Chapter V: The Queerest Show.--A Day in the Wilds

Had Frank Antony Blake not been one of the least inquisitive young fellows in the world several things connected with Biffins Lee's Queerest Show on Earth might have struck him as curious. He might have asked himself why the show should have settled down here, in this comparatively out-of-the-way part of a wild north coast. He might have wanted to find out the secret of the merman which Lee advertised so freely as the only creature of its kind ever captured. Why didn't this business-like showman journey south with _it_, or rather _him_ or _her_, whichever sex the animal may have represented?

If such questions did present themselves to Antony's mind they were very speedily dismissed again.

'It is no business of mine,' he told himself. 'I like a little mystery so long as there is poetry and romance in it, and so long as I am not asked to solve it. Elucidation is a hateful thing. Let me see now. I used to be good at transposing letters and turning words into something else. "Elucidation?" The first two syllables easily make "Euclid," and the last four letters "not I." There it is: "Elucidation--Euclid. Not I." Suits me all to pieces, for I never could stand old Euclid, and I was just as determined as any mule not to cross the _pons asinorum_' (the bridge of asses).

There was a quiet but heavy footstep on the back stairs, and when Antony opened the door the beautiful Newfoundland walked solemnly in and lay down on the saloon carpet.

'Hallo! Wallace, old man, aren't you at rehearsal?'

Wallace never moved, nor did he wag even the tip of his tail; but not for one moment did he take his wise brown eyes off Antony. The dog was watching him, studying him, and without doubt trying to get a little insight into his character. The scrutiny grew almost painful at last, and Antony, to relieve the intensity of it, went and fetched a milk-biscuit from his little cupboard.

'Wallace hungry, eh? Poor dog then!'

But the 'poor dog' would look neither at the biscuit-box nor at the biscuit, only quietly at the young man's face.

Antony laid the biscuit on the poor dog's nose. The poor dog did not even shake it off, so that Antony, half-ashamed, took it off again and even dusted the soiled part of the nose.

'I wonder if he thinks me a fool?' said Antony half-aloud. 'Of course, _I_ know I am; but how should a dog know it?'

But, much to his relief, Wallace gave vent to a satisfied sort of a sigh at last, and sat up. Presently he put one enormous paw on Antony's knee, and from that moment friendship was established.

'Will you take the biscuit now, Wallace boy?'

Wallace boy showed his condescension, and took it and two more, and two more after that.

He licked Antony's knuckles with a soft, warm tongue, then asked to be let out.

Down the steps he trotted, but was not gone three minutes before he returned, accompanied by a huge red-and-white cat. There was no shyness about puss. He took Antony for granted or at Wallace's recommendation, and rubbed his back against Antony's gaitered legs.

Then, as the cat cared not for biscuits, but must have something, Antony opened a tin of sardines which he found among his stores. Perhaps they had belonged to the Duchess. Pussy liked them anyhow, and jumped on the sofa now to lick and wash his great paws, as cats always do when they've had anything greasy.

Wallace wanted to get out again.

'I wonder,' said young Blake, 'if he is going to bring some more of his friends? Shouldn't be a bit surprised if he turned up with the merman.'

It wasn't the merman he came back with, however. Only about five minutes after he had gone there was Wallace's sonorous voice, and Antony's glasses rang in the cupboard, so loud and strong was it.

At the same moment there was the sound of the bagpipes, and once more Antony looked out.

But he drew back quickly. For here, at his very door, was a huge bear on his hind-legs, wearing no muzzle, though he had fangs like fixed bayonets. He wore an artilleryman's pork-pie cap very much on one side, and had a very droll, half-drunken leer on his huge face.

Skeleton stood by with the pipes.

'Gee hup!' he cried, and played.

Then that huge brown bear began to dance, and evidently did so for fun and love. No torture had been applied to him, it appeared afterwards, to make him caper.

But as soon as the music--well, the bagpipes--ceased, Bruin faced round towards the back-door and opened a mouth wide enough to have taken in a Dutch cheese.

Antony threw all the rest of the sardines in, and all the biscuits; but as the red mouth was still open he went back to the cupboard and discovered a loaf of bread, and rammed that well home. Bruin gave a hoarse cough of satisfaction, and, lowering himself on all-fours, went shambling off.

* * * * *

The whole of the Queerest Show was surrounded by a rough kind of palisade just enough to

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insure privacy except from the ubiquitous boy of an inquiring turn of mind. But Lee had fallen upon a good plan to get rid of this nuisance.

Had the urchins merely come to have a look across the fence and gone away quietly it would not have mattered very much; but it had been their custom not only to look but to settle down to games, and shout and scream. Wallace had often been sent to reason with them; but they got used to him at last, and even Bruin lost all petrifying power over them. But one day, behold a placard stuck up some distance from the camp, which read thus:

BEWARE

OF THE

DREADED DOOROOCOOLIE.

The usual crowd of urchins seemed to gather that afternoon from all directions simply to read this notice, and various were the theories advanced concerning it.

'Mebbe there's nae dooroo---- What is't ca'ed, Jock?'

'The dooroocoolie, Wullie,' said Jock, spelling it out.

'Maybe it's just put up there to frighten us,' said another boy. 'I'm gaun to stop and ha'e some fun. I'm nae flegged at [afraid of] dooroocoolies.'

'And so am I.'

'And so am I.'

Presently Skeleton was seen coming towards them, with a face about a yard long.

'Hallo, Skelie!'

'Hallo, cheeks-o'-branks!'

'Hallo, auld death's-heid!'

'I've come to warn you boys to go away quietly. The dreaded dooroocoolie hears you, and at any moment he may break his clanking chains and devour you.'

'Bah! Skelie. Boo! Skelie. Gang aff an' bile yer heid, Skelie. We're nae feart at your dooroocoolie.'

'See that heap o' stanes?' said a bigger ragamuffin. 'Weel, if you let your doorie oot we'll brak his banes, and maybe ye'll get a stane behin' the lug yersel', into the bargain.'

'Hoo mony o' us could the doorie eat at a time? He maun be gey [very] big an' gey hungry to eat a hale [whole] laddie.'

Said Skeleton, 'I'm your friend, boys, and I wouldn't like to see your life's blood "dye the heather." The dreaded dooroocoolie is a species of antediluvian alligator. He is as long as the Kirk of Hillhead. He would devour one boy easily, and kill all the rest for to-morrow's consumption.'

'Gang hame to your wife, Skelie; ye have consumption yersel.'

'Ha'e ye a pictur' o' the doorie?'

'I have that. Wait a minute.'

They did wait, while two men came forward and proceeded to put up a poster of a terrible-looking dragon, bigger and uglier than that which St George of Merrie England was supposed to have slain. When about the same time the roaring of some strange wild-beast was heard coming from near the bear's enclosure the boys were awed into silence, and one or two proposed going off to play in a neighbouring field. But presently, with a strong rope about its neck, the end of which appeared to be held back by all the men in the camp, the fearsome monster himself stalked awkwardly forth into the open--an alligator or dragon-like animal, with a mouth that could have swallowed a calf. The noisy boys were now paralysed with fear. They found their feet, however, when the beast opened his great red mouth, with its rows of sabre teeth, and roared like a lion. The workmen dropped their hammers and bolted, two fisher-wives with creels on their backs fled screaming, and the boys were off like March dust.

The dooroocoolie was a dread reality then. And never after this was the camp annoyed by the yells of naughty boys at play.

The dooroocoolie was often to be heard but very seldom seen. It was firmly believed in, nevertheless, by the good country people far and near, and had become in time a capital advertisement for the show.

Stronger palisades were placed round what was supposed to be the animal's enclosure, but he was not allowed to come out. There was a peep-hole, however, through which any one coming to the show about dusk and staying for the evening's entertainment could have a look at the awful monster lying apparently asleep.

How many of Biffins Lee's company, or his 'properties' as he called them, were in the secret it is quite impossible to say; but in case this part of the story should seem to be mere romance it is as well to explain how the dreaded dooroocoolie was got up and placed on the boards, so to speak.

The antediluvian reptile, then, was merely an automaton, its skin pumped full of air like an india-rubber tire, and its springs wound up to set him agoing. Lee had a large gramophone with a very loud lion's roar record on it, and this was the dreaded dooroocoolie's voice. It had cost Lee some money and trouble to get that record from a German Zoo, but it must be confessed it was very effective.

On this lovely August forenoon Antony had heard the wondrous beast roaring, and marvelled not a little.

But Lotty was sent off to tell him, and explain all about it, after enjoining secrecy.

The child patted his hand as if she had been some old aunt of his.

'You were not afraid, were you, Mr Blake?' she said.

'Well, Lotty, a voice like that isn't calculated to raise the drooping spirits of a lone man like me. Have you done rehearsal?'

'Oh yes, and now, if you please, we can ramble off to the hills with Wallace. But we could ride, Mr Blake, if you prefer it. There is one big, wild black horse that only I can manage; but I have taken Skeleton up behind me sometimes, and I'm sure I could manage with you.'

Antony laughed. He didn't quite fancy this style of riding, being really a good cross-country man, and having taken part in many a steeplechase.

'I'm a little afraid,' he said modestly. 'Had we not better walk?'

Lotty was dressed for the hill, and very charming she looked in her bright but light half-gipsy cloak, her kirtle of red, and silken bandana gracefully worn on the head, which did not hide her marvellous hair, however.

She carried a long but pretty shepherd's crook; and, with the huge raven-black Newfoundland with the pink tongue and alabaster teeth bounding and flashing round her, Lotty was really a picture.

Everybody, fisher-folks and farmer-folks, had a kind word and a smile for the child, and doubtless they meant what they said.

Here are the remarks Antony could not help hearing from two fisher-wives:

'Oh my! does it no' do your heart good to look at the lammie?' [little lamb].

'An' what a bonny callant yon is! He'll be fae [from] the sooth, I'se warrant ye.'

There was one tall hill rising up behind the forest, and it was towards this they bent their steps. They were going to climb it, to look around them on the landscape and seascape.

But they had not journeyed more than two miles, and were high up on a heather-clad brae, when Lotty stopped and called Wallace. At the same time she took a satchel from her shoulder and strapped it round the dog.

'Go to granny's,' she said. 'Good boy--away!'

Wallace trotted off. But he stopped when at a little distance, and looked back.

'Yes, Wallace, we'll wait,' cried Lotty, and the noble fellow disappeared.

'Where has he gone, Lotty?'

'To the witch's cottage--my fairy godmother's.'

Lotty threw herself on the sward, and Antony too sat down.

She culled a bunch of bluebells growing near, and tying them deftly with a bit of grass, she pinned them to her kerchief. They were just the colour of the child's eyes. As she did so she sang:

An' it's oh to be young!
An' it's aye to be young,
An' it's oh to be young!
When wild-flowers are springing.

Lotty was not an affected child; perhaps in culling the bouquet she hardly knew what she was doing; only beauty is ever attracted by beauty and to it.

See yonder great velvet droning bee. Fox-glove-bells are swinging crimson against the green of tall fern-leaves. He enters a bell to drink of the honey. Beauty to beauty. And yonder again a splendid steel-blue, gauzy-winged dragon-fly has alighted on a pink bramble-blossom, and is trembling all over with the joy that is in him; and there are bees on the white clover, bees on the reddening heather-bloom, and a blue-butterfly on the flat yellow blossom of a frog-bit, while a hawk-fly has just alighted on the blood-tipped orange of the bird's-foot trefoil.

An' it's oh to be young!
An' it's aye to be young.

But the charm of the early August day who dare to try to paint! Afar away the blue sea dotted with brown-sailed boats here and there, a sea calm as the sky above it, only breaking here and there into circling snow where a rock lifts its dark head; a beach that is all green because the tide is high; sailing sea-birds everywhere; dark rooks in crowds, for the love-time has long gone by; nearer and beneath this brae-land the heads of swelling, stately pine-trees; forest to the right and left, forests in the rear, and afar off the brown mountain raising its stern and rocky head up into the heavenly ether; and a gentle breeze fanning all the flowers. 'An' it's oh to be young!'