edged closer. The operation had started with only four or five men far out there at the edge of the crowd. Naturally you have n't seen them; a hundred other persons have jostled forward since then. Could they have been men in the employ of the sideshow, paid to move forward at the signal, and by one little movement cause a whole crowd of hundreds and hundreds of persons to obey that command from the "ballyhoo" man?

Incidentally, he 's talking again describing all the "strange and curious s-s-s-s peo-ple," urging that you be come better acquainted with them inside. And repeating:

"Fortay-y-y-y-five minutes to wait. Don't spend your time on the hot, dusty, circus lot. Fortay-y-y-y-yfive minutes to wait. Plenty of time before the big show. Fortay-y-y-y-yfive minutes."

So you go in. Humans hate to wait. Circuses learned that almost as soon as the humans. For are n't circuses human themselves?

"The b-e-e-g show! This a-way to the b-e-e-g show! Performance starts in five min-utes. Buy yoah tickets for the be-e-g show!"

It's crowded about the ticket-wagon. Up at the window the ticketseller is scooping in money with both hands, apparently throwing it on the floor. You 've heard that before about the men in the ticket-wagons -about how they throw silver and gold and paper bills indiscriminately about them until they stand literally knee-deep in money.

But inside the ticket-wagon all is orderly. The silver passes into one drawer, just below the marble plate of the ticket window. The gold goes into another. The currency travels

into high wicker baskets, one for dollar bills, one for fives, one for tens, and one for any denominations above that. A circus is n't so unbusinesslike after all.

Through those gates at last! What a crowd! What a jam! Why can't they make them bigger?

They could. But then that would n't cause a crowd. A crowd, you know, means popularity. Like breeds like. There might be fully a hundred dollars, even more, wandering about out there on the circus grounds that would be lost if the front gates did n't indicate a rush on the part of all humanity to get inside. Strange how they think of those things!

What was that the ticket-taker said to the fat woman who was trying to smuggle her ten-year-old boy through by carrying him in her arms? Was n't it: "Hey, Lady! Put down that there young man an' let him carry you! Twenty-five cents more for the young man, Lady."

And what was it the manager had remarked to himself as the protesting fat woman had paid the extra money? "Put the most honest woman in the world on a street-car or at a circus gate with a kid and she 'll lie her head off to get him through for half fare!"

The menagerie. You 've often wondered about menageries, why circuses go to the expense of carrying them.

Perhaps you've never realized that were it not for the circus menagerie a great part of the youthful population of the United States would be devoid of an education in natural history; that most of the towns which a circus visits are without zoos, and that the only chance the population has to

view jungle or strange beasts is when the show comes to town.

Thus the circus, utilizing everything, even as a packing-house makes some use of every by-product, keeps its cost of operation down through that very fact. There are many municipalities which would charge exorbitant licenses were it not for the fact that the circus has certain features in its menagerie that are necessary to the education of its youth.

More, the animal actors of the show are the cheapest actors a circus can carry. They draw no salaries and require no expensive food, and they serve a triple purpose; they take part in the parade, they form the menagerie, and they work in the big show, all without salary.

They have strange histories, these animals, strange likes and dislikes, things that the ordinary person never dreams of.

Tigers and lions, for instance, love catnip. They frolic in it, as a house cat does before the hearth. They eat only six times a week. Puritans are the cat animals; no food on Sunday, only rest.

You corner the menagerie superintendent and ask him questions. That's what he 's there for. He knows that when you speak of it later you will remember the name of the show and perhaps mention it. Word of mouth is stronger than all the bill-boards or newspapers in existence. He tells you strange things; that elephants love coal, and that they munch it greedily whenever they get a chance. Even Even that a certain amount of dirt each day is, to them, necessary for a good digestion. That in those tiny, pig-like tails is danger. They look so small, but it is only be

cause of the great bulk of the body, and that should you be struck by an elephant's tail, the blow could easily bring unconsciousness. He tells you that the hind leg of an elephant is different from that of the usual beast. So it is. It bends backward instead of forward, with a knee just as in the front legs. Strange you've never noticed that before! He tells you also that the lion is the king of beasts only in looks, and a tiger can whip a lion any time he chooses. That a hippopotamus, with all those teeth, is camouflage.

"Tamest thing we 've got in the whole place," says the superintendent. "We let him out of his den, and he wanders the whole tent when the crowds are n't in here. But when the show 's on, well, everybody thinks he 's fierce because of all those teeth of his, and, well, we give 'em what they want."

Now-w-w-w, the b-e-e-g show!

Just like a great big family, is n't it, going through its stunts? But it is n't.

It's a community, with community lines, classes, divisions, and society.

Every grade of performer belongs to a certain strata. The contortionist is not on the same plane with the aërialist, nor is the aërialist as high in social life as the equestrienne. Speaking of equestriennes, why are they able to stay on those horses so easily? And why are ring horses invariably white, gray, or dappled?

That's why: so the equestriennes can stand on their backs. But that's no answer. Pardon, but Pardon, but it is. Powdered resin, if you ever have seen it, is white. Powdered resin prevents one from slipping. But it can't be noticed when it is sprinkled on

But certainly, there, look at that girl who has been in the ferris wheel. She 's going to slide down the rope. Could n't she have made them stop the wheel when she was at the bottom? Of course. But sliding down a rope looks harder, and the old spirit of the coliseum, where the circus originated, is in us all. We never saw a girl killed by sliding down a rope. Of course she has our best wishes, but

All but over! Into the hippodrome track go the rumbling chariots, each with its horses four abreast. They're off! The whites are in the lead, if they'll only hold it! But the blacks have gained. They 've passed the whites. Now they 're neck and neck again. A cheer! The whites

are ahead again. Neck and neck once more. Now the blacks are in the lead. Now the whites. And they cross the tape nose and nose!

But it was a good race. If they

could only have gone around the track once more!

They would have finished nose and nose again. For a circus is in the game of pleasing every one, those who want the blacks to win and those who favor the whites. So at every turn, at the end of the track, the inside chariot veers to the outside rail, while the outside chariot cuts across to the inside track. The difference in distance brings them neck and neck, and so they might race forever.

And that, really, is the secret and the why of the circus, the pleasing of every one. After all, it's a simple task, for the circus has learned one great thing, that somewhere in our hearts is something that never grows up, that old though we may be in years, the child lives within us just the same, and whether we be seven or seventy, that something invariably answers the call of happiness.

Aw-w-w-1-1-1 o-u-t an' ovah-h-h-h-h!

0

HE as every one

Now daily and nightly, behind a

lifts its immense mass of yellow masonry-not really masonry, but iron thinly faced with stone-right in the middle of London. It is the largest music-hall in London and the most successful music-hall in London; and it burns more electricity than any other place of amusement in London. Its upper parts are glitteringly outlined in green and yellow electricity; its high tower can be glimpsed from all manner of streets, and the rich glow of the whole affair illuminates a cloudy sky for the whole of central London to see. Though entirely respectable, it has an altar of its own in the hearts of the young and the old bloods of provincial cities who come to town strictly on business. It is the Mecca of suburban inhabitants with a dull afternoon in front of them and ten shillings in their pockets to squander. To have his, or her, name printed in fire on the façade of the Rotunda is the ambition of every music-hall artist in the world, and of many another artist besides. In brief, the Rotunda is a very important, grandiose, and impressive organism-an organism which emphatically functions. And it is a household world. Even judges of the High Court have heard of the Rotunda. No daily paper in London ever appears without mention of it somewhere.

the main entrance into the grand foyer, stood until lately a girl named Elaine Edar. She was She was a blonde, with bright hair, an attractive, pretty, and benevolent face, and a good figure, because these attributes were essential to her position. Her simple, smart dress was of black, but it had touches of fantasy and of color, because Mr. Walter King (managing director, risen from call-boy, as he openly stated about ten times every day) had said that he did not care for his girls to look like hotel clerks. Elaine's face and hair were known to tens of thousands of people. Often in the street such people would start at the sight of her and murmur something to a companion, and Elaine knew that they were saying:

"That's the box-office girl at the Rotunda."

So that she had a certain importance on earth, and assuredly at the Rotunda. For she gathered in money, and to Mr. Walter King the Rotunda was in the end nothing but a machine for gathering in more money than it paid out. Not that Elaine was the sole instrument for gathering in money. Far from it! Above her counter were displayed the words: "Box Office for this performance only. Boxes. Royal Fauteuils. Royal Stalls. Stalls. Grand Balcony." All advance book

al Fauteuils.

ing was done in a special office up the street, and each of the unreserved parts of the house had its own entrance, with turnstile and moneytaker. Still, Elaine took a goodish bit of money twice a day, and she was easily the most prominent of all the human machines that received silver coins and notes in exchange for bits of colored paper or base-metal discs.

Twelve performances a week, and Elaine had to be on duty ten minutes before the doors opened and to remain on duty until one hour before the end of each performance. Then she had to check her money and prove to the cashier's department that the total was correct. An anxious job, especially during the "rush" quarter of an hour, when she had to read with the glance of an eagle the numbers on the "sheet" of the performance, treat every patron as a benefactor, return good for evil, give change like a flash of lightning, detect spurious coins in the tenth of a second, and render sweet smiles to louts, curmudgeons, and cats. Happily, she was by nature profoundly and generally benevolent, and in this respect indeed a wonder to her assistant, who did the telephoning and lent a general hand. It was her benevolent air that had recommended her to Mr. Walter King, who had sacked her predecessor for being hoity-toity to patrons whenever business was abnormally good. She was devoted to the theater. Nobody thought of her apart from the theater, and, in fact, she had little private life. Mr. Walter King was himself passionately devoted to the theater, and he expected all the staff to be passionately devoted to the theater; but whereas his own devotion brought in a large share of the profits, Elaine's

devotion brought in only a small fixed salary, which Mr. King did not dream of passionately increasing when business grew fabulous. Elaine saw nothing odd in this arrangement.

It was a quarter to ten. The day's work was nearly over. Elaine's assistant had gone. The entrance-hall and foyer blazed deserted with their superlavish electricity. When an idle program-girl swung open a door at the end of a vast corridor and peeped forth, Elaine could faintly catch the sound of clapping. She rarely got more of a performance than these brief distant rumors of applause. For her the Rotunda was not an auditorium, but a foyer with boxoffice; and the artists were mere names on bills. She estimated the quality of the applause, and glanced at the clock and the time-table to know who was being applauded, for she had to be in a position to inform patrons what artist was "on" at any given moment. Then she proceeded with the secret counting of notes on a shelf beneath the counter. In view of the absence of a grille to protect the counter, and of the prevalence of gangs of robbers in London, her situation with all that money for Mr. Walter King might seem perilous. But it was not so in reality. Elaine and her treasure were well guarded by formidable giants and astute dwarfs in the shape of gorgeous door-men and pages. Though he disapproved of grilles, Mr. Walter King took no chances with the night's receipts.

Then a dark and elegant young man in full evening panoply appeared from the street. The guardians saluted him. He saluted Elaine. This unidentified and mysterious gentleman came nearly every night toward ten