Joe Strong, the Boy Fish.

by Vance Barnum.

CHAPTER I

SOMETHING WRONG

Ba.s.s drums were booming, snare drums were rattling, above them sounded the shrill notes of the bugles. There was the rumble of big-wheeled wagons, now and then an elephant trumpeted or a lion gave a hungry roar. Gay banners fluttered, glistening spears flashed with points of light, gaily attired women and men sat on the backs of swaying, ugly camels, or galloped on mettlesome steeds. And looking at it all was a vast throng of eager-eyed men, women and children. It was the opening performance of the circus.

"Good crowd all right," remarked Joe Strong, as he came back to the dressing tent from a preliminary survey of the audience. He took up one hole in the belt of his acrobatic suit of tights.

"Full house--is there?" asked a dark-complexioned, foreign-looking man, as he rubbed some rosin on the soles of his soft shoes, so they would not slip when he attempted some feat high up on a trapeze bar, or let himself down a rope head first, disdaining the use of his hands.

"I should say it is a full house!" went on Joe as he, too, west over to the rosin box. "They'll have to do as they do in theatres, and hang out the S.R.O. sign if it keeps on. It looks as though there would be standing room only before long, it certainly is starting the season good."

"I'm glad to hear it," remarked Tonzo Lascalla, one of a trio of "brothers" with whom Joe Strong did more or less dangerous things on the high trapeze. "If the owners take in plenty of money they may give us more salary."

"Not much danger of that," averred Tom Jefferson, who did a "strong man" act. "Still, we can't complain. We get pretty goad money as it is."

There came a different note into the music. There were a few sharp notes on a bugle, and the strong man, who had been lying down on some boxes covered with blankets, sprang to his feet.

"Grand entry's over," he remarked. "I've got to go on!"

"And so have I!" added a clown, who had been busily engaged in painting one half of his face white and the other black. "Here we are again gentlemen!" and he turned two or three somersaults on the gra.s.s of the dressing, tent. "Whoop-la-la!" and out he ran to make his appearance in the ring. A gale of laughter followed, testifying to the effects of his antics.

"All ready, Joe?" asked Sid Lascalla, the other member of the acrobatic trio.

"Why, that isn't our call, is it?" asked Joe, who was relacing one of his shoes.

"No, but it will come in a few minutes. Are you going to try the long swing and double catch this afternoon?"

"I think we might as well, don't you? We've had enough practice at it, even though this is the first show of the season. What do you say, Tonzo?"

"Oh, I'm ready for it."

"So am I, then," added Sid. "Only let's be sure the life net is all right. The ring-attendants are apt to be a bit careless at first."

"I'll look after it," promised Joe.

The lacing of his shoes seemed to give the young trapeze performer some little concern. He did not want them too tight, and, on the other hand, they must not be loose enough to give any play to the ankles. For in a great measure the life of the young man who was soon to thrill the big audience with his daring depended on the firmness of his stand.

A fine figure of youthfulness was Joe Strong as he stood in his closely fitting red tights, tall and straight as an Indian arrow, with not an ounce of superfluous flesh, and yet not over-muscled. But the muscles he had were powerful. One could see his biceps ripple under his tights as he bent his arm, and when he straightened up there were bunches back of his shoulders that told of power there. His legs, too, on the strength of which he depended for many tricks, were symmetrical with muscles, and his hands and wrists showed force.

The young acrobat finally seemed to be satisfied with his shoes, and nodded his readiness to his two partners. In the first part of the program the three worked together as the "Lascalla Brothers," though there was no real relationship. But the name showed well on the bills, and, as a matter of fact, the three performers looked sufficiently alike.

When his part with the trio was over Joe Strong was in an act by himself, for he had made quite a name as a daring performer. He strolled over toward the entrance to the main tent--the entrance used by the performers as they emerged from the dressing tents. A girl riding a beautiful horse galloped out from the ring as Joe reached the place.

"How goes it, Helen?" asked Joe, as the rider drew her horse to one side. The animal rubbed his nose against Joe's hand. "No, I haven't any sugar now, Rosebud," said Joe with a smile. "There aren't any pockets in this suit," he went on with a laugh.

"I'll give him some as soon as I get off," promised Helen Morton, or "Mademoiselle Mortonti" as she was called on the circus bills.

"How did everything go?" asked her companion.

"Fine, Joe. Rosebud never behaved better, and the crowd was certainly generous in the way of applause."

"Glad to know it. I heard some of it. Pretty good opening then?"

"I call it so, yes."

Again the trumpet blared in a new note, and there was a scurrying on the part of some performers to leave the rings and raised platforms, while others came bustling from the dressing tent to take their places in providing entertainment for the circus throng.

"See you later!" called Joe as he hurried back to join the two Lascalla Brothers, that they might run into the ring together and stand posed for a moment, their arms on one another's shoulders, before they began their act.

"All right," answered Helen, as she rode away on her fine trick horse, Rosebud; for Helen was a fancy rider, and, in addition, had taught the animal to do many difficult tricks.

It was the first performance of the spring season for the Sampson Brothers' Circus. The winter had been spent in Bridgeport, as far as the animals were concerned, the quarters of many out-door shows being there. The performers had done as they pleased for the idle months when tent shows are out of the question. Some had filled engagements in theatres, while others had gone into retirement, some to evolve new exploits, thrilling acts and tricks.

Joe Strong had spent part of his winter doing gymnasium work. He had later filled in a few weeks on a theatrical circuit doing feats of magic. At this he was an expert, and in this line of work he had been engaged before joining the circus.

Helen Morton had been in the South, her horse with her, and she had returned a few weeks previously, joining the circus in Bridgeport to get in some needed practice before starting out on the road. Now the show was in full swing. It was a pleasant day, and a record-breaking throng had crowded into the tents. What more could circus folk ask?

"h.e.l.lo, Ben!" called Joe, as he hurried back to join his two partners.

"All ready for your 'death-defying dive?'"

"Yes, as ready as I'll ever be, I guess," was the somewhat despondent answer of a frail-looking youth, who was attired in a shimmering green suit made to resemble fish scales.

"Why, what's the matter, Ben Turton?" asked Joe, as he placed his hand on the shoulder of the "human fish," as Ben was known; for he did a diving act in a large gla.s.s tank filled with water, staying under about three minutes without breathing, and performing some tricks in the limpid depths.

"Oh, I don't know, Joe, what the matter is," Ben said. "I guess I'm just tired."

"What! After your winter's rest?"

"I didn't have much rest. I played two circuits."

"Oh, that's right, so you did. I'd forgotten. But is it the same old trouble you complained of last season?"

"Yes, my head--back here," and Ben put his hand to the base of his head. "But don't say anything about it. Maybe it will wear off when I get to working. I've got to go on with the act, anyhow."

"Say, it's too bad, Ben. Maybe if you were to speak to Jim Tracy----"

"No. I won't do that, Joe. Never mind about me. There's your call."

"So it is. I'll see you again. Come on, Sid--Tonzo!"

Joe clasped hands with his two fellow trapezists, and together they ran lightly out to the ring. Benny Turton followed more slowly. He was to begin his act in a few minutes. The big gla.s.s tank, filled with water, was waiting for him out on a raised platform.

"I don't know what's the matter with me," he murmured. "I feel just as if something were going to happen. Oh, pshaw! I mustn't be such a kid.