



Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Ginny Brewer and the Online Distributed
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ANDY THE ACROBAT

Or

Out With the Greatest Show on Earth

BY

PETER T. HARKNESS

Author of

CHIMPANZEE HUNTERS,
CIRCUSES--OLD AND NEW,
HOW A GREAT SHOW TRAVELS, ETC.

1907



CONTENTS

CHAPTER

     I. EXPELLED

    II. HOOP-LA!

   III. DISASTER

    IV. A BUSINESS PROPOSITION

     V. THE CIRCUS

    VI. CIRCUS TALK

   VII. A WARM RECEPTION

  VIII. "COASTING"

    IX. GOOD-BYE TO FAIRVIEW

     X. A FIRST APPEARANCE

    XI. SAWDUST AND SPANGLES

   XII. AN ARM OF THE LAW

  XIII. ON THE ROAD

   XIV. BILLY BLOW, CLOWN

    XV. ANDY JOINS THE SHOW

   XVI. THE REGISTERED MAIL

  XVII. A WILD JOURNEY

 XVIII. A FREAK OF NATURE

   XIX. CALLED TO ACCOUNT

    XX. ANDY'S ESCAPE

   XXI. A FULL FLEDGED ACROBAT

  XXII. AMONG THE CAGES

 XXIII. FACING THE ENEMY

  XXIV. ANDY'S AUNT

   XXV. A BEAR ON THE RAMPAGE

  XXVI. A CLEVER RUSE

 XXVII. A ROYAL REWARD

XXVIII. "HEY, RUBE!"

  XXIX. A FREE TROLLEY RIDE

   XXX. WITH THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH

  XXXI. CONCLUSION



ANDY THE ACROBAT

CHAPTER I

EXPELLED


"Andrew Wildwood!"

The village schoolmaster of Fairview spoke this name in a tone of
severity. He accompanied the utterance with a bang of the ruler that
made the desk before him rattle.

There was fire in his eye and his lip trembled. Half of the twenty odd
scholars before him looked frightened, the others interested. None had
ever before seen the dull, sleepy pedagogue so wrought up.

All eyes were fixed on a lad of about sixteen, seated in the front row
of desks.

The name called out applied to him. It had been abbreviated so commonly,
however, that its full dignity seemed to daze him for the moment.

Andrew Wildwood slowly arose, his big, fearless eyes fixed dubiously on
the schoolmaster.

"Yes, sir," he said.

"Step forward, sir."

Andy Wildwood did so. He was now in full view of the other scholars. Mr.
Darrow also arose. He thrust one hand behind his long coat tails,
twirling them fiercely. From the little platform that was his throne he
glared down at the unabashed Andy. In his other hand he flourished the
long black ruler threateningly.

He pointed a terrible finger towards two desks, about four feet apart,
at one side of the room. The desk nearest to the wall had its top split
clear across, and one corner was splintered off.

"Did you break that desk?" demanded the pedagogue.

Andy's lips puckered slightly in a comical twist. He had a vivid
imagination, and the shattered desk suggested an exciting and
pleasurable moment in the near past. Some one chuckled at the rear of
the room. Andy's face broke into an irrepressible smile.

"Order!" roared the schoolmaster, bringing down the ruler with a loud
bang. "Young man, I asked you: did you break that desk?"

"Yes, sir, I'm afraid I smashed it," said Andy in a rather subdued tone.
"It was an accident."

"He was only fooling, teacher!" in an excited lisp spoke up little Tod
Smith, the youngest pupil in the school. "He broke the desk, but--say,
teacher! he did it--yes, sir, Andy did the double somersault, just like
a real circus actor, and landed square on both feet!"

The eyes of Andy's diminutive champion and admirer sparkled like
diamonds. A murmur of delight and sympathy went the rounds of the
schoolroom.

Mr. Darrow glared savagely at the boy. He brandished the ruler wildly,
sending an ink bottle rolling to the floor. As a titter greeted this
catastrophe, he lost his temper and dignity completely.

Springing down from the platform, he made a swoop upon Andy. The latter
stood his ground, and there was a shock. Then Andy was swayed to and fro
as the schoolmaster grasped his arm.

"Young man," spoke Mr. Darrow in a shaking tone, "this is the limit. An
example must be made! Last week you tore down the schoolhouse chimney
with your ridiculous tight rope performances."

"And wasn't it just jolly!" gloated a juvenile gleesome voice in a loud
whisper.

The schoolmaster swept the room with a shocked glance. It had no effect
upon the bubbling-over effervescence of his pupils. Every imagination
was vividly recalling the rope tied from the schoolhouse chimney to a
near tree. Every heart renewed the thrills that had greeted Andy
Wildwood's daring walk across the quivering cable.

Then the culminating climax: the giving way of the chimney, a shower of
bricks--but the young gymnast, safe and serene, dangling from the eaves.

"Last week also," continued the schoolmaster, "you stole Farmer Dale's
calf and carried it five miles away. You are complained of continually.
As I said, young man, you have reached the limit. Human patience and
endurance can go no farther. You are demoralizing this school. And now,"
concluded Mr. Darrow, his lips setting grimly, "you must toe the mark."

A hush of expectancy, of rare excitement, pervaded the room. The
schoolmaster swung aloft the ruler with one hand. He swung Andy around
directly in front of him with the other hand.

Andy's face suddenly grew serious. He tugged to get loose.

"Hold on, Mr. Darrow," he spoke quickly. "You mustn't strike me."

"How? what! defiance on top of rebellion!" shouted the irate pedagogue.
"Keep your seats!" he roared, as half the school came upright under the
tense strain of the moment.

The next he was struggling with Andy. Forward and backward then went
over the clear recitation space. The ruler was dropped in the scrimmage.
As Mr. Darrow stooped to repossess it, Andy managed to break loose.

Dodging behind the zinc shield that fronted the stove, he caught its top
with both hands. He moved about presenting a difficult barrier against
easy capture. Andy looked pretty determined now. The schoolmaster was so
angry that his face was as red as a piece of flannel. He advanced again
upon the culprit, so choked up that his lips made only inarticulate
sounds.

"One minute, please, Mr. Darrow," said Andy. "You mustn't try to whip
me. I can't stand it, and I won't. It hasn't been the rule here, ever. I
did wrong, though I couldn't help it, and I'm sorry for it. I'll stand
double study and staying in from recess and after school for a month, if
you say so. You can put me in the dark hole and keep me without my
dinner as long as you like. I have lots of good friends here. I'd be
ashamed to face them after a whipping--and I won't!"

"Yes, yes--he's right!" rang out an earnest chorus.

"Silence!" roared the schoolmaster. "An example must be made. I shall do
my duty. Andrew Wildwood--Graham! what do you mean, sir?"

The scholars thrilled, as a new and unexpected element came into the
situation.

Graham, quite a young man, and double the weight of the schoolmaster,
had arisen from his seat. He walked quietly between Mr. Darrow and Andy,
quite pushing back the former gently.

"The lad is right, Mr. Darrow," he said, in his quiet, drawling way. "I
wouldn't punish him before the scholars if I were you, sir."

"What's this? You interfere!" flared out the pedagogue.

"Don't take it that way, Mr. Darrow," said Graham. "You are displeased,
and justly so, sir, but boys will be boys. Andy is the right kind of a
lad, I assure you, only in the wrong kind of a place. They did the same
thing with me when I was young. If they hadn't, I wouldn't be here
spelling out words of two syllables at twenty-eight years of age."

Andy's eyes glistened at the big scholar's friendliness. A murmur of
approbation ran round the room.

Silently the pedagogue fumed. The disaffection of the occasion, mild and
respectful as it was, disarmed him. He regarded Andy with a despairing
look. Then he straightened up with great dignity.

"Take your seat, sir!" he ordered Andy severely, marching back to his
own desk.

"Yes, sir," said Andy humbly.

"Pack up your books."

Andy looked up in dismay. The fixed glint in the schoolmaster's eye told
him that this new move meant no fooling.

"Now you may go home," resumed Mr. Darrow, as Andy had obeyed his first
mandate.

Andy kept a stiff upper lip, though he felt that the world was slipping
away from him.

A picture of an unloving home, a stern, hard mistress who would make use
of this, his final disgrace, as a continual club and menace to all his
future peace of mind, fairly appalled him.

He arose to his feet, swinging his strapped up books to and fro airily,
but there was a dismal catch in his voice as he turned to the teacher's
desk, and said:

"Mr. Darrow, I guess I would rather take the whipping."

"Too late," pronounced the relentless schoolmaster in icy tones.

And then, as Andy reached the door amid the gruesome silence and awe of
his sympathetic comrades, Mr. Darrow added the final dreadful words:

"You are expelled."



CHAPTER II

HOOP-LA!


Andy Wildwood passed out of the village schoolhouse an anxious and
desolate boy.

The brightest of sunshine gilded the spires and steeples of the village.
It flooded highway and meadows with rich yellow light, but Andy,
swinging his school books over his shoulder, walked on with drooping
head and a cheerless heart.

"It's pretty bad, it's just the very worst!" he said with a deep sigh,
as he reached a stile and sat down a-straddle of it.

Andy tossed his books up into the hollow of a familiar oak near at hand.
Then he fell to serious thinking.

His gaze roving over the landscape, lit on the farmhouse of Jabez Dale.
It revived the recent allusion of the old schoolmaster.

"I didn't steal that calf," declared Andy, straightening up indignantly.
"Graham, who boards over at Millville, told us boys how Dale had sold a
cow to a farmer there. He said they took her away from her calf, and the
poor thing refused to eat. She just paced up and down a pasture fence
from morning till night, crying for her calf. We got the calf, and
carried it to its mother. I'll never forget the sight, and I'll never
regret it, either--and what's best, the man who had got the cow was so
worked up over its almost human grief, that he paid Dale for the calf,
too, and kept it."

The memory of the incident brightened up Andy momentarily. Then, his
glance flitting to the distant roof of a small neat cottage in a pretty
grove of cedars, his face fell again. He choked on a great lump in
his throat.

"Ginger!" he whistled dolefully, "how can I ever face the music over
there!"

The cottage was Andy's home, but the thought had no charm or sweetness
for the lone orphan boy whom its roof had grudgingly sheltered for the
past five years.

Once it had belonged to his father. He had died when Andy was ten years
old. Then it had passed into the legal possession of Mr. Wildwood's
half-sister, Miss Lavinia Talcott.

This aunt was Andy's nearest relative. He had lived with her since his
father's death, if it could be called living.

Miss Lavinia's favorite topic was the sure visitation of the sins of the
father upon his children.

She was of a sour, snappy disposition. Her prim boast and pride was that
she was a strict disciplinarian.

To a lad of Andy's free and easy nature, her rules and regulations were
torture and an abomination.

She made him take off his muddy shoes in the woodshed. Woe to him if he
ever brought a splinter of whittling, or a fragment of nutshell, into
the distressingly neat kitchen!

Only one day in the week--Sunday--was Andy allowed the honor of sitting
in the best room.

Then, for six mortal hours his aching limbs were glued to a
straight-backed chair. There, in parlor state, he sat listening to the
prim old maid's reading religious works, or some scientific lecture, or
a dreary dissertation on good behavior.

She never allowed a schoolmate to visit him, even in the well-kept yard.
She restricted his hours of play. And all the time never gave him a
loving word or caress.

On the contrary, many times a week Miss Lavinia administered a
tongue-lashing that suggested perpetual motion.

Mr. Wildwood had been something of an inventor. He had gotten up a
hoisting derrick that was very clever. It brought him some money. This
he sunk in an impossible balloon, crippled himself in the initial voyage
of his airship, and died shortly afterwards of a broken heart.

Andy's mother had died when he was an infant. Thus it was that he fell
into the charge of his unloving aunt.

It seemed that the latter had loaned Mr. Wildwood some money for his
scientific experiments. As repayment, when he died, she took the cottage
and what else was left of the wreck of his former fortune.

Even this she claimed did not pay her up in full, and she made poor Andy
feel all the time that he was eating the bread of charity.

Andy's grandfather had been a famous sailor. Andy had read an old
private account among his father's papers of a momentous voyage his
grandfather had made to the Antarctic circle.

He loved to picture his ancestor among the ship's rigging. He had an
additional enthusiasm in another description of his father's
balloon venture.

Andy wished he had been born to fly. He seemed to have inherited a sort
of natural acrobatic tendency. At ten years of age he was the best boy
runner and jumper in the village.

The first circus he had seen--not with Miss Lavinia's permission--set
Andy fairly wild, and later astonished his playmates with prodigious
feats of walking on a barrel, somersaulting, vaulting with a pole, and
numerous other amateur gymnastic attainments.

For the past month a circus, now exhibiting in a neighboring town, had
been advertised in glowing prose and lurid pictures on big billboards
all over the county.

Juvenile Fairview was set on fire anew with the circus fever. Andy's
rope-walking feat and double somersault act from desk to desk that
morning had resulted, getting him into the trouble of his life. It
furthermore had interrupted other performances on the programme listed
for later on that very day.

Andy's head had been full of the circus since he had seen its first
poster at a cross-roads. He could never pass a heap of sawdust without
cutting a caper.

In the spelling contest, he had stupefied his fellow students by nimbly
rattling over such words as "megatherian," "stupendous," "zoological
aggregation," and the like.

One of his sums covered the number of yards a clown could cover in a
given time on a handspring basis. He had shocked the schoolmaster by
handing in an essay on "The Art of Bareback Riding."

Andy had tried every acrobatic trick he had seen depicted in the glowing
advance sheets announcing the circus. To repeated efforts in this
direction his admiring schoolmates had continually incited him.

He had tried the double somersault in the schoolroom that morning. Andy
had made a famous success of the experiment, but with the direful result
of smashing a desk, and subsequent expulsion.

Thinking over all this, Andy realized that the beginning and end of all
his troubles was his irrepressible tendency towards acrobatic
performances.

"And I simply can't help it!" he cried in a kind of reckless despair.
"It's born in me, I guess. Oh, don't I hope Aunt Lavinia turns me out,
as she has often threatened to do. Say, if she only would, and I could
join some show, and travel and see things and--live!"

Andy threw himself flat on the green sward. He closed his eyes and gave
himself up to a rapture of thought.

Gay banners, brightly comparisoned horses, white wildernesses of circus
tents, tinselled clowns, royal ringmasters, joyful strains of music
floated through his active brain. It was a day dream of rare beauty, and
he could not tear himself away from it.

An idle hour went by before Andy realized it. As echoing voices rang out
on the quiet air, he got to his feet rubbing his eyes as if they
were dazzled.

"Recess already," Andy said. "Well, I'll lay low until it's over. I
don't want to meet the boys just now. Then I'll do some more thinking. I
suppose I've got to decide to go home. Ugh! but I hate to--and I just
won't until the very last moment."

Andy went in among the shrubbery farther away from the road, but he
could not hide himself. An active urchin discovered him from a distance.
He yelled out riotously to his comrades, and they all came trooping
along pell-mell in Andy's direction.

Their expelled schoolmate and favorite greeted them with a genial smile,
never showing the white feather in the least.

His chums found him carelessly tossing half-a-dozen crab apples from
hand to hand. Andy was an adept in "the glass ball act." He described
rapid semicircles, festoons and double crosses. He shot the green
objects up into the air in all directions, and went through the
performance without a break.

"Isn't Andy a crackerjack?" gloated enthusiastic little Tod Smith. "Oh,
say, Andy, you won't disappoint us now, will you?"

"What about?" inquired Andy.

"The rest of it."

"The rest of what?"

"Your show. You know you promised--"

"Oh, that's all off!" declared Andy gloomily. "I've made trouble enough
already with my circus antics, I'm thinking."

"Don't you be mean now, Andy Wildwood!" broke in Ned Wilfer, a
particular friend of the expelled boy. "Old Darrow has given us a double
recess. We have a good forty minutes to have fun in. Come on."

The speaker seized Andy's reluctant arm and began pulling him towards
the road.

"Got the horse?" he asked of a companion.

"Sure," eagerly nodded the lad addressed. "I got him fixed up, platform,
blanket and all, before school. He's tied up, waiting, at the end of
father's ten-acre lot."

"Yes, and I've got the hoop all ready there, too," chimed in Alf Warren,
another schoolboy.

"See here, fellows," demurred Andy dubiously, "I haven't much heart for
frolic. I'm expelled, you know, and there's Aunt Lavinia--"

"Forget it!" interrupted Ned. "That will all right itself."

Andy consented to accompany the gleeful, expectant throng. They had
arranged the night before to hold an amateur circus exhibition "on their
own hook."

One boy had agreed to provide the "fiery steed" for the occasion. Alf
Warren was to be property man, and donate the blazing hoop.

They soon reached the corner of the ten-acre lot. There, tethered to a
stake and grazing placidly, was a big-boned, patient-looking horse.

Across his back was strapped a small platform made of a cistern cover.
This had been cushioned with a folded buggy robe.

Alf Warren dove excitedly into a clump of bushes. He reappeared
triumphantly holding aloft a big hoop. It was wound round and round with
strips of woolen cloth which exuded an unmistakable and unpleasant odor
of kerosene.

"Say! it's going to be just like the circus picture on the side of the
post office, isn't it?" chuckled little Tod Smith.

Ned Wilier took down the fence bars and led the horse out into the road.

Andy pulled off his coat and shoes. He stowed them alongside a rock near
the fence. Then he produced some elastic bands and secured his trousers
around the ankles.

His eyes brightened and he forgot all his troubles for the time being,
as he ran back a bit.

"Out of the way there!" shouted Andy with glowing cheeks, posing for a
forward dash.

He made a quick, superb bound and landed lightly on the horse's back.

Old Dobbin shied restively. Ned, at his nose, quieted him with a word.

Andy, the centre of an admiring group, tested the impromptu platform. He
accepted a short riding whip handed up to him by Alf Warren with a truly
professional flourish