clown act is exhausting in itself. Besides that she has the boys to care for and the anxiety about all the tomorrows ahead of her.â He shook his head. âI worry about Emily. Iâm so fond of her.â
It was a bright, warm morning, the third of December, and as beautiful as if it had been the third of May back home. There was a general bustling about as workers prepared for the opening of the gates at eleven oâclock. People in charge of concessions were getting their equipment set up; kegs of lemonade, cartons of cotton candy and pink taffy, loads of dolls and toys, were being set out in the various booths. Men were inspecting the machinery that kept the merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel operating, and performers were going around with costumes folded over their arms. Some of them were sitting in front of a tent with needle and thread, repairing damages made to their clothing the night before. Joey and I seemed to be the only ones who didnât know our way around.
We found Pete Harris busy at bookwork in his tent. He looked up and nodded as the three of us entered. âMorning, Edward C. Glad youâre taking care of the boys.â He looked at me approvingly. âI see Emily has worked on your hair a little. Looks better. Looks a lot better. Trust Emily. She can do anything, that girl, anything. Wish I could pay her what sheâs worth. Canât, though. Times are rotten. Guess I told you that yesterday, didnât I, sport? As if you didnât know.â
He gave me a pair of tight-fitting pants, a bright red and yellow shirt, and a checkered vest with wide fringe dangling at the bottom. I looked like a fool in the outfit, but Pete said the loud colors would help to get attention.
After I was decked out, we went over to the tent where I had played the night before. The piano had been moved onto a small platform outside the tent, and my job was to play popular songs as loudly and flashily as possible while I called out to anyone approaching, urging them to go inside to see the dancers. I must say that they were the prettiest girls in the country, that they were wearing the shortest skirts and doing the most daring dances outside the dance halls of Paris. I was supposed to sway and bounce all over the piano bench as if I were having all the fun in the world; I was to grin and wink and urge people to pay their dimes and step inside.
It was a painful thing for me to do. I had always been shy and reserved. That was one reason I hadnât had many friends at Penn High. Howie had been able to clown when he accompanied my piano at school dances, but even with the kids my own age, I hadnât been able to do more than allow the expression on my face to show how much I enjoyed playing.
Now I would have to play the silly fool for hour after hour; my antics were just as important, Pete Harris said, as the loudness and gaiety of the music. I didnât like it; this silly, false routine was not what I had hoped for. But that didnât matter. It was a job. It meant five beautiful dollars a week. I didnât for one second think of refusing it, but as I took my place at the piano, I made Edward C. take Joey away. I wouldnât have him watching. And I hoped fervently that Emily would not come near. That was one thing I didnât believe I could take.
6
Emily was, indeed, the star attraction of the carnival. People who couldnât afford to spend money at the sideshows would still bring their children back night after night to laugh at the antics of the clown they called Bongo. They never heard the clown speak; words didnât matter. The fun lay in seeing the tall figure sprawl at the slightest impact with a tree, a chair, another person; of seeing the dull-witted bewilderment with which the clown got out of one troubled situation into another. The Blegans and Edward C. scampered around Bongo, teasing and tormenting, luring him into trouble and then pretending to pummel and
It was a bright, warm morning, the third of December, and as beautiful as if it had been the third of May back home. There was a general bustling about as workers prepared for the opening of the gates at eleven oâclock. People in charge of concessions were getting their equipment set up; kegs of lemonade, cartons of cotton candy and pink taffy, loads of dolls and toys, were being set out in the various booths. Men were inspecting the machinery that kept the merry-go-round and the Ferris wheel operating, and performers were going around with costumes folded over their arms. Some of them were sitting in front of a tent with needle and thread, repairing damages made to their clothing the night before. Joey and I seemed to be the only ones who didnât know our way around.
We found Pete Harris busy at bookwork in his tent. He looked up and nodded as the three of us entered. âMorning, Edward C. Glad youâre taking care of the boys.â He looked at me approvingly. âI see Emily has worked on your hair a little. Looks better. Looks a lot better. Trust Emily. She can do anything, that girl, anything. Wish I could pay her what sheâs worth. Canât, though. Times are rotten. Guess I told you that yesterday, didnât I, sport? As if you didnât know.â
He gave me a pair of tight-fitting pants, a bright red and yellow shirt, and a checkered vest with wide fringe dangling at the bottom. I looked like a fool in the outfit, but Pete said the loud colors would help to get attention.
After I was decked out, we went over to the tent where I had played the night before. The piano had been moved onto a small platform outside the tent, and my job was to play popular songs as loudly and flashily as possible while I called out to anyone approaching, urging them to go inside to see the dancers. I must say that they were the prettiest girls in the country, that they were wearing the shortest skirts and doing the most daring dances outside the dance halls of Paris. I was supposed to sway and bounce all over the piano bench as if I were having all the fun in the world; I was to grin and wink and urge people to pay their dimes and step inside.
It was a painful thing for me to do. I had always been shy and reserved. That was one reason I hadnât had many friends at Penn High. Howie had been able to clown when he accompanied my piano at school dances, but even with the kids my own age, I hadnât been able to do more than allow the expression on my face to show how much I enjoyed playing.
Now I would have to play the silly fool for hour after hour; my antics were just as important, Pete Harris said, as the loudness and gaiety of the music. I didnât like it; this silly, false routine was not what I had hoped for. But that didnât matter. It was a job. It meant five beautiful dollars a week. I didnât for one second think of refusing it, but as I took my place at the piano, I made Edward C. take Joey away. I wouldnât have him watching. And I hoped fervently that Emily would not come near. That was one thing I didnât believe I could take.
6
Emily was, indeed, the star attraction of the carnival. People who couldnât afford to spend money at the sideshows would still bring their children back night after night to laugh at the antics of the clown they called Bongo. They never heard the clown speak; words didnât matter. The fun lay in seeing the tall figure sprawl at the slightest impact with a tree, a chair, another person; of seeing the dull-witted bewilderment with which the clown got out of one troubled situation into another. The Blegans and Edward C. scampered around Bongo, teasing and tormenting, luring him into trouble and then pretending to pummel and
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