Beautiful Joe by Marshall Saunders (read people like a book TXT) 📖

goat harnessed to a little carriage, another goat carrying a birdcage

in its mouth with two canaries inside, different kinds of cats, some

doves and pigeons, half a dozen white rats with red harness, and

dragging a little chariot with a monkey in it, and a common white gander

that came in last of all, and did nothing but follow one of the ponies

about.

 

"The Italian spoke of the gander, and said it was a stupid creature, and

could learn no tricks, and he only kept it on account of its affection

for the pony. He had got them both on a Vermont farm, when he was

looking for show animals. The pony's master had made a pet of him, and

had taught him to come whenever he whistled for him. Though the pony was

only a scrub of a creature, he had a gentle disposition, and every other

animal on the farm liked him. A gander, in particular, had such an

admiration for him that he followed him wherever he went, and if he lost

him for an instant, he would mount one of the knolls on the farm and

stretch out his neck looking for him. When he caught sight of him, he

gabbled with delight, and running to him, waddled up and down beside

him. Every little while the pony put his nose down, and seemed to be

having a conversation with the goose. If the farmer whistled for the

pony and he started to run to him, the gander, knowing he could not keep

up, would seize the pony's tail in his beak, and flapping his wings,

would get along as fast as the pony did. And the pony never kicked him.

The Italian saw that this pony would be a good one to train for the

stage, so he offered the farmer a large price for him, and took him

away.

 

"Oh, Joe, I forgot to say, that by this time all the animals had been

sent off the stage except the pony and the gander, and they stood

looking at the Italian while he talked. I never saw anything as human in

dumb animals as that pony's face. He looked as if he understood every

word that his master was saying. After this story was over, the Italian

made another bow, and then told the pony to bow. He nodded his head at

the people, and they all laughed. Then the Italian asked him to favor us

with a waltz, and the pony got up on his hind legs and danced. You

should have seen that gander skirmishing around, so as to be near the

pony and yet keep out of the way of his heels. We fellows just roared,

and we would have kept him dancing all the afternoon if the Italian

hadn't begged 'ze young gentlemen not to make ze noise, but let ze pony

do ze rest of his tricks.' Pony number two came on the stage, and it was

too queer for anything to see the things the two of them did. They

helped the Italian on with his coat, they pulled off his rubbers, they

took his coat away and brought him a chair, and dragged a table up to

They brought him letters and papers, and rang bells, and rolled

barrels, and swung the Italian in a big swing, and jumped a rope, and

walked up and down steps--they just went around that stage as handy with

their teeth as two boys would be with their hands, and they seemed to

understand every word their master said to them.

 

"The best trick of all was telling the time and doing questions in

arithmetic. The Italian pulled his watch out of his pocket and showed it

to the first pony, whose name was Diamond, and said, 'What time is it?'

The pony looked at it, then scratched four times with his forefoot on

the platform. The Italian said, 'Zat's good--four o'clock. But it's a

few minutes after four--how many?' The pony scratched again five times.

The Italian showed his watch to the audience, and said that it was just

five minutes past four. Then he asked the pony how old he was. He

scratched four times. That meant four years. He asked him how many days

in a week there were; how many months in a year; and he gave him some

questions in addition and subtraction, and the pony answered them all

correctly. Of course, the Italian was giving him some sign; but, though

we watched him closely, we couldn't make out what it was. At last, he

told the pony that he had been very good, and had done his lessons well;

if it would rest him, he might be naughty a little while. All of a

sudden a wicked look came into the creature's eyes. He turned around,

and kicked up his heels at his master, he pushed over the table and

chairs, and knocked down a blackboard where he had been rubbing out

figures with a sponge held in his mouth. The Italian pretended to be

cross, and said, 'Come, come; this won't do,' and he called the other

pony to him, and told him to take that troublesome fellow off the stage.

The second one nosed Diamond, and pushed him about, finally bit him by

the ear, and led him squealing off the stage. The gander followed,

gabbling as fast as he could, and there was a regular roar of applause.

 

"After that, there were ladders brought in, Joe, and dogs came on; not

thoroughbreds, but curs something like you. The Italian says he can't

teach tricks to pedigree animals as well as to scrubs. Those dogs jumped

the ladders, and climbed them, and went through them, and did all kinds

of things. The man cracked his whip once, and they began; twice, and

they did backward what they had done forward; three times, and they

stopped, and every animal, dogs, goats, ponies, and monkeys, after they

had finished their tricks, ran up to their master, and he gave them a

lump of sugar. They seemed fond of him, and often when they weren't

performing went up to him, and licked his hands or his sleeve. There was

one boss dog, Joe, with a head like yours. Bob, they called him, and he

did all his tricks alone. The Italian went off the stage, and the dog

came on and made his bow, and climbed his ladders, and jumped his

hurdles, and went off again. The audience howled for an encore, and

didn't he come out alone, make another bow, and retire. I saw old Judge

Brown wiping the tears from his eyes, he'd laughed so much. One of the

last tricks was with a goat, and the Italian said it was the best of

all, because the goat is such a hard animal to teach. He had a big ball,

and the goat got on it and rolled it across the stage without getting

off. He looked as nervous as a cat, shaking his old beard, and trying to

keep his four hoofs close enough together to keep him on the ball.

 

"We had a funny little play at the end of the performance. A monkey

dressed as a lady in a white satin suit and a bonnet with a white veil,

came on the stage. She was Miss Green and the dog Bob was going to elope

with her. He was all rigged out as Mr. Smith, and had on a light suit of

clothes, and a tall hat on the side of his head, high collar, long

cuffs, and he carried a cane. He was a regular dude. He stepped up to

Miss Green on his hind legs, and helped her on to a pony's back. The

pony galloped off the stage; then a crowd of monkeys, chattering and

wringing their hands, came on. Mr. Smith had run away with their child.

They were all dressed up, too. There were the father and mother, with

gray wigs and black clothes, and the young Greens in bibs and tuckers.

They were a queer-looking crowd. While they were going on in this way,

the pony trotted back on the stage; and they all flew at him and pulled

off their daughter from has back, and laughed and chattered, and boxed

her ears, and took off her white veil and her satin dress, and put on an

old brown thing, and some of them seized the dog, and kicked his hat,

and broke his cane, and stripped his clothes off, and threw them in a

corner, and bound his legs with cords. A goat came on, harnessed to a

little cart, and they threw the dog in it, and wheeled him around the

stage a few times. Then they took him out and tied him to a hook in the

wall, and the goat ran off the stage, and the monkeys ran to one side,

and one of them pulled out a little revolver, pointed it at the dog,

fired, and he dropped down as if he was dead.

 

"The monkeys stood looking at him, and then there was the most awful

hullabaloo you ever heard. Such a barking and yelping, and half a dozen

dogs rushed on the stage, and didn't they trundle those monkeys about.

They nosed them, and pushed them, and shook them, till they all ran

away, all but Miss Green, who sat shivering in a corner. After a while,

she crept up to the dead dog, pawed him a little, and didn't he jump up

as much alive as any of them? Everybody in the room clapped and shouted,

and then the curtain dropped, and the thing was over. I wish he'd give

another performance. Early in the morning he has to go to Boston."

 

Jack pushed my paws from his knees and went outdoors, and I began to

think that I would very much like to see those performing animals. It

was not yet tea time, and I would have plenty of time to take a run down

to the hotel where they were staying; so I set out. It was a lovely

autumn evening. The sun was going down in a haze, and it was quite warm.

Earlier in the day I had heard Mr. Morris say that this was our Indian

summer, and that we should soon have cold weather.

 

Fairport was a pretty little town, and from the principal street one

could look out upon the blue water of the bay and see the island

opposite, which was quite deserted now, for all the summer visitors had

gone home, and the Island House was shut op.

 

I was running down one of the steep side streets that led to the water

when I met a heavily-laden cart coming up. It must have been coming from

one of the vessels, for it was full of strange-looking boxes and

packages. A fine-looking nervous horse was drawing it, and he was

straining every nerve to get it up the steep hill. His driver was a

burly, hard-faced man, and instead of letting his horse stop a minute to

rest he kept urging him forward. The poor horse kept looking at his

master, his eyes almost starting from his head in terror. He knew that

the whip was about to descend on his quivering body. And so it did, and

there was no one by to interfere. No one but a woman in a ragged shawl

who would have no influence with the driver. There was a very good

humane society in Fairport, and none of the teamsters dared ill-use

their horses if any of the members were near. This was a quiet

out-of-the-way street, with only poor houses on it, and the man probably

knew that none of the members of the society would be likely to be

living in them. He whipped his horse, and whipped him, till every lash

made my heart ache, and if I had dared I would have bitten him severely.

Suddenly, there was a dull thud in the street. The horse had fallen

down. The driver ran to his head, but he was quite dead. "Thank God!"

said the poorly-dressed woman, bitterly; "one more out of this world of

misery." Then she turned and went down the street. I was glad for the

horse. He would never be frightened or miserable again, and I went

slowly on, thinking that death is the best thing that can happen to

tortured animals.

 

The Fairport hotel was built right in the centre of the town, and the

shops and houses crowded quite close about it. It was a high, brick

building, and it was called the Fairport House. As I was running along

the sidewalk, I heard some one speak to me, and looking up I saw Charlie

Montague. I had heard the Morrises say that