Stuffy waited while his boss stared speculatively toward the door of the office. Then Tex Larch shrugged his shoulders and handed his suitcase to the handy man.
“Lug this kiester over to my tent, Stuffy,” ordered Tex. “I’m going in to see what Wilbart wants.”
Stuffy nodded as he took the suitcase. He headed off among the tents while Tex ascended the steps and pushed back the door of the wheeled office.
The fragrance of expensive tobacco brought a sniff from Tex. Wilbart, seated at the side of the office car, looked up to see the owner of the Larch Circus.
“Hello, Tex,” greeted the visitor, dryly. “I’ve been waiting to see you. Stuffy told me you would be in from New York.”
“Stuffy’s a good talker,” returned Tex, removing his big hat and tossing it on one of the desks. “Maybe I ought to use him on a bally platform.”
Wilbart smiled at the suggestion that Stuffy had talked too much. He watched Tex go to a desk and look over mail that was lying there. He waited for some remark. None came; so Wilbart made one of his own.
“How is business this week?” he questioned.
“Take a look for yourself,” rejoined Tex. “The door slides to the right. You can see the whole midway.”
“I mean business in the big top.”
“I don’t know. I just got in from New York. Maybe you can figure it better than I can; you were here while the crowd was going into the big top, weren’t you?”
Wilbart smiled but made no comment. Tex turned from the desk and faced his visitor. Wilbart returned his stare.
The two men formed a contrast as their eyes exchanged a steady gaze. Tex Larch looked the part of an outdoor showman. His face, toil-worn and deep-lined, seemed to tell the story of a rigorous career. Jonathan Wilbart, dignified even to his mode of puffing his cigar, gave the impression of a successful business magnate.
It was Tex who broke the silence. He studied his visitor coldly; and his eyes flashed with an iron glint as he spoke:
“The show’s not for sale, Wilbart.”
THE visitor chuckled. He seemed to enjoy the blunt manner in which the circus owner had come directly to the subject. Wilbart pulled a cigar from his pocket and offered it to Tex. The circus owner grunted; then accepted the perfecto and bit off the end of the cigar.
“I want to buy your show, Tex,” stated Wilbart, quietly. “I know that you don’t want to sell. You told me that before. But people have the privilege of changing their minds, even when they are in the circus business.”
“Change yours then.”
“I own five shows, Tex. I can use yours. You should be glad to receive an offer, with the poor business that you are doing.”
“The show’s doing all right.”
“You are exaggerating, Tex.”
“Maybe you’ve been checking up. All right, Wilbart, have it your own way. We’ve had some bloomers on this tour. A lot of them. This week is a bloomer. But there’s some red ones coming.”
“I wish you luck, Tex. It’s preferable to make money on the lot than to run into New York looking for new angels.”
Tex scowled. The remark had hit home. Wilbart had made the logical assumption regarding his trip to New York. Several seconds passed before he countered:
“So you think I’m on the rocks, eh? This show looks like a bum bet, does it? Well, if that’s the way it is, why do you want to buy the outfit? You’ve got five shows of your own. Why look for another headache?”
“The headache is yours, Tex,” remarked Wilbart. “I am trying to ease it for you. I do not intend to keep this show running after I buy it.”
“You want to scrap it, eh?”
“Precisely. You only own the circus. The other shows are independent, although they are presumably under your management. I can absorb your equipment into my own shows.”
“What about the star attractions?”
“You’ve hit it, Tex,” smiled Wilbart. “They are what I am after. I want the two main acts. To obtain them, I am willing to buy the entire show.”
“I thought so.” Tex chewed savagely at the end of his cigar. “You won’t be satisfied, Wilbart, until you’ve crowded all the real showmen out of the circus business. There were a lot of good small shows working until you came into the game with your idea of a new combine.”
“There were small shows starving,” commented Wilbart. “I took them over and put them on a paying basis. Acts like Eric Wernoff and Lucille Lavan would bring money to one of my shows. But they aren’t drawing for you.”
“I admitted that this week is a bloomer.”
“My shows stay away from towns like Marlborough.”
“Why waste time, Wilbart?” questioned Tex, in a challenging tone. “Eric Wernoff, the Animal King, stays with the Larch Circus. So does Lucille Lavan, Queen of the High Wire. That’s final!”
“Even if you have to go to New York,” smirked Wilbart, “when you need money to move the show.”
“So that’s what you think, eh?” demanded Tex, suddenly. “Well, take another guess. I’m raising dough — you’re right about that — but the reason is that I’m expanding. I’ve got this outfit motorized. That was my first step. My next is to buy Cap Guffy’s Ten-in-One and some of the other shows on the midway. The Larch Circus and Greater Shows will be all one by the end of this season!”
Jonathan Wilbart rose, smiling quietly. It was plain that he did not believe Tex Larch’s statement. He made no comment, however, to indicate that disbelief.
“I shall visit you again, Larch,” he remarked. “I think that you may decide to change your mind. Particularly” — Wilbart’s smile broadened — “after your show arrives in Hamilcar. That town is the worst bloomer on the map. You will have to dig deep in the savings fund — if you have one — to move out of Hamilcar.”
TEX LARCH stood glowering while his visitor stepped from the office. Jonathan Wilbart closed the door behind him; still smiling, he strolled across the midway. Lennox joined him near a small tent. The chauffeur followed his master toward the car.
“Any luck, sir?” inquired Lennox.
“No,” responded Wilbart. “Tex Larch refuses to sell. Evidently he has found an angel in New York.”
“He was in New York the last two times we were here, sir.”
“I know it.” Wilbart smiled. “Well, he may have to make some more trips there before he is finished. How did business look, Lennox?”
“Very poor at the big top, sir.”
“Did you watch the turnstiles closely?”
“Yes, sir. There were plenty of ‘shills’ going through. But they didn’t bring many followers.”
The two men reached the parked sedan. Lennox unlocked the car and Jonathan Wilbart entered. Then Lennox took the wheel and the sedan pulled away.
Wilbart looked toward the rear seat; his gaze followed through the back window for a last glimpse of brilliant circus grounds.
“I would like to know the game that Tex Larch is playing,” was the magnate’s final comment to Lennox. “That show of his is not breaking even. There is something in back of his persistent refusals to sell.”
The car turned a curve in the road. The lights disappeared from view. Jonathan Wilbart settled in his seat with a grunt that Lennox understood. The utterance was more than an expression of disappointment. It was an indication of future action.
Lennox knew the persistence of his employer. The chauffeur was convinced that his purpose would not end. Sooner or later — Lennox was positive — the Larch Circus and Greater Shows would be under the banner of Jonathan Wilbart’s combine.