The roar strengthens and
strengthens. It is the circus train.
Under the witchcraft of the dreaming blue, each boy had a firm
and stubborn purpose. Over and over again he rehearsed how he
would go up to the man that runs the show, and say: "Please,
mister, can I go with you?" And the man would say, "Yes." (As
easy as that.) But the purpose wavered as he saw the roustabouts
come tumbling out, all frowsy and unwashed, rubbing the sleep out
of their eyes, cross and savage. And the man whose word they jump
to obey, he's kind of discouraging. it's all business with him.
The fellows may plead with their eyes; he never sees them. If he
does, he tells them where to get to out of that and how quick he
wants it done, in language that makes the boldest efforts of the
boys from across the tracks seem puny in comparison. The lads
divide into two parties. One follows the buggy of the boss canvasman
to Vandeman's lots where the stand is made. They will witness the
spectacle of the raising of the tents, but they will also be near the
man that runs the show, and if all goes well it may be he will like
your looks and saunter up to you and say: "Well, bub, and how would
you like to travel with us?" You don't know. Things not half so
strange as that have happened. And if you were right there at the
time .
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