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“He’s a knife thrower,” said Apollo, sounding prouder of me than I would have expected.
“There you go,” Billy Sweet said happily. “I run a mouse game, meself. The folks bet on which hole the mouse will go down.”
I had a hunch that the hole the mouse chose was not a random one.
“And if the pickings ain’t good there, I can fan a mark and weed a wallet in the blink of an eye. Yeah, they calls me Billy Sweet ’cause I always got the sugar.” He rubbed two fingers and a thumb together as if he were caressing money.
A pickpocket! I should have been appalled, but instead I was fascinated. I decided to keep my ring well hidden under my shirt nevertheless. I didn’t want it to disappear. And I didn’t want anyone to touch it, I realized. It might be coincidence, but situations became very odd when people touched that ring, and I didn’t want to risk it. I set aside that foolish fancy because it made me too uncomfortable. “What about that big fellow with Dr. Mink who took th
e gate at the performance?” I asked.
“That’s what he does, all right,” said Billy, “and he takes his privileges, too.” He winked. “But don’t you be accusing Al Bonfiglio of shortchanging the customers, else you’ll land in the middle of next Tuesday with a bloody nose.”
As if I would voluntarily challenge that bruiser.
Bess snorted. “At least you both see some money.”
“I see riches,” said Mr. Bopp, startling me by pushing his face under the hem of her skirt.
Apollo roared with mirth. I hoped he wouldn’t pick up any bad habits from these men.
“Stop that, you miscreant,” said Bess. She grabbed Mr. Bopp by the scruff and wrestled him into her arms. “Time for bed.”
“Aw, no,” complained Mr. Bopp, although he didn’t struggle.
“Ow!” Bess exclaimed as she staggered out of the firelight. “Don’t bite. You are such a heathen.” She sounded amused, however.
I heard muffled laughter from Mr. Bopp as they took off into the night.
“Love, ain’t it wonderful?” said Billy Sweet.
Well, yes, I thought. But I’d never seen it take quite that shape before.
Apollo and I slept on blankets under the wagon. Apollo must have been worn out, for he soon emitted gentle puppy snores. I followed his lead, lulled to sleep by insect chirps and the warm, sweet smell of grasses. My dreams thrummed with happiness, although I couldn’t put them into words when I awoke.
We ate our oatmeal in the silver light of morning. Dr. Mink took it upon himself to join us. He strutted up like a matchstick man in a black suit taken in as much as a seamstress could bear. He wore his usual stovepipe hat even while he ate. He put me in mind of an undertaker. “We’ll turn northwest today,” he said, and flicked a crumb from his wispy goatee. “We’ve a river to cross, and I know of a decent bridge. Make sure you follow.” He knocked invisible dust from his knees with a glove as he rose. “Come along, boy,” he said to Apollo. “I believe I’ve some gumdrops saved for a good little fellow.” He never looked at me.
“See you later, Abel,” Apollo cried, leaping to his feet.
I smacked my wooden bowl down in the dirt. I thought Apollo had left home to follow me.
That day commenced much the same as the last: more pancakeflat country, more grass, more corn, and more endless blue sky. I hoped that Apollo was royally bored. I hoped he drove Dr. Mink mad with nonstop questions. Still, the songs of chickadees and blackbirds filled the air above, sunlight gilded the tassel-topped grass, and I saw a fox slink after a quail through the purple-shot prairie. We traveled through two small towns, and eager boys ran beside the wagons, begging us to stop. I pitied their disappointment. We crossed the Spoon River near Galesburg.
That night the giant joined us for dinner. He perched, all knees and elbows, on a chest Billy Sweet pulled from a wagon for him. Dr. Mink and Bonfiglio, the bodyguard, stayed away once more.
Perhaps I should have felt at home with people more like those I had grown up with, but these were strangers, nevertheless, and I wasn’t sure of them.
Apollo shoveled down his plate of beans and sausage and excused himself. “Dr. Mink said I could read his notices,” he said by way of excuse.
“Mink’s playing his games again, isn’t he?” said the giant in a voice so deep and muffled it might have come up from a well. “Divide and conquer.”
So it wasn’t just my jealousy that saw manipulation in Mink’s ways.
“Doesn’t always work,” Bess said, and patted Mr. Bopp on his shiny head.
“Don’t you bad-mouth Dr. Mink,” said Billy Sweet to the giant, with a mean squint to his eyes.
“Don’t you threaten our giant,” said Bess, raising a beefy fist. My mouth fell open at the idea of a fistfight between the pair.
