Just then he caught sight of a curious procession. It was composed of a number of boys and girls, mostly little tots, walking along the street, two by two, led by three matronly ladies.

"The orphan asylum out for an airing," commented d.i.c.k. "Poor little kids! Poor little kids!"

There was a county orphan asylum in Hamilton Corners, and it was usually well filled with small unfortunates. Twice a week they were taken for a walk by some of the matrons in charge.

"Poor little kids!" repeated d.i.c.k. "I'll bet they never saw a circus in their lives. And they're not likely to. A circus will never come here.

The place is too small. No, they'll never see a circus--unless----"

He came to a sudden stop in his musings. Then a light broke over his face.

"By Jimminy Crickets! I'll do it!" he exclaimed, so loudly that several persons in the street turned to look at him. "I'll do it! That's what I will!"

He looked at his watch.

"I've just got time to catch the train to Parkertown if I hustle," he added as he set off on a run.

CHAPTER X

d.i.c.k INVESTS IN HAPPINESS

d.i.c.k managed to swing aboard the last car as the train for Parkertown was pulling out of the station at Hamilton Corners. There was quite a crowd on it, as many were going to the circus.

"h.e.l.lo!" exclaimed Frank Bender, as he caught sight of d.i.c.k walking up the aisle of the car in which he was. "I thought you weren't going."

"I wasn't, but I changed my mind. This is a free country."

"Of course," a.s.sented Frank, with a laugh. "We'll go together and have some fun."

"Oh, I'm going on business."

"That's too bad."

"Well, it's business connected with fun," explained d.i.c.k. "Maybe I'll have a chance to see the show with you later."

"See the show! Why, that's the main object of going to Parkertown,"

responded Frank. "I wouldn't miss it for anything. They've got a fellow in it, according to the pictures, who can stand on his head, hold a man in each hand, balance two others on his legs, hold one by a strap in his mouth--and all the while he's on a trapeeze at the top of the tent.

It's great!"

"Well, maybe he can give you a few pointers," said d.i.c.k.

It was about an hour's run to Parkertown, and when the train reached the circus grounds there was a general rush to the big tents. It lacked about an hour to noon, and though the show had not opened yet there was much of interest to see. d.i.c.k and Frank watched the men putting finishing touches to the immense canvas shelters, while others were feeding the animals, getting the big gilded wagons into place, and arranging the sideshows.

In one tent hundreds of the performers and helpers were at dinner, while a curious crowd looked on under the raised flaps. The two boys, in company with scores of others, watched the cooks of the circus at work over the portable ranges and soup kettles, where it seemed as though enough food for an army was being prepared.

"Say, it's great, isn't it!" exclaimed Frank. "I can hardly wait until it's time to begin. Let's go get a hot frankfurter sausage somewhere."

"I'm afraid I've got to leave you," replied d.i.c.k. "I have some business on hand. I'll see you later. Maybe in the main tent."

"All right," a.s.sented Frank, a little disappointed, but he soon forgot about that in watching the many scenes of interest.

"Where can I find the manager?" asked d.i.c.k, of a man who wore a uniform and seemed to be some one in authority.

"In the ticket wagon," was the reply. "But you needn't think you can deadhead in. The free list is suspended."

"I've no intention of asking for a pa.s.s," replied d.i.c.k, with a smile.

"Is the manager in?" he asked, a moment later, of the man who looked out of the high ticket wagon.

"I guess so. What do you want?"

"I want to see him in regard to the next town where he is to play."

"Who is it?" inquired a voice from within the vehicle.

"Some lad from our next town. Maybe the mayor's sent to say he's going to raise the license fee. I never see such a hold-up game as these country mayors try to pull off," and the ticket seller looked disgusted.

"No, I'm not from the mayor," said d.i.c.k. "I want to see the manager on my own account."

At this another man joined the one at the ticket window. He was large and fat, and wore a red necktie, in which sparkled a pin with a large stone. He had on a tall hat and a frock coat.

"Come around to the side door," he said, in no very gracious tones, and d.i.c.k noticed that a pair of steps at the side gave access to the wagon.

He was soon inside the place, which was fitted up like a small office, with desks, and even a typewriter, at which a young man was busy pounding the keys.

"What is it?" asked the manager, abruptly.

"I've come to see if you won't give a show in Hamilton Corners," began d.i.c.k. "I think the town would like to see it."

"Maybe the town would, but I wouldn't," replied the manager quickly.

"I'm not in business for my health. I want to make a little money, and Hamilton Corners is too small. We couldn't clear expenses."

"How much do you have to clear to make it worth your while to show in a town?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Well, a thousand dollars is fair business."

"If you were sure of a thousand dollars clear, would you come to Hamilton Corners?"

"Yes, or any place else within traveling distance. But what are you? A newspaper reporter? If you are, you want to see our press agent. He's in that tent over there."

"No, I want to do business with you," rejoined d.i.c.k, with a smile. "I live in Hamilton Corners. I'd like to see a circus there. In fact, I'm willing to pay for having one come there. I have a certain reason for it. If I give you a thousand-dollar guarantee will you bring the show there?"

"Yes, of course."

The manager seemed a little dazed. d.i.c.k drew out a thin red book.

"I'll give you the guarantee now," he said. "Can you come to-morrow?"

and he began to use his fountain pen. "Whom shall I make it out to?" and he looked at the manager.