CHAPTER IV
THE PASSWORD
WHILE Jonathan Wilbart was taking a last glimpse of the circus which he hoped to buy, another man was gaining his first view of the Larch Circus and Greater Shows. This was Cliff Marsland, newly arrived in the town of Marlborough. The Shadow’s agent was passing beneath the canvas arch that marked the entrance to the midway.
Hands in coat pockets, Cliff was thumbing the paper slips that Beef Malligan had given him. Cliff had reached Marlborough later than he expected. He knew that it was too late to see the circus. The passes to the smaller shows could be used tonight, however.
“Step in folks! See the strangest freak in captivity! Jubo, the wild man from Java! Jubo, with his friends the reptiles! One dime, folks! Ten cents!”
Cliff stopped beside a small tent where the barker was ensconced in a high ticket booth. A light showed through the canvas; long, raucous growls were coming from within. Curious passers were idling by the entrance; ticket sales, however, were lacking.
“Jubo the wild man! Jubo and his hideous reptiles!” The blatant cry persisted from the ticket booth. “See Jubo, folks. He plays with snakes! He talks with snakes! He lives with snakes!”
Two men were standing close by Cliff. They looked like circus roughnecks. Listening Cliff overheard their muttered conversation.
“Are you goin’ to shill for Jubo the Geek?” questioned one.
“Yeah,” responded the other.
“Let’s start in,” suggested the first.
“Wait a couple of minutes,” rejoined the second. “Give the talker a chance to get ‘em started.”
“That guy? Say — he’s the cheesiest talker on the lot an’ that’s sayin’ plenty. If we don’t shill pretty quick, there won’t be nobody left to follow us.”
“You don’t need a good talker on a geek show. See ‘em gatherin’ around? Those hicks are listenin’ to the squawker. It’ll draw ‘em.”
Cliff decided that the ‘squawker’ must be the device that was producing the fierce, prolonged growls from within the tent. His conjecture was proven by the next statements that he overheard.
“They keep on fallin’ for the squawker,” laughed one of the roughnecks. “It’s a great gimmick. A guy sittin’ out of sight at the front of the pit, pullin’ on a tarred rope hitched to a keg. You wouldn’t think it would make them heavy growls, would you?”
“Who’s runnin’ the squawker here in the geek show?”
“Some punk that was hangin’ around the lot. The talker slipped the kid four bits for the evenin’.”
“He’ll be lucky if he takes that much in at the gate. C’mon. Let’s shill.”
THE roughnecks started for the ticket booth. Cliff pulled his passes from his pocket and found one that was marked ‘Jubo.’ He followed the other two men and stopped while they reached their hands up to the counter to make a pretence of paying a dime.
“Shill,” Cliff heard them say. The ticket seller nodded and motioned toward the tent. He resumed his talking to the crowd as Cliff approached and delivered the pass.
The growl of the squawker became louder as Cliff entered the little tent. As the roughnecks had remarked, it came from the front of a pit. The rope-puller was hidden from view by canvas curtains. The pit was also surrounded by old, grayish canvas. Cliff leaned on a wooden rail to survey its occupants.
Jubo the Geek, as the roughnecks had termed him, was seated on a torn canvas that lay on the ground. He was a wild-looking monstrosity, clad in black tights. His face and hands were a deep brown; Cliff fancied that it was stain, not a natural color.
A mop of crinkly hair showed on the wild man’s head. His eyes stared vacantly at the handful of people who watched him and his lips kept spreading to display an idiotic grin. Half a dozen snakes were squirming lazily about the pit. Cliff recognized them as large, but harmless “bull” snakes.
The geek, in the midst of his facial contortions, broke suddenly into an apish chatter and pounced upon one of the reptiles. The snake’s wriggling indicated that it was anxious to get away from its captor.
Jubo babbled as he twisted the snake about his arms and neck; then, like a child tired of a toy, he threw the reptile to the ground and leaped to grab another of his squirming pets.
Cliff watched the inane proceedings for five minutes. A few customers had filed into the tent; it was plain that Jubo the Geek intended to do no talking other than his inarticulate gibberish. Cliff strolled from the tent.
A ballyhoo was ending at the big sideshow. Cliff joined the throng, just as a cortege of freaks stepped from the platform and went back into the tent. Over the entrance, Cliff saw the statement:
CAPTAIN GUFFY’S
TEN SHOWS IN ONE
A lumbering man was still standing on the platform; his yachtsman’s cap indicated that he must be Captain Guffy. Guffy appeared to be the talker as well as the manager, for he was winding up a fervent spiel that referred to the collection of human curios inside the tent.
THE crowd was pressing close. Captain Guffy gave a sweeping gesture. Two ticket sellers took up his cry from their booths. Cliff saw the men who had shilled at Jubo’s show as they went up and pretended to buy the first tickets.
They were followed by others — also shills — and the regular customers began a march as Captain Guffy stepped impressively from the platform.
Cliff pulled out a pass marked ‘Circus Sideshow.’ He delivered it to a ticket seller and moved inward with the throng. He decided that Captain Guffy’s ballyhoo must have been a good one, for this show was drawing in a crowd.
The interior of the Ten-in-One was divided lengthwise by a wooden rail. Beyond the barrier were the freaks, all but their heads obscured from view by canvas that hung from the railing. Captain Guffy was approaching one end of the tent; the crowd was following. Gawky customers thronged about as the manager began his lecture.
Baby Liz was the first freak. Guffy described her as the “fattest of all fat women” and went into particulars regarding her age and weight. Baby Liz smiled complacently from above a triple chin and nodded in response to Guffy’s statements.
When the ‘Captain’ moved along to the next platform, Baby Liz began to talk in a high-pitched voice, offering picture post cards of herself at a dime apiece.
Cliff lingered; then moved along to the platform where Guffy was discoursing on his “Happy Family.” He had reference to a large cage which contained a jabbering monkey, a sad-eyed poodle, a Maltese cat, a white rabbit and a squawking parrot. The fact that these creatures behaved in friendly fashion seemed sufficient to make them a curiosity.
While Guffy was talking, the monkey made a bound toward the cat. The parrot squawked and Guffy grabbed a stick to deliver a savage poke into the cage. The monkey jumped back to a corner and the cat settled down to another nap. Evidently the family kept happy under proper supervision.
On the next platform, Cliff observed a most curious individual. A pasty-faced man was reclining on an army cot. His eyes were half closed; when they opened at Guffy’s urging, the man gazed indolently at the spectators.
He reached to his lips and weakly removed a cigarette stump that clung there. He let it drop into a metal wastebasket beside the cot; then made a feeble gesture.
Captain Guffy plucked a fresh cigarette from a large box and placed it between the reclining man’s lips. An attendant sprang forward with a light. Eyes closing, the pasty-faced occupant of the couch began to puff new clouds of smoke.
“This is Cleed,” announced Captain Guffy, in a sorrowful tone. “Behold him, ladies and gentlemen: Cleed, the Cigarette Fiend. His story is a tragic one. He is a freak with a strange history. The child of a wealthy family, he began the use of tobacco at the age of five years.