And did you ever try to walk the tight-rope? You take the
clothes-line and stretch it in the grape-arbor - better not make
it too high at first - and then you take the clothes-prop for a
balance-pole and go right ahead - er - er as far as you can. The
real reason why you fall off so is that you don't have chalk on
your shoes. Got to have lots of chalk. Then after you get used
to the rope wabbling so all-fired fast, you can do it like a mice.
And while I'm about it, I might as well tell you that if you ever
expect to amount to a hill of beans as a trapeze performer you
must have clear-starch with oil of cloves in it to rub on your
hands. Finest thing in the world. My mother wouldn't let me have
any. She said she couldn't have me messing around that way, I
blame her as much as anybody that I am not now a competent
performer on the trapeze.
I don't know that I had better go into details about the state of
mind boys are in from the time the bills are first put up until
after the circus has actually departed. I don't mean the boys that
get to go to everything that comes along, and that have pennies to
spend for candy, and all like that, whenever they ask for it. I
mean the regular, proper, natural boys, that used to be "Back Home,"
boys whose daddies tormented them with: "Well, we Il see - " that's
so exasperating! - or, "I wish you wouldn't tease, when you know
we can't spare the money just at present.
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