be great—really great. I’d
love
a job in a circus.”
“Would you now?” said Mr. Beaulieu, thoughtfully.
3
It proved simpler than Mr. Beaulieu had imagined. The owner of the Great All-Canada Circus was Mr. Gregory Paul Vink, a stout, rather dyspeptic-looking New Englander. Vink had married a Canadian nurse, the sister of Mr. Beaulieu’s client, and had moved to Ontario to help her ageing parents on their farm. He was no farmer, and he soon looked around for something else to do. He had bought the circus from its previous owner after he had lost interest in it. The purchase price had been tiny, but so had the audiences at the time, as the circus had very little to offer, most of the performers having long since abandoned it on the grounds of non-payment of wages. Vink changed all that. He used what little capital he had to buy a new big tent and to offer advance payment to a number of artists. These he chose well, as he had an eye for showmanship, and before long the circus had acquired a reputation not only in Toronto, but in a number of other cities to which it toured: Winnipeg, Saskatoon, Calgary. This led to the acquisition of another circus, this one based in New Westminster, at the western end of the railway line spanning the country. He ran the two as a single business, in spite of the vast sea of land that lay between them, exchanging performers to keep everybody’s act fresh.
“Nothing like a different audience to keep you on your toes,” he observed.
When Mr. Beaulieu went to see him at his client’s house, Vink was pleased to have a visitor.
“Sitting here all day,” he said, “makes me itchy. The doc says I have to do it—they removed half my stomach, you know—but it drives me up the wall doing nothing here. It’s nice to have some intelligent company for a change—not that my brother-in-law isn’t intelligent, I hasten to point out.”
“I’ve come about my boy,” said Mr. Beaulieu. “I have a son of twenty, you see, and he’s very keen to join a circus.”
Mr. Beaulieu had not expected a laugh.
“Twenty?” chuckled Vink. “Usually it’s ten-year-olds. I get letters every week. Kids have some row with their parents and so what happens? They write off to see if they can join the circus. It’s what they do.” He shook his head. “Little devils.”
“He’s very good at card tricks,” said Mr. Beaulieu. “He’s also a conjuror. He’s been praised for that, I’m told. There was a theatrical group passed through town six months ago—big variety act. And one of them said he had a future on the stage.”
“The circus ain’t the theatre,” said Vink. “If you want to go on the stage you go to New York. Or maybe Toronto.”
“It’s not theatre he wants,” said Mr. Beaulieu. “It’s the circus.”
Vink looked thoughtful. “I might be able to interview him—see what he’s like.”
Mr. Beaulieu knew the dangers of that. If Eddie were to be interviewed, Vink would be treated to a discourse on Pelmanism or the uses of the Tarot pack. He would be rejected out of hand.
He had come prepared. “I have a proposition to make,” he said. “I want to get my boy started…”
Vink interrupted him. “Oh, I understand that, Mr. Bowl…”
“Beaulieu.”
“Mr. Beaulieu…I understand that.”
“Thank you. I fully appreciate how tight things are in any business. So why don’t we do this: I’ll pay you his wages for the first three months. I’ll wire you the money and you can pay him, so that he thinks it’s coming from you. Then, after three months, you decide whether you’re going to keep him.”
“And if I like him, then I only start paying from the end of three months?”
“Yes, but until then there’s no risk for you. You needn’t put up a dime until that point. The risk lies with me.”
Vink looked at him suspiciously. “What’s wrong with this boy of yours?” he asked.
Mr. Beaulieu grinned nervously. “Why do you ask?”
“Because of the
love
a job in a circus.”
“Would you now?” said Mr. Beaulieu, thoughtfully.
3
It proved simpler than Mr. Beaulieu had imagined. The owner of the Great All-Canada Circus was Mr. Gregory Paul Vink, a stout, rather dyspeptic-looking New Englander. Vink had married a Canadian nurse, the sister of Mr. Beaulieu’s client, and had moved to Ontario to help her ageing parents on their farm. He was no farmer, and he soon looked around for something else to do. He had bought the circus from its previous owner after he had lost interest in it. The purchase price had been tiny, but so had the audiences at the time, as the circus had very little to offer, most of the performers having long since abandoned it on the grounds of non-payment of wages. Vink changed all that. He used what little capital he had to buy a new big tent and to offer advance payment to a number of artists. These he chose well, as he had an eye for showmanship, and before long the circus had acquired a reputation not only in Toronto, but in a number of other cities to which it toured: Winnipeg, Saskatoon, Calgary. This led to the acquisition of another circus, this one based in New Westminster, at the western end of the railway line spanning the country. He ran the two as a single business, in spite of the vast sea of land that lay between them, exchanging performers to keep everybody’s act fresh.
“Nothing like a different audience to keep you on your toes,” he observed.
When Mr. Beaulieu went to see him at his client’s house, Vink was pleased to have a visitor.
“Sitting here all day,” he said, “makes me itchy. The doc says I have to do it—they removed half my stomach, you know—but it drives me up the wall doing nothing here. It’s nice to have some intelligent company for a change—not that my brother-in-law isn’t intelligent, I hasten to point out.”
“I’ve come about my boy,” said Mr. Beaulieu. “I have a son of twenty, you see, and he’s very keen to join a circus.”
Mr. Beaulieu had not expected a laugh.
“Twenty?” chuckled Vink. “Usually it’s ten-year-olds. I get letters every week. Kids have some row with their parents and so what happens? They write off to see if they can join the circus. It’s what they do.” He shook his head. “Little devils.”
“He’s very good at card tricks,” said Mr. Beaulieu. “He’s also a conjuror. He’s been praised for that, I’m told. There was a theatrical group passed through town six months ago—big variety act. And one of them said he had a future on the stage.”
“The circus ain’t the theatre,” said Vink. “If you want to go on the stage you go to New York. Or maybe Toronto.”
“It’s not theatre he wants,” said Mr. Beaulieu. “It’s the circus.”
Vink looked thoughtful. “I might be able to interview him—see what he’s like.”
Mr. Beaulieu knew the dangers of that. If Eddie were to be interviewed, Vink would be treated to a discourse on Pelmanism or the uses of the Tarot pack. He would be rejected out of hand.
He had come prepared. “I have a proposition to make,” he said. “I want to get my boy started…”
Vink interrupted him. “Oh, I understand that, Mr. Bowl…”
“Beaulieu.”
“Mr. Beaulieu…I understand that.”
“Thank you. I fully appreciate how tight things are in any business. So why don’t we do this: I’ll pay you his wages for the first three months. I’ll wire you the money and you can pay him, so that he thinks it’s coming from you. Then, after three months, you decide whether you’re going to keep him.”
“And if I like him, then I only start paying from the end of three months?”
“Yes, but until then there’s no risk for you. You needn’t put up a dime until that point. The risk lies with me.”
Vink looked at him suspiciously. “What’s wrong with this boy of yours?” he asked.
Mr. Beaulieu grinned nervously. “Why do you ask?”
“Because of the
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