The Larch Circus and Greater Shows formed the chief attraction in the town of Marlborough. Yet of the many people who had been drawn, mothlike, by the attraction of the lights, few were actually buying tickets. Most were idlers who had merely come to look on. The actual customers formed a mere trickle past the ticket booths.
Back near the entrance to the circus grounds, two men were alighting from a large sedan that was parked behind a fringe of tents. One was a gray-haired individual, whose face showed a stern dignity. The other was a stubby, silent fellow who wore a chauffeur’s cap. Both were looking toward the circus tent.
“Come along, Lennox,” ordered the gray-haired man. “Be sure to lock the car first.”
“Yes, sir.”
The chauffeur performed the action; then jaunted to catch up with the gray-haired man, who was choosing a course behind the nearest tents.
“There’s the office car,” remarked the older man, as the chauffeur caught up with him. “See it?”
He pointed between two tents. Lennox nodded.
“A little further on,” said the gray-haired man, “and I can cut through to go directly there. I don’t want to be too conspicuous.”
“Of course not, Mr. Wilbart.”
“This is the best time to come,” added Wilbart. “Every one is inside, or busy, so there is less chance of talk. I don’t care to have all the people with this show telling that Jonathan Wilbart came to hold another conference with Tex Larch.”
“I understand, sir.”
“They might think that I was overanxious to buy this show, Lennox,” added Wilbart, pausing as he stepped between two small, darkened tents. “Well — I’ll buy it on my own terms, or not at all. It’s a tawdry outfit, Lennox. It does not compare with the smallest circus in my chain. What do you think, Lennox?”
“I agree with you, Mr. Wilbart.”
“You always do, Lennox,” chuckled Wilbart. “Well — look around the midway until I come back. The ballyhoo will begin on the smaller shows after the circus gets started in the big top.”
STROLLING out into the midway, the gray-haired man shouldered his way past clustered idlers and crossed to a spot where a light truck was parked between two tents.
Attached to the truck was a trailer that looked like a small, shortened bus. This car had a rear door marked “Office.” Two steps led up to the entrance.
Reaching his objective, Jonathan Wilbart ascended the steps and opened the door. The interior of the car formed a larger room than one would have expected from a view of the exterior. It was furnished with seats attached to the wall; at the front end were two desks also fixed in position, beyond them a small, curtained window.
A broad-shouldered man was seated at one of the desks. He heard the door close as Wilbart entered. He swung around and showed a thick-jawed countenance, with pudgy nose and quick eyes.
“Hello, Mr. Wilbart!” he exclaimed.
“Hello, Stuffy,” rejoined Wilbart, advancing to receive the man’s handshake. “Where’s Tex Larch?”
“In New York,” responded “Stuffy.”
“Again?” Wilbart’s tone seemed incredulous. “It seems as though I never manage to find him with the show. Let me see — he was in New York the last two times I came to talk with him.”
“He isn’t exactly in New York tonight,” corrected Stuffy. “He’s on his way here, Mr. Wilbart. Might be in at any time. If you want to wait here—”
“I’ll stay a while,” interposed Wilbart. “What are you doing, Stuffy? Running things while Tex is away?”
“Kind of,” replied Stuffy. “It ain’t exactly my regular job, but I’m sort of a head handy man with the outfit. Here you are.”
He reached in his pocket and pulled out some printed cards. He handed one to Wilbart, who had seated himself. The visitor smiled and nodded as he read it:
STUFFY DOWSON
General Agent
LARCH CIRCUS & GREATER SHOWS
“Everybody knows me as Stuffy,” remarked the general agent. “Wouldn’t do to have put my real moniker on a card. Everybody in the show business would have thought it was someone else. They’ve called me Stuffy ever since I was a punk.”
“I envy your past, Stuffy,” commented Wilbart. “I came into the circus business as an owner — only a few years back — and I am scarcely used to the smell of sawdust. The real way to learn a business is to grow up with it; not to buy into it.”
“Maybe so, Mr. Wilbart,” returned Stuffy, as he stepped toward the door of the office. “But I notice that some of the old timers in the game are finding the sledding tough, while your shows are bringing in the dough. It looks to me like the fellow that knows business better than he does a circus is the best guy to run a circus business.”
With this statement, Stuffy opened the door and stepped toward the ground. He motioned to the visitor to remain in the office.
“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” informed Stuffy. “Just going out to pass the word to the shows. They can start their ‘bally’ now that the big top is working.”
STUFFY closed the door as he reached the ground. The show had started in the circus tent; only a few late customers were passing through the turnstiles.
A big, glowering man was standing on the platform in front of the side show, ready to start a ballyhoo. Others were waiting expectantly in high ticket booths outside of other tents.
Stuffy started for the midway. He stopped as a rangy man blocked his path.
“Where are you going, Stuffy?”
“Hello, Tex.” Stuffy stopped as he recognized his chief. It was “Tex” Larch, back from New York. “Say — don’t go in the office for a minute. I want to tell you something.”
Tex stared from beneath the broad brim of a felt sombrero. His gaze was quizzical. Cold gray eyes flashed from a weatherbeaten countenance.
“Wait ‘til I start the talkers, Tex,” pleaded Stuffy. “They’re sitting tight until I flash the word for the bally.”
With these words, Stuffy hurried out to the midway and waved his arms toward the man on the platform in front of the sideshow. Immediately, the big fellow began a sonorous spiel, while idlers gathered to form a crowd. Other talkers followed along the line. The midway became a babble of barkers.
“Cap Guffy was waiting like a hawk,” chuckled Stuffy, as he rejoined Tex. “Did you see him there, outside the Ten-in-One? Say — he can’t wait for the show to start in the big top. I never saw a guy like him—”
“All right, Stuffy,” interrupted Tex, standing with a suitcase in his hand. “Forget about Cap Guffy. What’s the matter in the office? Some rube sheriff putting up a squawk? I paid a fixer to square things in this town—”
“The sheriff ain’t in there, Tex.” It was Stuffy’s turn to interrupt. “Everything’s jake. Wheels running like clockwork along the midway.”
“Well who’s in there then?”
“Jonathan Wilbart. That’s who.”
TEX’S stare became a glower. It was plain that he was not pleased by the information. Stuffy watched a grim twist appear on the circus owner’s lips.
“I told him you was in New York,” began the general agent. “Then I said you’d be back tonight. Wilbart said he’d wait.”
“You’re a fine palooka,” sneered Tex. “I told you to keep your mouth shut about where I’d gone.”
“I ain’t told anybody on the lot, Tex. But I thought you wouldn’t mind Wilbart knowing—”
“Wilbart! He’s the biggest heel in the business. He don’t belong in the show game. I missed him the last two times he was here. But there’s no chance to dodge him this trip. What does he want? Trying to buy my show again?”
“He didn’t say.”
“That’s what he’s after. He’s a fox, that guy is. It’s just like him to blow in while playing a bloomer. That’s the first thing he’ll talk about — the bum business that this show is doing.”