"Cheese it!" said Dicky. "Why are you so full of objections? Let's sit down quietly and argue it out over breakfast."
The long and short of it was this: I was to finance the circus and he was to run it. The profits we were to share fifty-fifty.
"And the losses?" I inquired.
"There ain't going to be any losses." That was final.
We
argued through the oatmeal, the bacon and three eggs apiece. We
wrestled through a whole marmalade jar, but all he got out of me was a
promise to take a tenth share in the venture because I was sure that
nine other fools could not be mustered in the whole archipelago. But
Dicky Gibbs knew better. He thought others had a high opinion of my
judgment; and using my sporting offer as a lever he secured the nine
other subscriptions and proceeded to allot shares. Fortunately for us,
the elephant had in the meantime died of a food shortage, the giant and
the dwarf had set up in business for themselves, and the bearded lady
had tried a new safety razor blade. All that was consigned from Kudat
to the circus syndicate in Jolo, therefore, were the musical
instruments whole and the roundabouts and swings in convenient sections.
Now
the fun started. We were ten shareholders, ten directors and ten
general managers, as befitted an incorporated circus. The cash we
eventually lost we took out in the fun we got from the affair.
We
chose a spot in Tulay outside the citadel as the site of the circus,
within smell of the market. The swings and roundabouts were fitted
together to the huge delight of hundreds of naked brown urchins. Now
the opening day was at hand! It had come! We were open for business!
At
first the Moros, passing by on their way to and from market, paid
little attention to the blatant music, which was more savage than their
own, or to the whirling roundabouts and the creaking swings. Dicky
catered that day and the next to half-boozed American soldiers and to
the sophisticated Filipino muchachos. But by degrees the Moros too were
roused. They had watched these madly whirling and swaying