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                            RED WAGON STORIES
                                   OR
                        TALES TOLD UNDER THE TENT

                                   BY
                               WELLS HAWKS

                             [Illustration]

                           I. & M. OTTENHEIMER
                               PUBLISHERS
                      NO. 321 WEST BALTIMORE STREET
                             BALTIMORE, MD.

                             Cover Design by
                             J. R. CROSSLEY.

                            Copyrighted 1904.
                          I. & M. OTTENHEIMER.
                             BALTIMORE, MD.




Between the shows there were seven of the circus outfit who would sit
around the ring bank and on the carpet pads just to talk. Here are some
of the tales told under the big round top when the tent was empty.

And to those happy days of bread and preserves, when we bare-footed kids
sneaked out of the backyard gate to the circus lot and led the spotted
ponies to water, these little yarns are affectionately dedicated:--




CONTENTS.


                                                             PAGE.

    THE PRESS AGENT’S STORY                                     7

    THE OLD GRAFTER’S LAMENT                                   14

    THE BILL POSTER’S VISIT                                    21

    THE CANDY BUTCHER’S DREAM OF LOVE                          30

    THE BOSS CANVASMAN’S YARN                                  33

    THE SIDE SHOW SPIELER SPEAKS                               48

    THE BAND MASTER’S SOLO                                     54

    THE CANDY BUTCHER TALKS ABOUT A LOVE AFFAIR AND HIS
      ENCOUNTER WITH THE BUCKWHEAT MAN                         59

    THE CONCERT MANAGER GETS REMINISCENT                       70

    THE HANDS AT THE WINDOW                                    75

    THE CONCERT MANAGER TELLS THE BOYS AN ELEPHANT STORY       83




THE PRESS AGENT’S STORY.


The Press Agent of the Big Show had formerly been dramatic editor of
the leading daily in Council Bluffs. It was his star boast that he was
the only critic in the Middle West that ever had the nerve to roast Joe
Jefferson, and he said he did it in the interest of art.

“Art,” says he, “must be preserved, an’ the only way to do it is by
knockin’.”

The Press Agent wore his hair long, had a smooth face, and looked like
a police reporter out on a three-column story with the facts coming in
slowly. He hadn’t much baggage, but he always carried about a ream of
adjective hit paper, two lead pencils, and a pass-pad. No man ever heard
him talk without wondering what kind of stuff he beat out on a typewriter.

The saw dust spreader was smoothing out the ring for the night acts
and the rest of the gang were sitting around roasting the route when
the Press Agent came through the red curtains at the dressing tent
entrance picking his teeth with a straw. He sat down on the box where the
Greaser Knife Thrower kept his keen steels, and filling his pipe waited
for a break in the conversation. Then he asked the gasoline man for a
match. After he got the fire he saw there were no words loose from the
ring-bankers, so he starts his skein.

“Well, lads, we hit ’em up hard at the mat today, 12,000 on the blue
boards an’ the ticket wagon window down before the harness is on for
the entree. S’pose them laddy-bucks in No. 2 car will say it was a good
billin’, but I’m tellin’ you people that this is a readin’ community, an’
it was the press work that had the coin hittin’ the window this date, an’
that’s no cold cream con, either. The Gov’nor knows it, for he gives me
a good word an’ a back pat jus’ as the parade was startin’ for the main
highway.

“I’m given youse the real word, an’ it’s this--when you can get ’em
readin’ about the Big Show you’ve already got ’em feelin’ for change to
buy, an’ that’s as true as ticker talk. The old man sees in the paper
that the Big Show will soon be on the lot, an’ when he gets home to daily
bread he tells it to the old woman; the kids get next and there’s no let
up on papa ’till he promises to buy in for the whole family. An’ workin’
one is workin’ all--that’s my motto. It’s the