Watch Yourself Go By. Al. G. Field

and blue with the first thing he could lay his hands on. He would expose all he had been concealing in a hundred mean things Charley had been guilty of.

      The band played louder in the big tent. The feeling that he was missing all came back to him stronger than ever, bringing the hot tears to his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks until it seemed they would dampen the earth at his feet.

      Alfred saw a large man pushing his way to the ticket wagon. It was Doctor Bob Playford, the biggest whole-souled friend any boy ever had. When the circus came, it was the custom of Bob Playford to wait until the crowd got in, then, collecting all the boys on the lot who could not command the price of admission, make a contract with the door-keeper and put them all in the show.

      There are scores of men now, boys then, whose prayers have gone up that kind hearted Bob Playford found it as easy to enter the gates above as he made it for them to enter that heaven to a boy below—the circus.

      Alfred knew full well that Doctor Playford would buy him a ticket but his pride would not permit him to ask this.

      Accompanying the Doctor were Willie Playford, his son, and Bob Kennedy, his nephew. The boys, recognizing Alfred, asked if he were going in the show. Endeavoring to swallow a big lump in his throat, his voice choked as he answered: "No."

      "Were you there this afternoon?"

      Again Alfred answered: "No."

      No longer able to restrain himself he told of Charley's folly. The Doctor, approaching, Alfred's story was repeated, as it progressed, Alfred's sobbing and crying increased.

      The Doctor, giving him a sympathetic look and a rough shake, said: "Now stop crying, stop crying, you dam little fool. When the circus comes to town you always come to me and I'll see that you get in."

      The big Doctor, Alfred and the boys were seated long before the performance began, Alfred forgetting Cousin Charley, the raft, the garments he had dangled out of the milk wagon; in fact all the trials and tribulations of life were as fleeting dreams. Happiness lingered within his whole being. The sights and wonders, the clowns were all flitting before him. The evening was one of bewilderment and enchantment to the boy.

      The old clown was his especial delight. He fairly shouted at his quips and antics. When the mules were brought in and $5 offered to the boy or man who could ride one of them, Alfred was tempted to make the trial. He felt certain he could do better than those who were being cast off like babies by the agile animals.

      The show over, they started with the crowd toward the door. A whistle sounded, the walls of the tent fell as if by magic. The Doctor and the boys stood a long time watching the tents lowered.

      As they passed up the narrow passage leading from the show lot to the street, Cousin Charley met them, his appearance evidencing his shame and disappointment. The Doctor began chiding him.

      Charley, in his illuminating way, explained that he went into the side show, and the man coaxed him to shake the dice. He shook and came within one every time he shook of winning the capital prize. He left the game, was induced to go back and shake again and the first dash out of the box he won the capital prize. They refused to give it to him, grabbed the money he had in his hand and put him out of the tent. He had been up on the hill to see Squire Wilkinson to swear out a warrant for their arrest but the Squire was at prayer-meeting. (They always have prayer meeting when the circus comes to town). He ran back to find the man who took his money.

      "If I'd found him, I'd licked him or he'd licked me," concluded Charley.

      The big Doctor playfully straightened out his powerful arm, pushing Charley backwards. Gazing at him in a humorously contemptuous manner as he said:

      "Look here, my boy, you lie. You were gambling? No one but a country Jake would try to beat that game. I lost two dollars on that eight dice case myself. Now let me give you a little advice: 'Don't bet on another man's game unless you have money at home, for you are sure to lose all you have with you.'"

      Alfred and Cousin Charley wended their way home Alfred endeavored to express his sympathy in detailing the wondrous sights he had witnessed in the circus. Alfred was sorry for Cousin Charley and while his intentions were commendable his descriptions of the circus only added to the disappointment and chagrin of the elder boy.

      That night Alfred dreamed of heaven in his happiness. He dreamed that heaven was one big circus, with angels in pink tights and clowns capering on the golden streets. Peanuts and candy were heaped in piles invitingly, free to all. He dreamed of a big, blue-eyed man who stood at the Golden Gates and passed all the boys in free and when they did not come of their own accord he beckoned to them. He seemed to enjoy the happiness of the boys more than the boys themselves.

      Next morning at breakfast the wonders of the circus were gone over again. Alfred did not breathe a word as to Cousin Charley's loss of the money at the gaming table.

      Since the night of the circus Alfred had busied himself preparing to give his first show. The costumes and a place to give the exhibition seemed to worry him more than the entertainment he was to offer.

      Lin was his assistant. It might be more proper to state that Lin was the prime mover, and the director of the proposed exhibition, although Lin kept her activity concealed from the other members of the family. She explained her participation in the coming show thusly:

      "Well, it's better fer a body to keep yer yungins to hum even ef it does clutter up the house to hev their fun. Alfurd's mos' crazy 'bout bein' a circus clown an' ye'd die laffin' to see the little cuss cuttin' didoes. I'd rather see him doin' it than hev him trapesin' the streets like Bill's Charley."

      Lin never lost an opportunity to cast a reflection on Charley.

      Alfred, Lin and the mother were seated at the breakfast table, discussing Alfred's show. Ways and means were the subjects. The mother was an interested listener, although a quiet dissenter. She could not understand how Alfred, even with Lin's aid, could offer anything in the way of a show to entertain even children.

      The price of admission was to be two ten-penny nails. The boat building industry was thriving and the boys often went aboard a new boat picking up the nails the carpenters let fall in their work. The nail idea was Lin's and we must accord her some degree of originality.

      "Pins had always been the equivalent for cash for admission to amatoor shows." Lin said "our show." She always said "our show" when talking to the neighbors. When the show was referred to at home it was "Alfred's show."

      Costumes were the perplexity of Alfred. He desired "purty" clothes: it made the acting look better.

      Lin added: "Purty duds makes a lot in a show, or in meetin'," meanwhile looking mischievously at the mother. She said to Alfred: "Ye've got a tolerable good start fur as ye're concerned yerself, with the two suits ye fetched hum lately—the soldier suit Lacy Hare and Aunt Betsy made ye an' the one Mrs. Young lent ye."

      Morg Gaskill had requested the return of the latter mentioned garments but Alfred's climbing of fences, running through briar patches and dangling out of milk wagons had pretty well used the garments up. The mother therefore in return sent similar garments.

      Alfred insisted that the unmentionables Mrs. Young loaned him should be the basis of his clown suit. Although Alfred has worn many grotesque costumes since, none ever more strongly appealed to the risibilities of an audience than did those same garments. Lin said they were "the funniest fit she ever seed an' she wondered to gawd who they ever wuz made fer. Two meal sacks fastened together would fit jes' as well."

      The show passed off as amateur shows generally do, with a great many hitches, accidents and quarrels. The night was a stormy one, without and within. The audience all came early and stood around the kitchen stove while Alfred and the other performers robed themselves, for there were no dressing rooms. Lin commanded the audience to turn their faces and look toward the stove while the actors were dressing.

      The audience were compelled to go through the kitchen to gain entrance to the place of exhibition, the cellar. On Lin would fall the labor of cleaning up next day; therefore, as each auditor