Circus Shoes (20 page)

“Has something happened, Nobby?”

Nobby pretended to be intent on Magician’s hind-legs which he was brushing. He spoke quietly.

“There’s trouble with one of the elephants.

“Which elephant?”

“Ranee. The little one on the end of the line.”

“What’s the matter with her?”

“Turned nasty-tempered. Got at one of the men this morning and threw him down. If Mr. Cob hears of it he won’t let her work. He’d never ‘ave one you couldn’t trust in the ring.”

“But all the elephants are good-tempered. I always feed them.”

“Well, you better not get too near Ranee today, you may get something you don’t expect.”

“Funny her getting suddenly angry.” Nobby gave Magician a slap.

“Get over, can’t you!” He gave a glance in direction of the elephants. “It all comes of keepin’ wild beasts. You give me ‘orses. You knows where you are with them.”

Peter walked toward the elephants. Kundra there talking to the head keeper. From a cautious distance he had a look at Ranee. As far as he could see she was exactly as usual. She swayed from side to side. Her trunk was held out hopefully on the chance that some passer-by might have a fragment to give away.

“Well,” Kundra was saying, “give her that with her food. Maybe the weather has upset her. These spring days are apt to get them a bit down.”

“Right,” the keeper agreed. He and Kundra went out of the tent. They were talking so busily they never noticed Peter.

From his safe position Peter went on looking at Ranee. He felt sorry for her. Perhaps she was feeling as Ben said Mustard felt in the early autumn. Ben said Mustard missed the smell of falling leaves and would get off his food. Was Ranee missing the smell of new plants coming up? Peter had very vague ideas about the kind of country elephants were used to. Jungles, he supposed. He did not know what grew in jungles but whatever it was probably in the spring. Perhaps Ranee missed the smell of them. He felt in his pocket. He had a few carrots. There were always carrots in the caravan and he took some to give Mustard. These were spare ones. It would be nice give them to Ranee to cheer her up. But he did not at all want to be thrown on the ground. He took a few steps forward. Ranee did not look cross. He took another few steps. He got the carrots put. Perhaps if she saw he was bringing carrots she would know he meant to be nice. Three more steps and he could reach her. He looked round. Nobody was about. If he went back to the caravan now nobody would know he had meant to give Ranee carrots and had not because he was afraid. He stood irresolute for a second. Should he go home? Then he looked at Ranee. She must have seen the carrots. It would be mean to take them away, mow. He took the steps forward. He held out his hand.

Ranee took the carrots. She put them in her mouth. She crunched them up. But although she ate them seemed to enjoy them, Peter got the impression that tidbits were not what she was asking for. He forgot to be frightened. He put his hand on her trunk. He had often done it to the elephants before. Sometimes of them would hold him so he had to pull to get free, Ranee did that now. She put her trunk round his arm. After a moment he gave a little pull to get free. She held him tighter. He gave his arm a tug. Ranee not only gripped him more firmly, but pulled him toward her.

Ranee had no intention of doing anything of the kind. She drew Peter forward. His feet touched the wooden platform on which the elephants stood. He was cold with fright. At any moment he expected to be picked up and thrown on the ground. He struggled. But it’s not much use struggling with an elephant.

“Let go, Ranee!” he gasped. “Let go!”

He looked up. He was staring into her eyes. Elephants’ eyes are not the sort most people admire. That small
,
pig-like shape is not handsome. Standing as close to them as Peter was, he thought they looked awful. Then suddenly he saw something in them which surprised him. He had thought they looked fierce and cruel. Now, seeing them more closely
,
he saw they were miserable. He was so sorry for her he forgot the way she was treating him.

“Poor Ranee,” he said. “Poor old girl.”

It looked as if a little sympathy was just what Ranee wanted. As suddenly as she had gripped his arm, she let it go. Peter, instead of moving out of her range, stood where he was. He fondled her trunk. He looked round. What could she be miserable about? The stable was as usual. On the left the ponies munched their breakfast. On the right came pleased hoarse barks from the sea-lions’ wagon. Then suddenly he had an idea.

Kundra and the keeper came back. They stood staring at Peter. Kundra came forward gently.

“Don’t be frightened, Peter. Move slowly backward away from Ranee. She’s in a bad mood this morning.”

Peter stayed where he was. He went on fondling
Ranee’s trunk.

“I know, but I don’t believe she has a bad mood. I think she’s unhappy.”

“Maybe.” Kundra still talked in a quiet voice. But do what I say. Come toward me slowly.”

Peter still did not move. He looked round again at the sea-lions’ wagon. He was shy of saying what thought because, of course, everybody in the circus knew about animals and he did not.

“Could an elephant be fond of a dog?” Kundra and the keeper knew at once he meant. They looked at the sea-lion wagon standing in the position where the poodles always played.

“I, wonder,” said Kundra. “Something’s upset Mis.”

The keeper nodded.

“D’you remember that lion we had out with us? The Rajah of Bong? Remember that little fox-terrier he had alongside of him? Had to live in his cage?”

“It can happen,” Kundra agreed. “There have been some funny friends. My father had one elephant which made friends with a pony.”

“Shall I fetch Mr. Moulin?” the keeper suggested.

“Yes.” Kundra beckoned to Peter. “Come on, son. You may be right, but she’s bashed one of the men’s arms this morning and we don’t want to take you to hospital too.”

Peter gave Ranee a final pat. He moved away from her. She made no effort to hold him. He had a feeling she had been listening to the conversation and was pleased with him.

The smell of bacon blew in through the tent door. It woke Peter up to the time.

“Do you know what the time is?”

Kundra looked at his watch.

“Ten minutes past eight.”

‘Goodness!” Peter started to run. “I shall be late for breakfast.”

“Aren’t you going to wait and see if you’re right about Mis?”

“I can’t,” Peter called over his shoulder. “I have to go to school.”

Peter scuttled out of his jodhpurs and into his shorts. He raced across to the caravan. Gus and Santa were having breakfast.

“What’s happened to you?” said Gus “Breakfast is eight when there, s school, and you know it.”

“Sorry,” Peter helped himself to bacon and eggs. “I was talking to the elephants.”

Santa gave his back a shocked look. Peter was getting into very bad habits, she thought. He need not told Gus he had been riding, but he could have said feeding the horses. He always gave Mustard carrots so it would be true.

Never had Peter so hated going to school. To make it worse Fifi stayed away; at least, when they went to fetch her she was not in the caravan. Nobody was there. Fritzi and Hans, who were with Peter and Santa, looked disgusted.

“Such a fuss about that dog to make. Mine father say she not ill was,” Fritzi muttered.

“It was true,” Hans agreed. “She was spoilt.”

“I don’t believe it,” Santa argued. “You don’t faint just because you’re spoilt.”

“But yes,” Hans explained. “When there is temperament it might be.”

Peter said nothing. He looked toward the stables. He wished he were there. He could not tell the others what he thought was wrong. Somehow, now that he was out of doors, doing a prosaic thing like walking to school, the idea seemed ridiculous. They would probably laugh.

Fifi came to school late. Peter of course, did not see her until they were all going home.

“Imagine,” she called out to them. “Mis is well. It was an affair of the heart. She has such affection that little one. And she had given it to Ranee. Nobody knew. Always they have been placed side by side. Now she is back by her friend and all is well.”

“What, Ranee the elephant?” asked Hans.

“Yes,” Fifi agreed, prancing up the road. “It was at breakfast. There comes a knock on our door.
Maman
hold her heart. She has a migraine since Mis is ill. She cannot bear any noise.”

Olga turned a cartwheel.

“Was it Ranee come to say she was missing Mis?”

Sasha giggled. He did a flip-flap.

“Did Ranee and Mis kiss each other?”

“Imbecile!” Fifi retorted. “No, it was the keeper. He comes to say that Kundra and he have a thought.”

Peter gasped.

“He came to say what?”

Fifi sighed at his stupidity.

“He came to tell us of the idea that Ranee and Mis might be friends.”

Peter could not believe it.

“He said that he and Kundra had thought of it?”

Fifi nodded.

“But yes. Who else?”

As soon as they got to the ground Peter hurried to the stables. The sea-lions had been moved. The poodles were back in their old playground by the elephants. A lot of people who had paid to see the menagerie were passing through. It. took a minute before Peter could get close to the poodles’ enclosure. When he got there he found Kundra talking to Lucille and Mt. Moulin.

“But it was wonderful,” said Lucille. “How was it we did not think? You have a very great understanding of animals, monsieur.”

Kundra smiled in a pleased way.

“Oh, well, I’ve been in the business a long time. One senses things, you know.” He stopped, catching Peter’s eye. He turned red.

The Moulins, after saying a few more polite words, moved off to have their dejeuner. Kundra looked at Peter. He grinned.

“I know, son. But it’s no good my saying you thought of it. It’s no good to you. You aren’t going to train elephants.”

‘What good is it to you?”

“Mr. Cob is thinking of renewing our contract for another three years.”

“Oh!” Peter stopped feeling angry. It was not fair, of course, but at least Kundra was not pretending with him.

Kundra felt in his pocket. He brought out a ten shilling note. He handed it to Peter.

“Spend that. You’ve done me a good turn.”

Kundra went out of the stables. Peter stared at the note. He did not really want it, though, of course, it was grand to have money to spend. But he hated having been given it in exchange for what was more or less a lie. He liked Kundra and wished he had not pretended. Then he looked at Mis and Ranee. Mis had her paws on the fence dividing the poodles from the elephants. Her tongue was hanging out. She looked her amusing gay self. Ranee had her head turned toward her. It was obvious the friends were having a good gossip.

Peter put the note in his pocket. What did it matter who had thought that separating them might be the trouble? All that really mattered was that Mis and Ranee were their old selves again. He walked off whistling.

Making Plans

Cob’s Circus was moving south. It was a slow moving because often they went backward. The last week in May they were at Lincoln and Leicester. Then they went a little north again and spent a week in Nottingham. From there they went to Stoke and Burton-on-Trent. Then north again to Chester and Crewe. Then in the last week in June they went over the border into Wales. The first stops there were Rhyl and Colwyn Bay.

Peter and Santa got so used to their wandering life that they scarcely knew in which town they were. They liked the week stands best. It was fun moving on to a new town with the caravan trailing behind the car, but once a week was enough. There was something especially nice about the Sundays at Blackpool, Sheffield, and Nottingham. The build-up finished, a kind of settled feeling came over everybody. It was done for the week. Tenting made you feel a week was a very long time to spend in any place
.

When they got to Wales a new feeling came over the circus. It was lovely weather. They were going to do the seaside towns. This would be tenting at its nicest with bathing parties and long afternoons lying in the sun.

Gus was a surprising man. Neither Peter nor Santa were of making any headway as to his needing them. He was exactly as he had been the first time they met him. Practical, taking them as a matter of course, but showing not a sign as to whether he liked having them or not. He got on a shade better with Peter, but then Peter argued less. What with school and his riding lessons and the way he was getting to know the grooms and tent-men, he had less time. Besides, though he had no idea of it, he had changed. He never now thought anything not good enough for him. To everybody in the circus he was merely “Gus’s nephew.” Feeling merely Gus’s nephew was as catching as Aunt Rebecca’s idea that they were too grand to know anybody. Of course being just Gus’s nephew was rather humbling. All the other children had a future in the circus world. They might not be anybody yet, but they would be. But Peter and Santa did not really belong. What they liked best was when people treated them as if they did. There was no sign from Gus what he meant to do with them later on, so it was comforting when other people behaved as if they would be with him always. The first really hopeful sign that he was fond of them came when they crossed the Welsh border. That was why he was so surprising; you never knew what he was thinking. It was on the Sunday at Rhyl
.
They were eating their stew.

“Time you kids had a summer rig-out,” said Gus, “and bathing things.”

Santa helped herself to some butter.

“I’ve got two more cotton dresses like this, and Peter’s got a gray flannel suit. You don’t do much about its being summer in London, except not to wear a coat.

Gus ate a moment in silence. Then he looked up.

“The other kids wear a practice dress playing around here. Might as well have one of them too.”

“Might I?” Santa beamed at him. “I borrow one of Fritzi’s sometimes. It’s green. What I would like is a blue one.”

Peter felt Santa was accepting everything too easily.

“Well, but if Gus is going to buy us bathing things, he won’t want to get you one of those as well
.
”

“Cabbages and cheese!” said Gus. “Why not? I’m coming to you in a minute, Peter. No need to be jealous if I buy Santa a few things.”

Santa put her hand on Gus’s.

“My dear Gus, Peter and I are never jealous of each other. He just meant I mustn’t let you spend too much money.”

“If I couldn’t afford it I wouldn’t have offered, would I?” Gus grumbled.

After that small disagreement they had cheerful lunch. It seemed as though Gus had been thinking about clothes most seriously. He liked Santa’s cotton dresses for school, although by Aunt Rebecca’s standards they were on the short side. But he did not like to see her in stockings and shoes. The other girls had sandals and he thought she should too. Then he thought the blue one-piece play-suit a good thing for wearing about the ground.

“You kids are always standing on your heads,” he said. “May as well look neat to do it.”

He had strong views, too, about bathing-dresses. He had, it seemed, a talk about them with Mrs. Moulin.

“You may as well get good stuff for bathing in and make it last. Lucille Moulin tells me the cheap cotton bathing things stretch. She says she’ll take you both out shopping and get something made of decent wool and a couple of those bath wraps so you don’t mess up all the towels. And something strong in the way of a bathing-cap for you, Santa. You’re hair’s neat now you braid it. Don’t want it full of sea-water.”

Santa stared at him.

“I never knew you knew I had braided it, Gus. You never said anything about it.”

“Why should I? If I don’t say anything it doesn’t mean I haven’t seen anything. My old dad, your grandfather, used to say, ‘Seeing’s better than speaking.

“Not always it isn’t,” Peter objected. “If you saw somebody being burnt in a fire it’s no good just seeing, you’d have to speak too or they wouldn’t be saved.”

“That’s seeing and speaking. You see, my old dad, your grandfather, was a gardener. He’d just go round his plants looking. He never needed to say much. He could see if his plants weren’t doing well.”

Peter got up and helped himself to more stew. “That’s like Ben and the horses. He can see in a minute if anything’s wrong with any of them.”

Gus passed his plate.

“Fill mine up while you’re there.” He looked at Peter as he took his refilled plate. “You’ll want some more gray shorts and some of these short-sleeved shirts Hans wears. When we’re in Tenby next week you can slip along after school and buy them.”

Peter said “Thank you.” Inside he felt that swollen feeling you get when people are especially kind. It was so nice of Gus to say he could go alone. He was quite capable of buying things like that by himself, but he was not sure if Gus knew it.

After lunch Peter and Santa washed up outside. Gus went to sleep. Santa stood with her hands in the basin looking at Peter. It was an inquiring face she made. Peter made a Fifi shrug in answer. Santa went on, as if they had spoken. “He must like us a little.”

“They’re only summer things,” Peter pointed out. “It doesn’t say what he’s doing with us after tenting.”

Santa washed a plate and handed it to him. “I believe he’s beginning to like us.”

Peter dried the plate. “He might be,” he agreed. “At least he notices what we wear. I never knew he did that.”

Santa leaned over the basin.

“He’s got a birthday in August. It’s when we’re at Torquay. On the Wednesday.”

“It’s all one-week stands then. We shan’t have to move.”

Santa passed over another plate. “I thought perhaps we could do something. We’ve a little money left, haven’t we?”

“No. Gus took it. It’s to help get our things out of pawn when we go back to London.”

“Oh!” Santa washed the third plate gloomily. “You can’t do much without money.”

“I’ve got ten shillings.”

“Ten shillings!” Santa nearly dropped the plate she was passing to him. “How ever did you get that?”

Peter fixed her with his eyes.

“Will you swear to keep a secret?”

Santa took her hand from the basin. She held up her first finger. “See this wet.” She dried it n her frock. “See this dry.” She drew it across her throat. “Cut my throat if I lie.”

Peter was satisfied. Nobody would tell a secret after a vow like that. And as a matter of fact he trusted Santa anyway. He told her about Mis and Ranee. Santa was furious.

“How dreadfully mean of Kundra. And I always thought he was nice.”

Peter dried a knife.

“I didn’t mind. With ten shillings we could get Gus a lovely birthday present.”

“But don’t you want it?”

Peter put the knife down and took up another.

“I was going to get some jodhpurs, but it doesn’t matter because Alexsis goes on lending me his. I don t think he wants them really. They are too small for him and too big for Sasha.”

Santa swished the soap-flakes into a better foam.

“I think we’d better ask all the others what’s the best thing to do for a birthday. Perhaps we could give Gus a party.”

“Not if people don’t usually have parties for their birthdays in a circus,” Peter objected.

“We’ve been living with Gus nearly three months and never had a birthday party yet.”

“Children do.” Santa plunged the teapot into the water. “Hans and Fritzi had one just before we came.”

“I don’t believe grown-ups do,” said Peter; “but we’ll ask.”

But what with school and all the other thing there were to do, the days slipped by. It was not until they got to Carmarthen that they caught all the children doing nothing, and had a chance to hold a meeting about birthdays.

It was a wet Saturday. They were playing in the big top Peter beckoned mysteriously. Hans and Fritzi came at once. Fifi grumbled a little because she had on a new dress and thought it a pity to sit in a corner where no one could see it. Olga and Sasha had to be fetched. Sasha only came because he could walk on his hands to the seats where they were sitting.

“What is it, Peter?” said Fifi. “Why should we sit here?”

Peter looked at Santa. She made a face at him to say he should do the telling. He explained about Gus’s birthday and said he had ten shillings. He did not make any suggestion as to how it should be spent because he wanted to know what they thought would be suitable.

“Ten shillings!” said Fifi. “But that is magnificent, Gus can have a beautiful fete.”

“Yes, but what shall we do?” Santa asked.

Hans counted on his fingers.

“Next week is Cardiff. That is one week. Then Bath. That is two weeks. Then it is Taunton. That is three weeks. Then Exeter. That is four weeks. Which day is the birthday?”

“Wednesday,” said Peter.

“One month and three days before the birthday we have,” Fritzi announced.

Santa gave her a look
.
Of course they had asked everybody’s advice as to the best way of keeping a birthday, but that did not mean that they wanted Fritzi to take it on as if it was the birthday of
her
uncle.
The way she said “we” sounded very much as if she would.

“We must sing,” Hans suggested. “A song for his birthday we must write. Very early outside the caravan will we it sing.”

Peter looked doubtful.

“Gus doesn’t like to be awakened early.”

Fritzi dismissed the suggestion.

“On his birthday he will not mind.”

Olga stood on her head. She leaned against the nearest chair.

“Your mother will make a beautiful cake, Fritzi.”

“Maman
w
ill make some little ones,” Fifi broke in, “the same as she made for your birthdays.” She nodded at the twins.

“Then,” said Olga, “we will have a lovely picnic. We will make a fire. My mother has a samovar. Perhaps she’ll lend it.”

Sasha hopped about with excitement.

And after we’ve eaten we will give Gus a concert. Each of us will perform.”

“Except Peter and Santa,” Fritzi reminded them. “They can nothing.”

“But naturally not,” Fifi agreed. “That is understood.”

“
Could we-”
Sas
ha was so pleased with his idea he
lost
his voice-“Could we spend the ten shillings on fireworks?”

“Certainly, “ said Fritzi approvingly. “That was a very good idea, Sasha.
W
e
will
firework have.”

“
Feu d’artifice!”
Fifi gasped carried
away
by the glory
of the idea.

“B
ut-“ said Peter.

“What
will
you do at the concert, Fifi?”
Sasha
asked.

Fifi
got
up.

“I
will
practice. I
will
work out some
little
thing.”

Fritzi turned to Hans.

“We
will
together work.”

“So,” Hans agreed “And our father shall write the song.”

Olga, who had been wa
lking
on her hands, suddenly sprang the right way
up.

“Come, Sasha. You remember that floor show we did at Christmas for the charity for children? We’ll do that.”

Sasha was enchanted. He dashed down to the ring.

“Come on then. Let’s practice.”

Peter and Santa, left alone, stared at each other.

“I think ten shillings is an awful lot to spend on fireworks, don’t you?” Santa suggested.

Peter nodded. Then he sat down and took out a piece of paper from his pocket.

“Let them get on with the singing and the picnic and the concert. Here’s a list of things I thought of.”

Santa lo
oked over his shoulder. She read:

Mascot for car. To fix over the radiator cap.