The Birmingham age-herald., 1917-09-26
a blare and fanfare Of
 band music from the direction of


 band music from the direction of e the lower end of Main street. tten the golden-voiced "calliope" sends it's dulcet notes across the way.
 The September sun has been down so insistently that the grass all about the "courthouse" is shriveled up and brown looking, and along the railroad track on the other side of town, where the dozens of brightly colored "circus cars" with the animals inside have stopped, there seems never to have been any; it's all so beaten down in the dust.
 Everybody seems drawn to that sec- ton of the little old country town to- day, as by magnet; excited youngsters with faces smeared over with "all-day suckers" and chocolate drops bump along back of their equally excited parents; dogs bark; the drug store on the corner is deserted the old gray haired barber is telling a customer he understands that this circus carries more animals than any circus ever car- ried before; the chairs in front of the little country hotel where the drummers sit, tilted back against the walls are deserted, for the circus is in town to- day.
 And Lord bless the boy heart of you- your little, pudgy hand closes damp and tight, over that 50-cent piece; dime jingles around in the same pocket with three agates, a horseshoe nail and the top of sodawater bottle; that dime is the velvet" you know; that's for lux uries
 As you turn into Market street, and run breathlessly down the sidewalk, un- der the big trees, your heart thumps like sledgehammer; all at once you realize that you are too late; the big tents have been pitched and you weren't there when the treasure troves" were opened, but now Jimmy Crockett, your good old grandmother has given you the 50 cents to buy your admission ticket and dime extra for luxuries and it's all yours; your very own, to do as you please with, and the band is playing three or four bands are playing, in fact, by now, and people are surging up to the ticket stand, and flags are flutter- ing and rusty little men are carrying big punches of red, white and blue bal looms and you stop for moment on the outskirts of this enchanted "arcady Of dreams" stop with wide-open mouth, cap in hand, the blood red-hot in your shiny cheeks. The flaming banners of the side show; the mushroom-like pink lemonade stands, and the peanut booths, the sacred precincts of the horse and pony tents and the snake charmer, and the other side show people all are there; then suddenly you find yourself leaving these phantoms and going in through the little narrow opening to the big tent and climbing up the embankment ot blue seats, surrounded by all the people in the world, plus a uniformed band.
 Hot roasted peanuts never tasted as good before; the band plays a Sousa march; five seats down you see Professor Barker, your school teacher, and there's Johnnie Jones and, yes, it's Willie Smith, and, and, oh, you can't count them all; they are just there and that settles it. But wait; what makes your heart thump so; isn't that little Annie Perkins, your very 'best-est" girl sitting over there in the reserved seats?" Of course, it is; she has on a fresh white muslin dress and pink ribbons on her hair, and isn't that Master James Montmorency Newton, the little millionaire boy who lives next door to Annie, and two doors from you, and who is your most hated rival for Annie's hand? Yes true, too true, and all at once you look away and gulp right hard; that incident has nearly spoiled your day, but wait.
 Something breaks loose impetuousy like pandemonium gone wild; trapeze performers hurting through the air; ele- plants in most undignified poses, for anything so big and awkward; girls with golden hair and very pink cheeks tum- blind about all over miniature stages; dogs lean, long, dark, fat, barking in 57 varieties of keys; squatted upon striped pedestals as if they'd grown there; majestic horses, prancing and rearing, coal black or immediately white; rings of sputtering fire; Roman chariots; the sharp acrid tang of the sawdust and the dust intermingled; soft rustling sounds as a thousand persons thrilled with expectancy; dressing room tent raising and lowering it's can vas eyelids, as fresh wonders pour into the big tents spacious area-more horses and elephants and Cleopatra's barge standing neglected in a sea of paper waves; and then, then, listen what is that noise?
 t'Here comes the clowns"
 Someone said it; who was it? Why you; it was your own little voice which started it, and then all the thousands of others took it up and rollicked 1t along as the noisy, ugly, giggly, silly crowd of them in their Harlequin garb and their outlandish paint came tum- blind along, and, and, but nothing else matters now; for how you snickered and guffnawed and nearly bent double with uncomfortable laughter as the long, skinny fellow, with red and black stripes on his grinning countenance bal anced an imaginary straw on the end of his strawberry nose.'
 And then, suddenly it's all over before you dreamed it had ever commepced