Polly of the Circus
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Margaret Mayo >> Polly of the Circus
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8 POLLY OF THE CIRCUS BY MARGARET MAYO
To My "KLEINE MUTTER"
Chapter I
The band of the "Great American Circus" was playing noisily. The
performance was in full swing.
Beside a shabby trunk in the women's dressing tent sat a young,
wistful-faced girl, chin in hand, unheeding the chatter of the
women about her or the picturesque disarray of the surrounding
objects. Her eyes had been so long accustomed to the glitter and
tinsel of circus fineries that she saw nothing unusual in a
picture that might have held a painter spellbound.
Circling the inside of the tent and forming a double line down
the centre were partially unpacked trunks belching forth impudent
masses of satins, laces, artificial hair, paper flowers, and
paste jewels. The scent of moist earth mingled oddly with the
perfumed odours of the garments heaped on the grass. Here and
there high circles of lights threw a strong, steady glare upon
the half-clad figure of a robust acrobat, or the thin, drooping
shoulders of a less stalwart sister. Temporary ropes stretched
from one pole to another, were laden with bright- coloured
stockings, gaudy, spangled gowns, or dusty street clothes,
discarded by the performers before slipping into their circus
attire. There were no nails or hooks, so hats and veils were
pinned to the canvas walls.
The furniture was limited to one camp chair in front of each
trunk, the till of which served as a tray for the paints, powders
and other essentials of "make-up."
A pail of water stood by the side of each chair, so that the
performers might wash the delicately shaded tights, handkerchiefs
and other small articles not to be entrusted to the slow,
careless process of the village laundry. Some of these had been
washed to-night and hung to dry on the lines between the dusty
street garments.
Women whose "turns" came late sat about half-clothed reading,
crocheting or sewing, while others added pencilled eyebrows,
powder or rouge to their already exaggerated "make-ups." Here
and there a child was putting her sawdust baby to sleep in the
till of her trunk, before beginning her part in the evening's
entertainment. Young and old went about their duties with a
systematic, business-like air, and even the little knot of
excited women near Polly--it seemed that one of the men had upset
a circus tradition--kept a sharp lookout for their "turns."
"What do you think about it, Polly?" asked a handsome brunette,
as she surveyed herself in the costume of a Roman charioteer.
"About what?" asked Polly vacantly.
"Leave Poll alone; she's in one of her trances!" called a
motherly, good-natured woman whose trunk stood next to Polly's,
and whose business was to support a son and three daughters upon
stalwart shoulders, both figuratively and literally.
"Well, _I_ ain't in any trance," answered the dark girl, "and _I_
think it's pretty tough for him to take up with a rank outsider,
and expect us to warm up to her as though he'd married one of our
own folks." She tossed her head, the pride of class distinction
welling high in her ample bosom.
"He ain't asking us to warm up to her," contradicted Mademoiselle
Eloise, a pale, light- haired sprite, who had arrived late and
was making undignified efforts to get out of her clothes by way
of her head. She was Polly's understudy and next in line for the
star place in the bill.
"Well, Barker has put her into the 'Leap of Death' stunt, ain't
he?" continued the brunette. " 'Course that ain't a regular
circus act," she added, somewhat mollified, "and so far she's had
to dress with the 'freaks,' but the next thing we know, he'll be
ringin' her in on a regular stunt and be puttin' her in to dress
with US."
"No danger of that," sneered the blonde; "Barker is too old a
stager to mix up his sheep and his goats."
Polly had again lost the thread of the conversation. Her mind
had gone roving to the night when the frightened girl about whom
they were talking had made her first appearance in the circus
lot, clinging timidly to the hand of the man who had just made
her his wife. Her eyes had met Polly's, with a look of appeal
that had gone straight to the child's simple heart.
A few nights later the newcomer had allowed herself to be
strapped into the cumbersome "Leap of Death" machine which hurled
itself through space at each performance, and flung itself down
with force enough to break the neck of any unskilled rider.
Courage and steady nerve were the requisites for the job, so the
manager had said; but any physician would have told him that only
a trained acrobat could long endure the nervous strain, the
muscular tension, and the physical rack of such an ordeal.
What matter? The few dollars earned in this way would mean a
great deal to the mother, whom the girl's marriage had left
desolate.
Polly had looked on hungrily the night that the mother had taken
the daughter in her arms to say farewell in the little country
town where the circus had played before her marriage. She could
remember no woman's arms about HER, for it was fourteen years
since tender hands had carried her mother from the performers'
tent into the moonlit lot to die. The baby was so used to seeing
"Mumsie" throw herself wearily on the ground after coming out of
the "big top" exhausted, that she crept to the woman's side as
usual that night, and gazed laughingly into the sightless eyes,
gurgling and prattling and stroking the unresponsive face. There
were tears from those who watched, but no word was spoken.
Clown Toby and the big "boss canvas-man" Jim had always taken
turns amusing and guarding little Polly, while her mother rode in
the ring. So Toby now carried the babe to another side of the
lot, and Jim bore the lifeless body of the mother to the distant
ticket-wagon, now closed for the night, and laid it upon the
seller's cot.
"It's allus like this in the end," he murmured, as he drew a
piece of canvas over the white face and turned away to give
orders to the men who were beginning to load the "props" used
earlier in the performance.
When the show moved on that night it was Jim's strong arms that
lifted the mite of a Polly close to his stalwart heart, and
climbed with her to the high seat on the head wagon. Uncle Toby
was entrusted with the brown satchel in which the mother had
always carried Polly's scanty wardrobe. It seemed to these two
men that the eyes of the woman were fixed steadily upon them.
Barker, the manager, a large, noisy, good-natured fellow, at
first mumbled something about the kid being "excess baggage," but
his objections were only half-hearted, for like the others, he
was already under the hypnotic spell of the baby's round,
confiding eyes, and he eventually contented himself with an
occasional reprimand to Toby, who was now sometimes late on his
cues. Polly wondered, at these times, why the old man's stories
were so suddenly cut short just as she was so "comfy" in the soft
grass at his feet. The boys who used to "look sharp" because of
their boss at loading time, now learned that they might loiter so
long as "Muvver Jim" was "hikin' it round for the kid." It was
Polly who had dubbed big Jim "Muvver," and the sobriquet had
stuck to him in spite of his six feet two, and shoulders that an
athlete might have envied. Little by little, Toby grew more
stooped and small lines of anxiety crept into the brownish
circles beneath Jim's eyes, the lips that had once shut so firmly
became tender and tremulous, but neither of the men would
willingly have gone back to the old emptiness.
It was a red letter day in the circus, when Polly first managed
to climb up on the pole of an unhitched wagon and from there to
the back of a friendly, Shetland pony. Jim and Toby had been
"neglectin' her eddication" they declared, and from that time on,
the blood of Polly's ancestors was given full encouragement.
Barker was quick to grasp the advantage of adding the kid to the
daily parade. She made her first appearance in the streets upon
something very like a Newfoundland dog, guarded from the rear by
Jim, and from the fore by a white-faced clown who was thought to
be all the funnier because he twisted his neck so much.
From the street parade to Polly's first appearance in the "big
top," had seemed a short while to Jim and Toby. They were proud
to see her circling the ring in bright colours and to hear the
cheers of the people, but a sense of loss was upon them.
"I always said she'd do it," cried Barker, who now took upon
himself the credit of Polly's triumph.
And what a triumph it was!
Polly danced as serenely on Bingo's back as she might have done
on the "concert boards." She swayed gracefully with the music.
Her tiny sandals twinkled as she stood first upon one foot and
then upon the other.
Uncle Toby forgot to use many of his tricks that night; and Jim
left the loading of the wagons to take care of itself, while he
hovered near the entrance, anxious and breathless. The
performers crowded around the girl with outstretched hands and
congratulations, as she came out of the ring to cheers and
applause.
But Big Jim stood apart. He was thinking of the buttons that his
clumsy fingers used to force into the stiff, starchy holes too
small for them and of the pigtails so stubborn at the ends; and
Toby was remembering the little shoes that had once needed to be
laced in the cold, dark mornings, and the strings that were
always snapping.
Something had gone.
They were not philosophers to reason like Emerson, that for
everything we lose we gain something; they were simple souls,
these two, they could only feel.
Chapter II
WHILE Polly sat in the dressing tent, listening indifferently to
the chatter about the "Leap of Death" girl, Jim waited in the lot
outside, opening and shutting a small, leather bag which he had
bought for her that day. He was as blind to the picturesque
outdoor life as she to her indoor surroundings, for he, too, had
been with the circus since his earliest recollection.
The grass enclosure, where he waited, was shut in by a circle of
tents and wagons. The great, red property vans were waiting to
be loaded with the costumes and tackle which were constantly
being brought from the "big top," where the evening performance
was now going on. The gay striped curtains at the rear of the
tent were looped back to give air to the panting musicians, who
sat just inside. Through the opening, a glimpse of the audience
might be had, tier upon tier, fanning and shifting uneasily.
Near the main tent stood the long, low dressing "top," with the
women performers stowed away in one end, the "ring horses" in the
centre, and the men performers in the other end.
A temporary curtain was hung between the main and the dressing
tent, to shut out the curious mob that tried to peep in at the
back lot for a glimpse of things not to be seen in the ring.
Coloured streamers, fastened to the roofs of the tents, waved and
floated in the night air and beckoned to the towns-people on the
other side to make haste to get their places, forget their cares,
and be children again.
Over the tops of the tents, the lurid light of the distant red
fire shot into the sky, accompanied by the cries of the peanut
"butchers," the popcorn boys, the lemonade venders,{sic} and the
exhortations of the side-show "spieler," whose flying banners
bore the painted reproductions of his "freaks." Here and there
stood unhitched chariots, half filled trunks, trapeze tackle,
paper hoops, stake pullers or other "properties" necessary to the
show.
Torches flamed at the tent entrances, while oil lamps and
lanterns gave light for the loading of the wagons.
There was a constant stream of life shooting in and out from the
dressing tent to the "big top," as gaily decked men, women and
animals came or went.
Drowsy dogs were stretched under the wagons, waiting their turn
to be dressed as lions or bears. The wise old goose, with his
modest grey mate, pecked at the green grass or turned his head
from side to side, watching the singing clown, who rolled up the
painted carcass and long neck of the imitation giraffe from which
two property men had just slipped, their legs still encased in
stripes.
Ambitious canvas-men and grooms were exercising, feet in air, in
the hope of some day getting into the performers' ring. Property
men stole a minute's sleep in the soft warm grass while they
waited for more tackle to load in the wagons. Children of the
performers were swinging on the tent ropes, chattering monkeys
sat astride the Shetland ponies, awaiting their entrance to the
ring. The shrieks of the hyenas in the distant animal tent, the
roaring of the lions and the trumpeting of the elephants mingled
with the incessant clamour of the band. And back of all this,
pointing upward in mute protest, rose a solemn church spire,
white and majestic against a vast panorama of blue, moonlit
hills, that encircled the whole lurid picture. Jim's eyes turned
absently toward the church as he sat fumbling with the lock of
the little brown satchel.
He had gone from store to store in the various towns where they
had played looking for something to inspire wonder in the heart
of a miss, newly arrived at her sixteenth year. Only the
desperation of a last moment had forced him to decide upon the
imitation alligator bag, which he now held in his hand.
It looked small and mean to him as the moment of presentation
approached, and he was glad that the saleswoman in the little
country store had suggested the addition of ribbons and laces,
which he now drew from the pocket of his corduroys. He placed
his red and blue treasures very carefully in the bottom of the
satchel, and remembered with regret the strand of coral beads
which he had so nearly bought to go with them.
He opened the large property trunk by his side, and took from it
a laundry box, which held a little tan coat, that was to be
Toby's contribution to the birthday surprise. He was big-
hearted enough to be glad that Toby's gift seemed finer and more
useful than his.
It was only when the "Leap of Death" act preceding Polly's turn
was announced, that the big fellow gave up feasting his eyes on
the satchel and coat, and hid them away in the big property
trunk. She would be out in a minute, and these wonders were not
to be revealed to her until the close of the night's performance.
Jim put down the lid of the trunk and sat upon it, feeling like a
criminal because he was hiding something from Polly.
His consciousness of guilt was increased as he recalled how often
she had forbidden Toby and himself to rush into reckless
extravagances for her sake, and how she had been more nearly
angry than he had ever seen her, when they had put their month's
salaries together to buy her the spangled dress for her first
appearance. It had taken a great many apologies and promises as
to their future behaviour to calm her, and now they had again
disobeyed her. It would be a great relief when to-night's ordeal
was over.
Jim watched Polly uneasily as she came from the dressing tent and
stopped to gaze at the nearby church steeple. The incongruity of
the slang, that soon came from her delicately formed lips, was
lost upon him as she turned her eyes toward him.
"Say, Jim," she said, with a Western drawl, "them's a funny lot
of guys what goes to them church places, ain't they?"
"Most everybody has got some kind of a bug," Jim assented; "I
guess they don't do much harm."
" 'Member the time you took me into one of them places to get me
out a the rain, the Sunday our wagon broke down? Well, that bunch
WE butted into wouldn't a give Sell's Brothers no cause for worry
with that show a' theirn, would they, Jim?" She looked at him
with withering disgust. "Say, wasn't that the punkiest stunt
that fellow in black was doin' on the platform? You said Joe was
only ten minutes gettin' the tire onto our wheel, but say, you
take it from me, Jim, if I had to wait another ten minutes as
long as that one, I'd be too old to go on a-ridin'."
Jim " 'lowed" some church shows might be better than "that un,"
but Polly said he could have her end of the bet, and summed up by
declaring it no wonder that the yaps in these towns was daffy
about circuses, if they didn't have nothin' better an' church
shows to go to.
One of the grooms was entering the lot with Polly's horse. She
stooped to tighten one of her sandals, and as she rose, Jim saw
her sway slightly and put one hand to her head. He looked at her
sharply, remembering her faintness in the parade that morning.
"You ain't feeling right," he said uneasily.
"You just bet I am," Polly answered with an independent toss of
her head. "This is the night we're goin' to make them rubes in
there sit up, ain't it, Bingo?" she added, placing one arm
affectionately about the neck of the big, white horse that stood
waiting near the entrance.
"You bin ridin' too reckless lately," said Jim, sternly, as he
followed her. "I don't like it. There ain't no need of your
puttin' in all them extra stunts. Your act is good enough
without 'em. Nobody else ever done 'em, an' nobody'd miss 'em if
you left 'em out."
Polly turned with a triumphant ring in her voice. The music was
swelling for her entrance.
"You ain't my MOTHER, Jim, you're my GRANDmother," she taunted;
and, with a crack of her whip she was away on Bingo's back.
"It's the spirit of the dead one that's got into her," Jim
mumbled as he turned away, still seeing the flash in the
departing girl's eyes.
Chapter III
Polly and Bingo always made the audience "sit up" when they swept
into the ring. She was so young, so gaily clad, so light and
joyous in all her poses. She seemed scarcely to touch the back
of the white horse, as they dashed round the ring in the glare of
the tent lights. The other performers went through their work
mechanically while Polly rode, for they knew the audience was
watching her only.
As for Polly, her work had never lost its first interest. Jim
may have been right when he said that the spirit of the dead
mother had got into her; but it must have been an unsatisfied
spirit, unable to fulfil its ambition in the body that once held
it, for it sometimes played strange pranks with Polly. To-night,
her eyes shone and her lips were parted in anticipation, as she
leaped lightly over the many coloured streamers of the wheel of
silken ribbons held by Barker in the centre of the ring, and by
Toby and the "tumblers" on the edge of the bank.
With each change of her act, the audience cheered and frantically
applauded. The band played faster; Bingo's pace increased; the
end of her turn was coming. The "tumblers" arranged themselves
around the ring with paper hoops; Bingo was fairly racing. She
went through the first hoop with a crash of tearing paper and
cheers from the audience.
"Heigh, Bingo!" she shouted, as she bent her knees to make ready
for the final leap.
Bingo's neck was stretched. He had never gone so fast before.
Barker looked uneasy. Toby forgot to go on with his accustomed
tricks. Jim watched anxiously from the entrance.
The paper of one hoop was still left unbroken. The attendant
turned his eyes to glance at the oncoming girl; the hoop shifted
slightly in his clumsy hand as Polly leapt straight up from
Bingo's back, trusting to her first calculation. Her forehead
struck the edge of the hoop. She clutched wildly at the air.
Bingo galloped on, and she fell to the ground, striking her head
against the iron-bound stake at the edge of the ring.
Everything stopped. There was a gasp of horror; the musicians
dropped their instruments; Bingo halted and looked back uneasily;
she lay unconscious and seemingly lifeless.
A great cry went up in the tent. Panic- stricken, men, women and
children began to clamber down from their seats, while others
nearest the ground attempted to jump into the ring. Barker,
still grasping his long whip, rushed to the girl's side, and
shouted wildly to Toby:
"Say something, you. Get 'em back!"
Old Toby turned his white face to the crowd, his features worked
convulsively, but he could not speak. His grief was so
grotesque, that the few who saw him laughed hysterically. He
could not even go to Polly, his feet seemed pinned to the earth.
Jim rushed into the tent at the first cry of the audience. He
lifted the limp form tenderly, and kneeling in the ring held her
bruised head in his hands.
"Can't you get a doctor!" he shouted desperately to Barker.
"Here's the doctor!" some one called; and a stranger came toward
them. He bent over the seemingly lifeless form, his fingers on
the tiny wrist, his ear to the heart.
"Well, sir?" Jim faltered, for he had caught the puzzled look in
the doctor's eyes as his deft hand pressed the cruelly wounded
head.
"I can't tell just yet," said the doctor. "She must be taken
away."
"Where can we take her?" asked Jim, a look of terror in his
great, troubled eyes.
"The parsonage is the nearest house," said the doctor. "I am
sure the pastor will be glad to have her there until we can find
out how badly she is hurt."
In an instant Barker was back in the centre of the ring. He
announced that Polly's injuries were slight, called the attention
of the audience to the wonderful concert to take place, and bade
them make ready for the thrilling chariot race which would end
the show.
Jim, blind with despair, lifted the light burden and staggered
out of the tent, while the band played furiously and the people
fell back into their seats. The Roman chariots thundered and
clattered around the outside of the ring, the audience cheered
the winner of the race, and for the moment Polly was forgotten.
Chapter IV
THE blare of the circus band had been a sore temptation to Mandy
Jones all afternoon and evening. Again and again it had dragged
her from her work to the study window, from which she could see
the wonders so tantalisingly near. Mandy was housekeeper for the
Rev. John Douglas, but the unwashed supper dishes did not
trouble her, as she watched the lumbering elephants, the restless
lions, the long-necked giraffes and the striped zebras, that came
and went in the nearby circus lot. And yet, in spite of her own
curiosity, she could not forgive her vagrant "worse half," Hasty,
who had been lured from duty early in the day. She had once
dubbed him Hasty, in a spirit of derision, and the name had clung
to him. The sarcasm seemed doubly appropriate to-night, for he
had been away since ten that morning, and it was now past nine.
The young pastor for a time had enjoyed Mandy's tirades against
her husband, but when she began calling shrilly out of the window
to chance acquaintances for news of him, he slipped quietly into
the next room to finish to-morrow's sermon. Mandy renewed her
operations at the window with increased vigour when the pastor
had gone. She was barely saved from pitching head foremost into
the lot, by the timely arrival of Deacon Strong's daughter, who
managed, with difficulty, to connect the excited woman's feet
with the floor.
"Foh de Lor' sake!" Mandy gasped, as she stood panting for breath
and blinking at the pretty, young, apple-faced Julia; "I was suah
most gone dat time." Then followed another outburst against the
delinquent Hasty.
But the deacon's daughter did not hear; her eyes were already
wandering anxiously to the lights and the tinsel of the little
world beyond the window.
This was not the first time to-day that Mandy had found herself
talking to space. There had been a steady stream of callers at
the parsonage since eleven that morning, but she had long ago
confided to the pastor that she suspected their reasons.
"Dey comes in here a-trackin' up my floors," she said, "and
a-askin' why you don' stop de circus from a-showin' nex' to de
church and den a-cranin' afar necks out de winder, till I can't
get no housework done."
"That's only human nature," Douglas had answered with a laugh;
but Mandy had declared that she knew another name for it, and had
mumbled something about "hypocritters," as she seized her broom
and began to sweep imaginary tracks from in front of the door.
Many times she had made up her mind to let the next caller know
just what she thought of "hypocritters," but her determination
was usually weakened by her still greater desire to excite
increased wonder in the faces of her visitors.
Divided between these two inclinations, she gazed at Julia now;
the shining eyes of the deacon's daughter conquered, and she
launched forth into an eager description of how she had just seen
a "wondeful striped anamule" with a "pow'ful long neck walk right
out of the tent," and how he had "come apart afore her very
eyes," and two men had slipped "right out a' his insides." Mandy
was so carried away by her own eloquence and so busy showing
Julia the sights beyond the window, that she did not hear Miss
Perkins, the thin-lipped spinster, who entered, followed by the
Widow Willoughby dragging her seven-year-old son Willie by the
hand.
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