THE PRIZE CAT HAD TOUCHED ONE OF MISS MESSITER’S ANKLES, AND MISS MESSITER UTTERED A SCREAM.
William and Ginger ambled slowly down the lane. Henry and Douglas had succumbed to a local epidemic of mumps and so William and Ginger were the only two representatives of the Outlaws at large. Each carried sticks and slashed at the grass by the roadside as he went along. The action was purely mechanical. Neither felt properly dressed out of doors unless he had a stick to slash at things with.
‘Couldn’t we get underneath the flap?’ Ginger was saying.
‘No,’ said William, ‘I thought of that. They’ve got someone there to stop you. Jimmie Barlow says he tried that yesterday, and it wasn’t any good.’
‘You asked your father for money, din’t you?’ said Ginger.
‘Yes,’ replied William bitterly, ‘and he said that he’d give me some if ever he noticed me being clean and tidy and quiet for three days together. That’s a jolly mean way of sayin’ “no.” ’Sides, if ever I was like that there prob’ly wouldn’t be any circus here so it would all be wasted and if there was I bet I wouldn’t feel like goin’ to it if I’d been clean and tidy and quiet for three days. I bet you wouldn’t feel much like doin’ anythin’ if you’d been clean and tidy and quiet for three days. You asked your father, too, din’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Ginger gloomily, ‘an’ he went on and on and on about every window or anythin’ that had got broke in our house for—for all my life I should think. He even remembered that time that I fell through the roof and broke the skylight. Well, that’s so long ago I’d almost quite forgot that till he said about it. Anyway I hurt myself jolly badly over it an’ you’d have thought he’d’ve been sorry instead of makin’ it an excuse not to give me money to go an’ see a circus.’
‘We haven’t even anythin’ we can sell,’ said William taking up the antiphonic lament. ‘I tried to sell my whistle to Frankie Dakers, but it hasn’t any whistle in and he wouldn’t buy it. He’d been to the circus.’
‘Jolly fine one, isn’t it?’ said Ginger wistfully.
‘He said it was a rippin’ one,’ said William. They walked on for a moment in silence, frowning and slashing absently at the roadside with their sticks.
Then suddenly round a bend in the roadway, all unprepared and unexpecting, they ran into the Hubert Laneites, their rivals and enemies from time immemorial. Hubert Lane, standing in the centre of his little band, smiled fatly at them. It happened to be a period of armed neutrality between the two bands. Had it been a period of open warfare the Hubert Laneites would have fled on sight of even two of the Outlaws, for the Hubert Laneites, though possessed of deep cunning, lacked courage and strength in open warfare. But as it was, Hubert Lane smiled at them fatly.
‘Hello,’ he said, ‘been to the circus?’
Hubert Lane had a knack of finding out most things about his enemies, and he was well aware that the Outlaws had not been to the circus, because they had not enough money for their entrance fee.
‘Circus?’ said William carelessly. ‘What circus?’
‘Why the one over at Little Marleigh?’ said Hubert, slightly deflated.
‘Oh that one,’ said William smiling, ‘you mean that one. It’s not much of a circus, is it?’
Hubert Lane had recourse to heavy sarcasm.
‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘It takes a much grander circus than that to satisfy you, I s’pose?’
‘Well,’ said William mysteriously, ‘I know a jolly sight more about circuses than most people.’
The Hubert Laneites laughed mockingly.
‘How do you know more about circuses than most people?’ challenged Hubert.
William considered this in silence for a moment, wondering whether to have been born in a circus and worked in it till he was rescued and adopted by his present parents, or to have an uncle who owned all the circuses in England and took him to see one every week. He rejected both claims as being too easy for Hubert to disprove, and contented himself with saying still more mysteriously;
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
Hubert eyed him uncertainly. He suspected that William’s assurance of manner and deep mysteriousness of tone was bluff, and yet he was half impressed by it.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘You prove it. I’ll believe it when you prove it.’
‘All right,’ retorted William. ‘You jolly well wait and see.’
Hubert snorted contemptuously, deciding that this unfounded claim of William’s would make a good weapon of offence against him for some time to come, and already framing in his mind simple unvarnished allusions to it as, ‘Who said he knew all about circuses an’ couldn’t afford to go to the one at Little Marleigh?’ Such challenges, however, needed to be issued from a safe distance, so for the present he turned to another subject.
‘I’m gettin’ up a cat show to-morrow,’ he said innocently. ‘There’s a big box of chocolates for the prize. Would you like to bring your cat along?’
The brazen shamelessness of this for a minute took away William’s breath. It was well known that Hubert’s mother possessed a cat of gigantic proportions, who had won many prizes at shows. That the Hubert Laneites should thus try to win public prestige for themselves, and secure their own box of chocolates by organising a cat show at which their own exhibit was bound to win the prize was a piece of assurance worthy of them.
‘Like to enter your cat?’ repeated Hubert carelessly.
William thought of the mangy and undersized creature who represented the sole feline staff of his household. Hubert thought of it too.
‘I suppose it wouldn’t have much chance,’ said Hubert at last, with nauseating pity in his voice.
‘It would. It’s a jolly fine cat,’ said William indignantly.
‘Want to enter it then?’ said Hubert, satisfied with the cunning that had made William thus court public humiliation. The Brown cat was the worst-looking cat of the village.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’ll put you down. Bring it along this afternoon.’
William and Ginger walked dejectedly away.
Early that afternoon they set off, William carefully carrying the Brown cat, brushed till it was in a state bordering on madness, and adorned with a blue bow (taken off a boudoir cap of Ethel’s) at which it tore furiously in the intervals of scratching William.
‘It’s got spirit, anyway,’ said William proudly, ‘and that ought to count. It’s got more spirit than that fat ole thing of Hubert’s mother’s. I think spirit ought to count.’
But Ginger refused to be roused from his dejection.
‘It doesn’t count,’ he said. ‘I mean it doesn’t count for them—scratchin’ the judges an’ such like.’ He inspected their entry more closely and his dejection increased. ‘Why are there so many places where it hasn’t got any fur?’
‘It’s always like that,’ said William. ‘It’s quite healthy. It eats a lot. But it never has fur on those places. It’s all right. It doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with it. It just means that—that it hasn’t got fur on those places.’
‘And look at its ear. It’s all gone funny.’
‘That’s where it had a fight,’ explained William, ‘it goes out fighting every night. It’s a jolly brave cat. I bet there’s not many cats that fight as much as this one does.’
As if to corroborate his statement, the cat shot out a paw and gave him a scratch from forehead to chin, then, taking advantage of his suddenly relaxed hold, leapt from his arms and fled down the road still tearing madly at its blue bow.
‘There!’ said Ginger. ‘Now you’ve gone and done it. Now we’ve got to go without a cat or not go at all, and they’ll laugh at us if we go without a cat, and they’ll call us funks if we don’t go at all.’
William considered these alternatives gloomily.
‘An’ they’ll go on and on ’cause they know we can’t go to the circus,’ he added.
‘Go after it and try and catch it again,’ suggested Ginger.
‘No, I’m jolly well not going to,’ said William. ‘I’m sick of it. I’d rather fight someone.’
‘Well, what shall we do?’ said Ginger. ‘Go without a cat or just not go?’
‘Let’s sit down and wait a bit,’ said William, ‘an’ try’n’ think of a plan. We might find a stray cat bigger’n’ their’s. Let’s jus’ sit down an’ think.’
Ginger shook his head at William’s optimism.
‘I bet there aren’t any stray cats nowadays. I never see any. And if there were they wouldn’t just come when you wanted them. And if they did they wouldn’t be the big fat sort of cat what like the Lane cat is.’
They were sitting down on the roadside, their backs to the wood that bordered the road. William turned to look into the wood.
‘There’s wild cats anyway,’ he said, ‘I bet there’s still a few wild cats left in England. I bet they’re bigger than his mother’s old cat. I bet that if we could find a wild cat and tame it and take it along it’d get the prize all right. I shun’t be a bit surprised if there was some wild cats left in this wood. I’m goin’ to have a look anyway.’
And he was just going to make his way through the hedge that bordered the wood when the most amazing thing happened. Out of the wood gambolling playfully came a gigantic—was it a cat? It was certainly near enough to a cat to be called a cat. But it was far from wild. It greeted Ginger and William affectionately, rolling over on to its back and offering itself to be stroked and rubbed.
They stared at it in amazement.
‘It’s a wild cat,’ said William, ‘a tame, wild cat. P’raps hunger made it tame, or perhaps now that there aren’t any other wild animals to fight wild cats have got tame. P’raps it’s the last wild cat left in England. Puss! Puss! Puss!’
It leapt upon him affectionately.
‘It’s a jolly fine wild-cat,’ he said, stroking it, ‘and we’re jolly lucky to have found a cat like this. Look at it. It knows it belongs to us now. Let’s find something for it to eat.’
‘We’d better take it to the show first,’ said Ginger, ‘it’s nearly time.’
So they made a collar for it by tying Ginger’s tie loosely round its neck, and a lead by taking a boot-lace out of William’s boot and attaching it to the tie and set off towards the Lane’s house.
The wild cat ambled along the road with them in friendly fashion. William walked slowly and ungracefully in the laceless boot, but his heart was overflowing with pride and affection for his new pet.
‘I bet it’s the finest wild cat anyone’s ever found,’ he said.
The show was to be held in the shed at the back of the Lanes’ house. The other competitors were all there, holding more or less unwilling exhibits, and in the place of honour was Hubert Lane holding his mother’s enormous tabby. But the Lane tabby was a kitten compared with William’s wild cat. The assembled competitors stared at it speechlessly as William, with a nonchalant air, took his seat with it amongst them.
‘That—that’s not a cat,’ gasped Hubert Lane.
William had with difficulty gathered his exhibit upon his knee. He challenged them round its head.
‘What is it, then?’ he said.
They had no answer. It was certainly more like a cat than anything.
‘’Course it’s a cat,’ said William, pursuing his advantage.
‘Well, whose is it then?’ said Hubert indignantly. ‘I bet it’s not yours.’
‘It is mine,’ said William.
‘Well, why’ve we never seen it before then?’ said Hubert.
‘D’you think,’ said William, ‘that we’d let a valu’ble cat like this run about all over the place? Why, this is one of the most famous cats in all the world. We’d have it stole in no time if we let it run about all over the place like an ordin’ry cat. This isn’t an ordin’ry cat, this isn’t. Let me tell you this is one of the most famous cats in all the world, a speshully famous cat that never comes out except to go to shows, and that’s won prizes all over the world. An’ we don’t tell people about it either for fear of it being stole. Well, I’ve not got much time and I’ve got to get our cat back home, so if our cat’s bigger’n yours you’d better give me the prize now, ’cause this cat’s not used to be kept hangin’ about before being give its prize.’
The Hubert Laneites stared at William and his burden limply. It was no good. They had not the resilience to withstand this shock. They sagged visibly, eyes and mouth open to their fullest extent, gazing at the monster who sat calmly on William’s knees rubbing its face against his neck affectionately.
Hubert Lane at last roused himself with an effort from his paralysis of amazement. He knew when he had met defeat. He took the large box of chocolates on which the Hubert Laneites had meant to feast that afternoon and handed it to William, still gaping at the prize winner. The other exhibitors cheered. They were not at all sorry to see the Hubert Laneites worsted. William put the box of chocolates under his arm and set off, leading his exhibit and shuffling awkwardly in his laceless boot. It was not till they reached the gate leading to the road that the Hubert Laneites recovered from their stupefaction. They recovered all at the same minute and yelled as with one accord.
‘Who can’t afford to go to the circus? Yah.’
William was still drunk with the pride of possession.
‘It’s a jolly fine wild cat,’ he said again.
‘Where’ll we keep it?’ said Ginger practically.
‘In the old barn,’ said William, ‘an’ we’ll not tell anyone about it. They’ll only manage to spoil it somehow if they find out. We’ll keep it there an’ take it out walks in the woods an’ bring it food from home to eat. Then I vote we send it in for some real cat shows. I bet it’ll win a lot of money. I bet it’ll make us millionaires. An’ when I’m a millionaire I’m goin’ to buy a circus with every sort of animal in the world in it, an’ I bet I’ll have a jolly fine time.’
The mention of the circus rather depressed them and Ginger, to cheer them up, suggested eating the chocolates. They descended into the ditch (fortunately dry), and sat there with the prize cat between them. It seemed that the prize cat, too, liked chocolates and the three shared them equally, eating one each in turn till the box was finished.
‘Well, it’s had its tea now,’ said Ginger, ‘so let’s take it straight to the old barn for the night.’
‘You don’t know that it’s had enough,’ said William, ‘it might want a bit of something else. I bet we get it up to my bedroom without anyone seeing us and give it a bit of something else to eat there. I bet we can easily get it up without anyone seein’.’
They had reached William’s home now.
He picked the animal up in both arms and concealing it inadequately in his coat entered the side door in a conspiratorial fashion followed by Ginger. As soon as he had reached the foot of the stairs, however, there came the sound of the opening of his mother’s bedroom door and her footsteps on the landing. William turned and fled into the drawing-room still followed by the faithful Ginger.
‘We’ll just wait here till she’s gone,’ he whispered.
Her footsteps descended the stairs and unmistakably began to approach the drawing-room.
‘Here! Quick!’ gasped William plunging behind a Chesterfield that was placed across a corner of the room. The triangular space thus formed was rather inadequate for the accommodation of William, Ginger and the prize cat, but by squeezing themselves together they just managed to get themselves into it. The prize cat was evidently of a philosophic disposition. It accepted this new situation as calmly as it had accepted all the other situations in which it had found itself that afternoon, licking William and pawing him with playful affection.
The door opened almost as soon as they had reached their hiding place and Mrs. Brown entered.
‘I don’t expect she’ll stay here,’ whispered William breathlessly, holding his pet in both arms to keep it still.
But Mrs. Brown closed the door and sat down. From her bedroom window she had caught sight of a visitor coming up the drive and she had come down to the drawing-room in order to receive and dispose of her as quickly as possible.
Almost as soon as she had entered the maid announced ‘Miss Messiter,’ and a tall lady wearing horn-rimmed spectacles entered and, after greeting her effusively, took her seat on the Chesterfield behind which were William, Ginger and the prize cat.
William was so much occupied in restraining his prize cat as soundlessly as possible that he did not hear what the visitor and his mother were saying till they had been talking for several minutes. Then as his pet seemed to have settled down to sleep on the top of Ginger he turned his attention to what the visitor was saying.
‘I do hope you’ll come,’ she was saying. ‘I’m trying to get everyone in the village to promise to come. He’s a marvellous speaker. In the forefront of the movement.’
‘Yes?’ said Mrs. Brown vaguely. ‘The movement?’
‘I told you, you know,’ said the visitor earnestly, ‘the Thought Mastery Movement. It’s closely allied to Christian Science, of course, but it’s wider. It embraces more spheres, so to speak. It begins with that of pain, of course, teaching that there’s no such thing. No such thing at all. I never feel pain. Never. Why? Because my thoughts know that there’s no such thing as pain so naturally they don’t feel it. Never.’
At this moment the prize cat who had made its way under the Chesterfield and discovered one of Miss Messiter’s ankles on the other side put out an exploratory paw and touched it with extended claws. Miss Messiter uttered a scream.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ said Mrs. Brown.
The visitor was clutching her ankle.
‘A sudden excruciating pain,’ she said.
‘Neuritis perhaps, or arthritis,’ suggested Mrs. Brown soothingly. ‘They do come on suddenly.’
‘Where had I got to?’ said the visitor, still rubbing her ankle.
‘About your never feeling pain,’ said Mrs. Brown.
‘Oh yes . . . well the reason I don’t feel pain is simply that I’ve trained my thoughts to ignore it. My thoughts mechanically reject the notion of pain. It’s all so simple.’ She withdrew her hand from her ankle to wave it in the air. ‘All so simple and so beautiful. The lecturer will put it to you in all its beautiful simplicity. You will never feel pain again. When people say to me that they are in pain I say to them: “Pain? What is pain?”’
At this minute the prize cat put out his paw again in order to experience a second time the delicious sensation of sinking his claws through Miss Messiter’s woollen stockings into her skin beneath.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ said Mrs. Brown when Miss Messiter’s scream had died away.
‘Another of those excruciating pains,’ said Miss Messiter. ‘I can’t explain it. I’ve never known anything of the sort before. Excruciating.’
THE PRIZE CAT HAD TOUCHED ONE OF MISS MESSITER’S ANKLES, AND MISS MESSITER UTTERED A SCREAM.
‘Neuritis probably,’ said Mrs. Brown, showing more interest than she had shown in the Thought Mastery Movement. ‘I had a cousin who used to have it. It came on just like that.’
But Miss Messiter was looking behind her.
‘WHATEVER’S THE MATTER?’ ASKED MRS. BROWN.
‘There’s a boy behind the sofa,’ she said excitedly, ‘and he must have been running pins into my foot.’
‘I didn’t,’ said William rising, partly to refute this accusation and partly in order to prevent the visitor’s discoveries extending to Ginger and the prize cat. ‘I never stuck pins into her foot.’
‘But whatever are you doing there at all, William?’ said his mother in a bewildered fashion.
‘I jus’—jus’ happened to be there,’ explained William coming out into the room, ‘when you came in an’ I thought I’d jus’—jus’ stay there till you’d gone but I never stuck pins into her foot. I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to ’cause I haven’t any pins. And what’s more,’ he continued bitterly, ‘I haven’t any money to buy any pins even if I wanted some. If I’d got money to buy pins to stick into her foot I’d be going to the circus.’
‘How do you account for the excruciating pain that I felt then?’ demanded Miss Messiter of him sternly.
‘It must be neuritis,’ said William’s mother. ‘I’m sure he didn’t stick pins into your foot. He’s very troublesome and untidy and I can’t think why he was behind the sofa but I’m sure he wouldn’t stick pins into your foot. He’s never done anything like that.’
‘Then I must go at once and consult a specialist,’ said Miss Messiter firmly. ‘It was an excruciating pain. It came on quite suddenly, then went quite suddenly.’
‘I think that’s the best plan,’ said Mrs. Brown deeply sympathetic. ‘I know that neuritis can often be cured if you catch it in the early stages.’
‘And I shall give up the organisation of the Thought Mastery Campaign. I think that it has been too much for me. I’m highly strung.’
They drifted out into the hall. William cautiously returned to the corner of the room. Ginger was engaged in a fierce struggle with the prize cat who wanted to return to his investigations under the Chesterfield. He wanted to find the thing into which it was so pleasant to sink one’s claws. He was uttering soft little growls as he fought with Ginger.
‘Let’s get him out quick,’ said William, ‘while they’re talkin’ at the front door.’
Ginger, who was suffering agonies from cramp and was pinned helplessly beneath the prize cat, said in a muffled voice:
‘A’right. You take him off me an’ I’ll try to get up.’
William bundled his pet under his arm, and followed by the bowed and limping Ginger, went to the open window, scrambled through with a skill born of long practice and made his unobtrusive way through the shrubbery to the hole in the hedge that was the Outlaws’ unofficial entrance to William’s garden. Ginger was still limping.
‘I’ve got that pain like what she said she’d got,’ he said. ‘Cruciating like what she said it was. I bet I’ve caught it off her. It mus’ be something infectious. I shun’t be surprise if I die of it.’
‘I think hers was the cat scratchin’ her,’ said William.
‘Was it?’ said Ginger with interest. ‘I couldn’t see what it was doin’. It’d got one of its hind feet in my mouth an’ I couldn’t get it out. It’s a wonder I’m not choked.’
But his pins and needles were wearing off and the prize cat, gambolling by their side, was so engaging that it gradually ousted every other thought from their minds.
‘We’ll take it to the old barn,’ said William, ‘then you go home an’ get some food for it. I’d better not go home jus’ now ’cause of that woman sayin’ I stuck pins into her foot. My mother’ll prob’ly want to go on talkin’ about it.’
‘All right,’ said Ginger, ‘what’ll I get it?’
‘Milk an’ a bit of bread an’ butter an’ a bit of cake,’ said William.
‘Oh yes,’ said Ginger sarcastically. ‘Why don’t you say a bit of roast turkey as well?’
‘A’right,’ said William, ‘if you can find a bit of roast turkey, bring it along. I bet it’d eat it.’
‘I’ll bring it what I can find with no one catchin’ me,’ said Ginger. ‘It’ll depend whether the larder window’s open. I can’t do more’n that, can I?’
‘Get it as much as you can anyway,’ said William.
Ginger departed and William amused himself by playing with his prize cat. It was an excellent playfellow. It made little feints and darts at William. It rolled over on the ground. It ran away and challenged him to catch it. It growled and pretended to fight him. The time passed on wings till Ginger returned. Ginger’s arms were full. Evidently the larder window had been open. He was carrying two buns, half an apple pie, and a piece of cheese. And yet, despite this rich haul, his expression was one of deepest melancholy. He placed the things down absently upon a packing-case, and said:
‘I met a boy in the road and he’d just met a man and he said that they were looking for a lion cub that had got away from the circus.’
William’s face dropped. They both gazed thoughtfully at the prize cat.
‘I—I sort of thought it was a lion cub all the time,’ said William.
‘So did I,’ said Ginger hastily.
After a long and pregnant silence, William said in a far-away voice:
‘Well—I suppose we’ve gotter take it back.’ He spoke as one whose world has crashed about him. In his mind had been roseate dreams of a future in which every day the lion cub gambolled round his feet, played hide and seek with him and attacked him with growls of mock ferocity. Life without the lion cub stretched grey and dark before him, hardly worth living.
‘I s’pose we’ve gotter,’ said Ginger. ‘I s’pose it’s stealin’ if we don’t, now that we know.’
They placed the food before the cub and watched it with melancholy tenderness.
It ate the buns, sat on the apple pie and played football with the piece of cheese.
Then they took up the end of William’s boot-lace again and set off sorrowfully with it to Little Marleigh.
The proprietor of the circus received the truant with relief, and complimented the rescuers on its prompt return. They gazed at it sadly, Ginger replacing his tie and William his boot-lace.
‘He’s a cute little piece, isn’t he?’ said the proprietor. ‘Don’t appear yet. Too young. But goin’ to lap up tricks like milk soon . . . Well, I’d better be gettin’ a move. Early show’s jus’ goin’ to begin. Thank you, young sirs.’
‘I s’pose,’ said William wistfully, ‘I s’pose we couldn’t do anythin’ in the show?’
The proprietor scratched his head.
‘What c’n you do?’ he said.
‘I c’n stand on my hands,’ said William, ‘an’ Ginger can pull funny faces. Jolly funny ones.’
The proprietor shook his head.
‘Not in our line,’ he said. ‘But—tell you what. I am short-handed, as it happens. A man jus’ come over queer an’ gone home. We could do with another hand. Jus’ movin’ things off an’ on between turns. Care to help with that?’
So deep was their emotion that William broke his boot-lace and Ginger nearly throttled himself with his tie.
‘I should—jolly well—think—we would,’ said William hoarsely.
The Hubert Laneites sat together in the front row. They’d all been to the circus earlier in the week but they’d come again for this last performance, partly in order to be able to tell the Outlaws that they’d been twice and partly to comfort themselves for the fiasco of their cat show.
‘I say,’ said Hubert Lane to Bertie Franks, ‘I say, won’t old William be mad when we tell him we’ve been again?’
‘Yah,’ said Bertie Franks, ‘an’ I say, fancy him havin’ the cheek to say he knew more about circuses than us an’ not even been once. We won’t half rag him about it. We—’
His voice died away. He stared down into the ring. For there unmistakably was William setting out the little tubs on which the performing ponies performed. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. He hadn’t been mistaken. It was William.
‘Golly!’ he said faintly.
All the Hubert Laneites were staring at William, paralysed with amazement.
‘Golly!’ they echoed and drew another deep breath as Ginger appeared carrying the chairs on which the clown pretended to do acrobatic feats. Then the circus began. The Hubert Laneites did not see the circus at all. They were staring fascinated at the opening of the tent into which William and Ginger had vanished. After the first turn they emerged and moved away the little tubs and brought out a lot of letters which they laid on the ground for the talking horse to spell from. After that turn William came out alone and held a hoop for Nellie, the Wonder Dog, to jump through.
Not once did the expressions of stupified amazement fade from the faces of the Hubert Laneites.
After the circus they walked home dazedly as if in a dream.
The next day they approached William cautiously, and with something of reverence in their expressions.
‘I say, William,’ Hubert said humbly, ‘tell us about it, will you?’
‘About what?’ said William.
‘About you helpin’ at the circus.’
THEN WILLIAM CAME OUT ALONE AND HELD A HOOP FOR NELLIE THE WONDER DOG TO JUMP THROUGH.
‘Oh that,’ said William carelessly. ‘Oh, I gen’rally help at circuses round about here. I don’t always go into the ring like what I did yesterday, but I’m gen’rally in the tent behind helpin’ with the animals. Trainin’ them for their tricks. Gettin’ ’em ready an’ such-like. I suppose that one circus tells another about me and that’s why they’re always askin’ me to help. I said I knew a jolly sight more about circuses than what you did, you remember.’
‘Yes,’ said Hubert Lane still more humbly, ‘it must be jolly fun, isn’t it, William?’
‘Oh, it’s all right,’ said William, ‘it’s hard work an’ of course it’s jolly dangerous. Trainin’ the animals an’ lockin’ ’em up for the night an’ such-like.’ He walked a few yards with an ostentatious limp, and then said, ‘the elephant trod on my foot yesterday when I was puttin’ it in its cage,’—and he touched the scratch that his mother’s cat had made. It was certainly quite a showy affair—‘the bear gave me this the other night when I was combin’ it out ready to go on and do its tricks. It’s work not everyone would like to do.’
They gazed at him as at a being from another and a higher sphere.
‘I say, William,’ said Bertie Franks, ‘if—if they want anyone else to help you—you’ll give us a chance won’t you?’
‘I don’t s’pose they will,’ said William, ‘’sides this circus has gone now and I don’t know when another’s comin’. It’s dangerous work, you know, but I’m used to it.’
And followed by their admiring eyes, he limped elaborately away.
He was limping with the other foot this time, but, of course, no one noticed that.