AN ACT NOT ON THE BILLS.

“We ought to have some other attraction besides ourselves,” observed Neka. “People will think they are not getting the worth of their money if they pay ten cents and only see a few fire tricks and hear a humorous recitation.”

“I shall dress up in a character costume and give them a song also,” said Wadsworth. “I used to sing funny songs, and they always take in the open air.”

But Neka was not quite satisfied. He was in for giving people “their money’s worth.”

“If we do that, we’ll do better in the end,” he said. “A slim show never prospers.”

“Well, I don’t see what we can add to our combination, my son. We might take in a third partner, but I don’t believe in dividing profits with too many.”

“Let us try to hire somebody to do a turn,” rejoined the youth.

This appeared difficult, but proved quite easy. On leaving the grounds that night, Neka ran across a fellow named Jack Bindley, who had been attached to Daniel Bambo’s circus. Bindley was out of a place, and out of money, and he jumped at the chance to earn three dollars a day at the grounds.

Jack Bindley was billed in the circus as a bareback rider, but he could do a dozen other things, including tricks with cards and a black-faced act which was side-splitting. Moreover, he was a good hand with a brush to paint signs, and Longfellow Wadsworth was pleased when Neka brought him in.

A programme to last half an hour was arranged, and Bindley set to work painting a number of large signs and banners, telling of the many wonders to be seen in the Neka-Wadsworth Oriental Parlor of Wonders. Neka was described as an Imp from the Infernal Regions, who would take a bath in a roaring fire, and Longfellow Wadsworth as a mimic who had performed before all the crowned heads of Europe. Bindley called himself Leon Canavair, from Paris, the Wizard of Cards, and also set himself down as Ole Jim Backus, the Original Georgia Corncracker and Plantation Singer.

A quiet Sunday was spent on the fair grounds, and at five o’clock Monday morning Neka and the others arose to put the finishing touches to the place.

A small stage had been built at the back end of the tent. There were no benches, as visitors at fair exhibitions usually stand. Outside Longfellow Wadsworth had constructed a stand out of a large drygoods box. Tickets he intended to sell out of his hand satchel.

It looked a little like rain, and consequently the crowd was slow in coming in. But about eleven o’clock it brightened and shortly after the noon hour the fair grounds began to fill up.

Neka and Bindley were ready to appear, and while a hired boy took tickets at the entrance, Longfellow Wadsworth mounted his box and began to exhort the people to enter.

His loud voice soon drew a crowd, and by telling a funny joke or two he put them in good humor. Then he told of the marvels to be seen, and half a dozen entered in a bunch and as many more followed.

In fifteen minutes the tent was full, and Bindley opened the exhibition. He was followed by Wadsworth, who did but a short “turn.” Then came Neka, who was undoubtedly the star attraction. At the end of half an hour the audience, numbering exactly forty-six people, filed out, well satisfied.

“A first dose of four dollars and sixty cents,” whispered Longfellow Wadsworth. “I wonder if we can’t do better the next time.”

One of the men on going out had said it was the best show on the grounds. The elocutionist stopped him, and had him repeat the assertion. Then he dilated on it, and as a consequence the tent was soon packed, seventy-two being inside.

Nine performances were given that day and by night Neka and his partner found themselves just thirty-six dollars richer than before. They had taken in fourteen dollars more than this, but three had gone to Bindley, three for the tent, seven for the ground, and a dollar to the boy.

Neka and the elocutionist talked the matter over, and raised Bindley’s wages to five dollars a day.

It was arranged that Bindley should remain in the tent all night, while Neka and his partner put up at a hotel just outside of the grounds.

The making of so much money had one bad effect on Longfellow Wadsworth. He drank a number of times, and would have become most woefully intoxicated had not the youth prevailed upon him to go up to his room in the hotel and retire for the night.

In this respect the elocutionist was a fair type of a large class of people on the variety and regular stage. With talents of no mean order, they are the victims of their appetites, and find it next to impossible to break off drinking while traveling around from place to place and meeting hail-fellows-well-met wherever they go.

“I must get him to break off,” said Neka to himself. “He would be a first-rate fellow were it not for his appetite for drink and his habit of drawing the long bow. I think I can reform him.”

The youth understood that he had undertaken a big task, but he had taken a strange liking to Longfellow Wadsworth, in spite of the latter’s eccentricities, and he was willing to shoulder the burden and do his best.

How well Neka was repaid for sticking to this strange individual and giving him his moral support will be seen as our story progresses.

The next day opened well, for the crowd came early and performances were started at ten o’clock. At noon the fair grounds were packed, for the “middle” day of a fair is always the best.

“We’ll have to do with only a bite for dinner to-day,” laughed Neka. “We can’t afford to knock off for a regular meal.”

“Never mind, we’ll make hay while the sun shines,” replied Bindley, who was always light-hearted.

Bindley had been questioned concerning Daniel Bambo. He could, however, tell but little outside of the fact that the circus had been attached at Ryetown. There had been twenty dollars coming to him, and he had left the concern as a rat leaves a sinking ship.

“And I never want to see Daniel Bambo again,” said Bindley. “He is the hardest fellow to work for I ever struck.”

“You are right,” said Neka. “If I, too, can keep out of his sight, I shall be satisfied.”

The tent of the “combination” was situated in the midst of a number of shows. To one side of them was a fakir with a lot of dolls and baseballs with which to knock the puppets down for prizes, and on the other the proprietor of the trained animal exhibition. Beyond this was another combination, of bearded ladies, jugglers, and mimics and a merry-go-round and a shooting stand.

From time to time a wild scream, half-human, half-savage, disturbed Neka and his companions. It came from the trained animal exhibition, and finally Neka asked what was the cause.

“It’s the chimpanzee,” replied the proprietor. “I can’t do a thing with him. He has been suffering with the toothache, and is as ugly as a bear with a sore head. We had him loose yesterday, but I guess I’ll have to chain him up.”

“Yes, that would be better,” replied Neka. “At a circus I was with we once had a gorilla who got the toothache and he bit his keeper most horribly. No matter how tame they are, they are not to be trusted when suffering such pain.”

A minute after this the two separated, and Neka went back to his tent to do his turn. He heard a number of screams from the animal tent, but paid no attention. Heating his iron daggers red-hot, he brought them before the audience and rubbed them on paper, which, of course, was instantly burned up.

The dagger was on a platter. Setting the platter on a low stand, he proceeded to pick the daggers up one after another and throw them up into the air in a circle.

He was in full swing of this fire trick when a scream ten times louder than any of the others was heard.

“Stop him! Stop the beast!” he heard somebody cry. “Stop him, before he chews somebody up!”

Then came a crash and a ripping of canvas, and a huge chimpanzee leaped onto the stage, close to Neka’s side. The creature looked hideous in the extreme, for its eyes rolled horribly, and the white foam poured from its mouth in a stream.

For a single instant the mad creature paused. Then it crouched for a spring, and launched itself straight for Neka’s throat!