The Clockwork Twin (13 page)

When they got to the fair grounds the big tent was already up, but the side-show tents were still spread out on the ground, and men were hammering pegs, and elephants and tigers and camels and animals of all kinds were hurrying about as busy as ants in a thunderstorm, and all was bustle and confusion.

“Hello, Mrs. Wiggins,” said a voice, and a small and very nice-looking brown bear came up to them.

“Why, Freginald,” said the cow, “well, you're looking fine! How are you? Shake hands with my friend, Adoniram R. Bean.”

The bear held out a paw. Adoniram shook it.

“Where's Mr. Boomschmidt?” asked Mrs. Wiggins. “We want to ask his advice about something.”

“I'll find him for you,” said Freginald. “Hi, Leo,” he called to a lion who was lying down in the shadow of a wagon, “where's the chief?”

The lion, whose mane was beautifully curled and arranged in a sort of swirl at the back of the head, said without opening his eyes: “In the big tent.” Then his eyes opened, he blinked twice, and jumped to his feet. “Well, dye my hair!” he said. “If it isn't Mrs. Wiggins! How are you? And your charming sisters? I was just saying to Mr. Boomschmidt—‘Chief,' I said, ‘if Mrs. Wiggins isn't in the front row tomorrow, I won't do my act. I won't come on,' I said.”

“Get along with you!” said Mrs. Wiggins, looking pleased. “They couldn't keep you away from an audience if they locked you in a cage.” Then she introduced Adoniram, who was quite excited at meeting a real lion, and they went into the big tent.

Over in the far corner of the tent a crowd of animals and men were standing in a circle, watching a mud-turtle who was climbing up a rope. “Another amateur,” Leo explained, “who wants to get a job.”

As they came closer, a small round man in a bright-checked suit, with his hat pushed far on the back of his head, picked the turtle off the rope and set him on the ground. “All right,” he said. “That'll do. My gracious, that's a good trick, all right. But it won't do for our audiences. Eh, Leo?” he said, catching sight of the lion. “Tell him why it won't do for our audiences.”

“Quite right, chief,” said Leo. “He's a turtle, and he can climb a rope. So what? What does he do when he has climbed it? Nothing. Well, you can't ask an audience to look at that.”

“That's it,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “That's it exactly. See here, my boy,” he said to the turtle, “you go home and think up something to do. Then practice it. And come see me next year.”

“But what shall I do when I've climbed the rope, sir?” asked the turtle.

“Oh, dear me! Oh, my goodness!” exclaimed Mr. Boomschmidt. “How should I know? You're the one to do it—not me. Think of something—a high dive, a juggling act, anything. Now run along. Sorry.” Then he turned around. “Well, as I live and breathe!” he exclaimed. “Mrs. Wiggins!” And he rushed over and held out his hand. “How are you, and the good Beans, and Jinx, and that clever pig—what's his name? Now, why can't I think of it? Gracious me, why can't I ever remember names? I'd know his face anywhere, but his name—Leo, what is that pig's name?”

“Freddy,” said the lion.

“Freddy! Of course. Handsome fellow, too. Well, well, it's a pleasure to see you.”

When Mrs. Wiggins had finally explained about Byram, and how they had been unable to get any information about him, Mr. Boomschmidt said: “Well, well, I guess we'll have to go into conference about this.”

“Where's that?” said Mrs. Wiggins.

“Oh, dear me, it isn't a place; it's a state. Like—What is it like, Leo?”

“Like being in love,” said the lion. “Or in difficulties. Or—”

“Now you're just being confusing,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “Good grief, being in love and being in difficulties—why they're entirely different.”

“Not entirely,” said Leo. “But, chief, I was just illustrating—”

“Well, you're not supposed to illustrate—not when you're in conference. Now I call the conference to order. Anybody got any suggestions? No? Then what game'll we play?”

“But, Mr. Boomschmidt,” protested Mrs. Wiggins, “we can't play games—not now. I thought maybe you could help us find this Byram boy.”

“Dear, dear, so you did,” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “I'm sorry. It was being in conference that got me mixed up. We always play games in conference. Well, Leo, speak up, what'll we do about Byram? Offer a reward? Advertise?”

“I should think that would be a good idea,” said Freginald. “We could put up a notice offering a reward for information leading to the discovery of the whereabouts of a boy, such and such an age, such and such a name—”

“Why bring in his whereabouts?” said Mr. Boomschmidt. “We don't want his whereabouts; we want the boy. And why say such and such? Why not
give
his name? What is his name, by the way?”

“Byram R. Jones.”

“Jones,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I've heard that name somewhere. And what does the R. stand for?”

“We don't know.”

“Like the D. in John D. Rockefeller,” said Leo. “Nobody knows what that stands for either, I bet.”

The conference went on like this for some time, and it all seemed pretty confusing to Adoniram. He was surprised to find that when it was over, something had really been done. Since Georgie had said that he looked so much like Byram, it was decided to use his picture on the handbill that was drawn up, and a photographer was brought in to take it. Mr. Boomschmidt said he would have the bills distributed to everyone who came to the circus, and Leo and Freginald agreed to speak to all the animals. “And if we don't find him before the summer's over,” said Mr. Boomschmidt, “I miss my guess.”

Adoniram and Mrs. Wiggins spent the rest of the day at the fair grounds, wandering around and chatting with the animals and seeing how the circus was run. And when they went home, Mr. Boomschmidt gave them each a free pass for the show next day.

Neither of them said much on their way back to the farm. But all at once Mrs. Wiggins began to chuckle. “That Leo,” she said. “He tickles me.”

“I thought he was awfully nice,” said Adoniram.

“He is nice,” said the cow. “But that mane of his—did you see how he had it arranged? They say he spends half his time looking at pictures in women's magazines of new ways to do your hair. He gets a permanent wave twice a year, and he's always running to beauty shops. I bet you that hair-do he had was the latest thing from Paris.” They walked a way in silence, then she began to chuckle again. “Him and his permanents,” she said. “Him and his permanents!”

X
Bertram Wrestles at the Circus

Mr. Boomschmidt and his partner, Mr. Hack-enmeyer, didn't believe that animals should be shut up in cages. And so their circus was quite different from most circuses. The lions and tigers and bears and elephants and camels and all the other animals walked around among the people and chatted with them and cracked jokes and gave little boys rides, and often after the show started they would sit with friends in the audience until their act came on. It was all very friendly and nice. Of course people who had never been to this show before were sometimes scared, and you can't really blame them, for it is a little terrifying to walk into the circus grounds and come face to face with a Bengal tiger, or to be tapped on the shoulder and turn around to have a boa constrictor say: “May I show you to a seat?” But Adoniram thought it was wonderful.

The animals from the Bean farm had come in a body, led by the phaeton, in which sat Mr. and Mrs. Bean and Uncle Ben and Adoniram and Bertram. After they had walked around for a while and renewed old friendships, and visited some of the side shows, they filed into the big tent to take the two rows of seats which had been reserved for them opposite the band. There was a burst of applause as they sat down, for they were quite famous in Centerboro. And then there was a roar of laughter. For Mr. Bean had risen to take a bow, and when he took off his old felt hat everybody saw that under it he still had on his white nightcap with the red tassel. He had been so excited about going to the circus that he had forgotten to take it off when he got up.

Mrs. Bean's face turned red and she jumped up and snatched off the nightcap, and Mr. Bean looked puzzled for a minute and then laughed and waved his hand. And everybody clapped. And then the show began.

I'm not going to tell you about the show. Maybe you'll go some day and see it for yourself, and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as Adoniram did. Mr. Bean bought peanuts and popcorn for all the animals, and they sat and munched and watched and applauded. Bertram didn't applaud, because Ronald found that he couldn't see everything that was going on through the little window in the clockwork boy's chest, so he left the control room and came outside. He went back in once, though. That was when twenty-five roosters came out dressed up in red uniforms and did some fancy marching. Ronald scrambled back into the control room and made Bertram clap his hands until the splinters flew from them.

Adoniram saw a lot of the audience looking at the handbills offering a reward for Byram, which had been handed them as they bought their tickets. And a good many of them kept looking at him, too, and then whispering to their neighbors. And just before the show was over, quite a number got up and went out. Adoniram didn't think anything about it then, but when the band played the final number and everybody started to go, he heard a commotion outside, and as he came out through the tent door, a big shout went up. “There he is!—I claim the reward!—That's the boy!”

The rush of the crowd toward him shoved him back inside the tent. As he and the animals were pushed back, he saw Mr. Boomschmidt standing up in the little ticket-seller's pulpit at the entrance, waving his arms and shouting over and over: “Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!” But nobody listened to him.

Adoniram saw right away what had happened. The people had seen his picture on the handbill and had naturally jumped to the conclusion that he was Byram. For the bill had said: “Have you seen Byram R. Jones? This is what he looks like.” It hadn't said that the picture was a picture of Adoniram.

As the boy was wondering what to do, Leo appeared from somewhere. “Come on,” he said. “We'll get out the back way. If you go out there now, they'll all try to grab you and claim the reward, and they'll get to fighting over you and tear you to pieces. The chief'll calm 'em down as soon as they'll let him speak. He'll explain about that handbill.”

“Maybe I could speak to them,” said Bertram. “I could make them hear.” And Ronald turned up the microphone and shouted: “Ladies and Gentlemen!” in Bertram's loudest voice.

“Well, dye my hair!” exclaimed Leo looking at him admiringly. “A natural baritone with all the power of a steamboat whistle! Sure, go out and explain.”

So Bertram went out and got up beside Mr. Boomschmidt, and when that big voice rolled out across the crowd there was instant silence. So Bertram explained that the picture on the bill was not a picture of the missing boy, but of a boy who looked like him and who was thought to be his brother.

There was a good deal of grumbling, and one man shouted: “Well, who are you, then? You look just like him, too.”

So Bertram explained who he was, and why he had been painted to look like Adoniram, and then he showed some of the things he could do. Nearly everybody was satisfied with that, and they laughed and applauded when he did his tricks. But the man who had spoken before said: “Yah! You're no more clockwork than my boy here. There's some trickery, folks. I believe this is the missing boy, and I claim the reward.”

And the man's son, who was bigger than Bertram, came up close to the ticket booth and made a face and said: “Yah! Want to fight?”

“No,” said Bertram, “I don't want to fight. I just want to tell you—”

“Yah!” said the boy again. “Don't want to fight, hey? Want to rassle?”

“No,” said Bertram, “I don't want to rassle. I just want to—”

“Yah, yah, yah!” said the boy, making still worse faces. “Scaredy-cat!”

“That's the stuff, Benjy,” said the man. “If we can't get the reward, let's have some fun. Rassle him—Hey, what's this?” he shouted. For something like a thick rope had snapped around his waist, and he turned to look up into the calm eyes of old Hannibal, the elephant. And at the same moment, Louise, a smaller elephant, had grabbed the boy. Mr. Boomschmidt had slipped away and brought them back.