



Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)










                            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 press work that gets ’em
talkin’, an’ it’s the talkin’ that’ll make ’em give up even when wheat is
down to 48 an’ interest on mortgages is starin’ ’em in the face. Get the
paper talk an’ the money is so sure that you can be plannin’ new acts for
next season before the first pasteboard hits the bottom of the red box on
the gate.

“But, say, it ain’t no children’s game to get this paper talk. The good
old days when you could blow into the newspaper offices with a loud vest
and a tiger claw hangin’ on your watch guard is done. Them times the old
agent would lay down a cigar on the editor’s desk, spread a lot of salve
about the greatest yet and the only one in captivity story, and then work
the gag ‘write me somethin’, old man.’ But them days is strictly past.
It’s a new make up now, an’ a new line of talk that wins ’em. You want
to enter quiet like just as if you were one of them Sunday school boys
with a write-up on a rally in the church basement. The editor gives you
the size-up for this, an’ when you says ‘I’m ahead of the Big Show comin’
25th and 26th,’ he’s so surprised that he’s glad to see you, an’ it’s
once aroun’ the track before the bunch sees the flag that he asks you out
to drink before you spring your pass-pad. And, if you don’t believe me,
ask soft talking Jim Jay Brady and have it passed off for gospel.

“It’s the approach that makes the center shot this new century. Go in
easy, be skimp with your talk, don’t spread the salve too thick, an’ give
’em clean copy--that’s the game; be you ahead of Henry Irving with ten
carloads of stuff, a dinky little farce comedy with a society dame doin’
the lead, a melodrama with a real convict a-cracking the safe, or one
of them Broadway big ones--no matter, it’s the same, an’ what goes for
them goes for the Big Show, whether you’ve got 68 cars on the sidin’, or
you have slipped in after night with rubber boots on--and that’s no Tody
Hamilton catch line.

“But you don’t want to be too certain; you can get your chances in this
line just as easy as in the shootin’ gallery when its bullets against
clay pipes. Some of the boys that handles the copy for the Eastern press
can put up a frost that would keep Chicago beef around the world in a
sailin’ ship. But you can melt ’em if you make good. Remember hittin’
Boston las’ season an’ runnin’ up against one of these heady boys with a
foldin’ forehead. I give it to ’em easy, an’ when I says circus he looks
at me through his windows an’ says so haughty:

“‘Ah, the circus! Quite a diverting entertainment. Originated with the
Greeks.’

“Now wouldn’t that make you itch? Me mind gets to chasin’ ’roun’ for a
proper come-back, an’ I tries to recollect the names of some of them old
guys what went paddlin’ ’roun’ in a sheet an’ sandals spittin’ out wise
words that no one has forgot. An’ mem’ry lands me at the right dock, so I
han’s this to the college boy:

“‘Yes,’ sez I, ‘I believe it was Aristophanes who wrote an epic on the
circus to be read at one of Nero’s spring openin’s.’

“The words is hardly out of me mouth when he gives me one of those
looks that would have made Peary thought he had found the pole. So I
lays me copy on the desk and gives five bells to back water an’ I’m in
the elevator. An’