the saddle. He was, of course, not so polished a rider as the discharged Tony, but he would equal him in a very few days, with proper training.
Together they led Dapples back to the horse tent.
"How would you like to jump the poor-farm and go with the circus, and ride ​the little horse every day?" asked the ringmaster at last.
"Oh! Oh! I'd like it better than anything else in the world. I would work every hour of the day to learn. I would be as good to him as though he was my brother. I never would strike him, and I would thrash any one who did."
Freckles's eyes shone like stars. His face was radiant and his voice trembled. The ringmaster divined at once that he was a real horse-lover and a boy that he could trust. He was the sort the circus was looking for.
"All right, boy," he said. "You're on."