B OBO, the wild man of Borneo, sat in his iron-barred cage reading the morning paper, while he pulled vigorously at a short, black clay pipe.
It was nearly time for the show to begin, so he could only glance hurriedly at the stock report; for Bobo was interested in copper.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays there was on exhibition in the side-show connected with Poole Brothers’ Royal Roman Hippodrome and Three-Ring Circus what was widely advertised as the only real wild man in captivity.
On alternate days—that is, on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays—the cage of Bobo was closed by a gaudily painted cover; and visitors on those days were told that the wild man was sick.
Notwithstanding this report, there could be found on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, out in one of the New York suburbs, a middle-aged[32] Irishman named Patsy McLockin. The connection may not at first be evident.
Patsy wasn’t nice looking, even when he was dressed in his best black suit; for, as the people on Blenden Street remarked, he was too hairy.
He used to wear gloves when on the street, even in the hottest weather; but he couldn’t very well wear gloves on his face, though if he could it would have saved the small children of the neighborhood cases of fright both serious and lasting.
Poole Brothers’ Royal Roman Hippodrome and Three Ring Circus was playing a winter engagement in New York City, and had been very successful.
The show was to start in about two weeks for a trip through New England; and since Mrs. Patsy McLockin had consented to remain in the city till the circus came back in the fall, Bobo agreed to exhibit himself every day while on the trip.
When Stetson, manager of the freaks in the side-show, had spoken to Bobo of the necessity of appearing every day while traveling, he had also mentioned a material raise in the wild man’s salary.
Every two weeks during the winter Stetson had written a check for seventy-five dollars in acknowledgment of services rendered. In the event of Bobo’s agreeing to make his appearance on each of the one-day stands, Stetson was[33] authorized by the powers above to draw these fortnightly checks for one hundred and fifty dollars, and, after much discussion in the Blenden Street home, Stetson’s offer had been accepted.
On this morning Bobo was trying to decide whether to sell out his twenty-three shares of Isle Royal while that stock was at eighty-one, or to hang on to it for a while, hoping for a rise.
He fully intended to sell out some time during the next two weeks, for he did not want to be bothered with the stock while on the Eastern trip.
“Get together there, you freaks,” called Stetson; “the whistle has just blown, and the yaps will begin coming in soon.”
Bobo tucked his paper into a little wooden box in the back of the cage, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and curled up on the straw, pretending to go to sleep.
He never worked over time, did Bobo; and up to the time when Stetson brought him his piece of meat, and began telling the people of the terrible struggle which had taken place in the swamps of Borneo, when the wild man was captured, Bobo always pretended to be asleep.
When, however, the manager reached a certain point in his narration, the nearest of the onlookers were usually startled by a savage growl, and the wild man from Borneo got up on all fours.
[34]Some hysterical woman generally screamed at this juncture, for, with the help of his make-up box, Bobo certainly did look the part.
For clothes, he wore merely a ragged breech-cloth about his loins, while the rest of his body was bare, save for a tawny growth of red hair. His skin was stained a dark brown, and in several places there were great raw-looking spots, where the manager said Bobo had bitten himself.
But the wild man’s face was what caused the alarm on the part of the women and children. His nose was a snout-like protuberance with great cavernous holes for nostrils, while his eyes, peeping out from under bristling brows, were small and wicked.
All over his face and neck, and extending down to his breast, was a coarse growth of stiff red hair.
The manager finished his harangue over Herman, the Ossified Man, pictures of whom a small boy began offering to the crowd for the sum of ten cents each.
“Next, and last, I call your attention, ladies and gentlemen, to Bobo, the wild man from Borneo,” began the exhibitor.
He was always glad when he came to Bobo, partly because he was the last freak to describe, and partly because the wild man always acted his part so well.
The crowd rushed from in front of the platform[35] on which the Ossified Man had been exhibited.
“Don’t get so near there, boy,” shouted one of the attendants to a venturesome youth; “the wild man is liable to grab you. He killed a man that way last week.”
Stetson began his lurid tale of the fierce struggle which had taken place when the wild man was captured, and the crowd of country people listened open mouthed.
“Throwing this net about his head and shoulders, we succeeded in getting the creature to the ground,” droned Stetson in a sing-song voice.
This was Bobo’s cue. He yawned, exposing a set of yellow fangs, at the sight of which the small boy in the front row turned a little pale, and tried to work his way back into the crowd.
Then Bobo growled. Bobo was proud of that growl. It had taken him weeks to acquire it. Beginning with a kind of guttural rumbling in his throat, he worked himself up gradually, and ended with a ferocious howl.
“The wild man is hungry, you see,” said Stetson; and taking a piece of raw meat from under the wagon, he held it up to view.
 
“The wild man ran to the bars of the cage and shook them furiously.” (See page 35.)
 
Bobo immediately sprang at the bars of his cage, and rattled them loudly, chattering fiercely meanwhile.
The crowd fell back, leaving a clear space in front of the cage; and the wild man, reaching a[36] hairy arm out between the iron bars, seized the meat, and crawling to a corner, buried his teeth in the bloody shank.
“This concludes the entertainment,” shouted Stetson, and the crowd reluctantly began to file out of the tent.
Two months later, while Poole Brothers’ amalgamated shows were exhibiting in Vermont, Murphy, one of the side-show attendants, came to Stetson, and informed him mysteriously that Bobo was acting queer.
“He don’t get out of his cage after the show’s over in the afternoon like he used to, but stays there till the evening performance.”
“Nothing queer about that as I can see,” answered Stetson carelessly. “He’s been putting more life than usual into the part lately, and it probably tires him. What’s the difference whether he rests in his cage or goes over to the car? You’re probably kicking because you have to bring his supper to him.”
“He used to wash the make-up off his face between the two shows,” persisted Murphy. “But now he keeps it on from ten in the morning till night.”
“Well, you never take the trouble to wash the ordinary every-day dirt and grease off your face, and I don’t believe you ever would clean up if it took you the time it does Bobo,” replied Stetson irritably, and Murphy retired, muttering.
[37]But the other freaks had noticed a change in the wild man, too. Between performances Bobo used to play penny ante with the fat man and the bearded lady, both of which gentlemen now tried in vain to lure him into a game.
Saturday nights, also, when the last show for the week was over, the freaks sometimes had a little “feed,” and formerly Bobo had been one of the most jovial spirits. Lately, however, he refused to attend any of these gatherings, and spent most of his time alone.
As Stetson said, though, the freaks were always complaining about one another, so little attention was paid to the grumbling in the side-show tent.
The management couldn’t afford to offend Bobo, for there was no denying that the wild man was the star attraction. He was doing better work than he ever had done before. He didn’t wait for the manager to come to him to begin acting; but as soon as the crowd appeared, he was growling and tearing away at the bars of his cage.
The other freaks complained; for even when the dog-faced boy was making his worst grimaces during Stetson’s description of him, most of the audience preferred standing in front of the wild man’s cage watching his antics.
One Sunday night the attendant, who had been before rebuffed, again sought out Stetson with a new tale of woe.
[38]“Bobo sleeps in his cage every night now,” he declared, “and he’s been in there all day to-day.”
“Perhaps he’s sick,” said Stetson, but he didn’t believe it.
He himself had noticed a change of late in the wild man. The meat, which had been thrown in to him, had formerly been taken out untouched and given to the lions; but lately there hadn’t been any meat left.
“He ain’t sick, neither,” declared Murphy, “but he’s too damn ugly to live. He tried to bite me when I changed the water in his dish; and yesterday, when Skoggy brought him a newspaper like he used to, to show him the stock report, Bobo tore it to pieces, and tried to hit Skoggy with that bar that’s loose in his cage.
Stetson consulted with Poole Brothers, and that night the three men went to the side-show tent, which was up in readiness for the Monday’s performance.
They found Bobo lying asleep in his cage. He still had on his make-up, but some way he didn’t look natural to the Poole Brothers. They didn’t go to the side-show tent very often, and it had been over two months since they had seen the wild man.
The hair on his arms and breast was thicker than it used to be, and his teeth seemed longer and yellower.
[39]Stetson opened the door of the cage and called, “Wake up, Pat. It’s time for supper.”
The wild man opened his eyes quickly, and snarled like a dog which has been roused suddenly.
“It’s time for supper,” repeated Stetson, stepping back and clasping his cane a little tighter.
Bobo seized the little iron dish in which they brought him water, and started to hurl it at the speaker; but noticing suddenly who it was, he only growled, “Don’t want no more supper; just had mine.”
The younger Poole brother looked at a half gnawed bone lying on the bottom of the cage, and muttered something which nobody heard.
“Well, you’re not going to stay here all night, are you?” persisted Stetson.
Bobo ran to the door of his cage and seized the bars, shaking them as he did when the show was on.
“Why in hell can’t you leave me alone?” he screamed. “What do you care where I sleep? Don’t I do my work? And don’t I earn my pay? Then what you kicking about? Git along, and leave me alone; I’m sleepy.”
Stetson looked at the two Poole brothers, one of whom made a sign, and the three men withdrew.
“Looks as if we’d have the genuine article, instead of a fake, in a week or two more,” observed the elder Poole to the manager.
[40]He had been in the show business for some years, and wasn’t easily shocked.
During the next few weeks the freaks had many causes for complaint. The Bearded Lady claimed that Bobo had spit at him when he went by the cage. But the Bearded Lady was a man of sensitive disposition, and easily offended.
There were other things more serious, however. Mlle. Mille, one of the albinos, showed Stetson a black and blue spot on her arm where the wild man had struck her when she was putting on her wig, and the snake charmer threatened to leave the show if Bobo was not locked in his cage.
One night, therefore, when the wild man was asleep, three of the attendants stole into the tent and snapped a couple of strong padlocks through the staple in the door.
It was a good thing that they did; for the next day Bobo had a crazy fit before the show opened up, during which he tried to tear his cage to pieces. It proved a great attraction, though; for the country people outside heard him raving, and the tent was soon packed.
He stopped speaking to any one after that, and refused to answer when spoken to. He stayed in his cage all the time, sleeping there nights, and never touching the cooked food sent him from the kitchen, but there was never any meat left over for the lions.
The Royal Roman Hippodrome and Three[41] Ring Circus played to remarkably good business all summer, and finally brought up at the old winter quarters in New York.
One of the first visitors upon their arrival there was Mrs. Patsy McLockin, who came to see what in the world had happened to her husband, for she hadn’t heard a word from him for over two months.
Stetson took her into the room where workmen were getting every thing in order; for the show was to begin its winter indoor engagement next day.
In his cage in one corner, gnawing a bloody shank of meat, crouched Bobo. Stetson took the woman over to the cage; and Mrs. McLockin, after looking at the wild man for a few seconds, broke out sobbing.
“You’ve gone and made him crazy, you have,” she wailed. “Patsy, dear, don’t you know your old woman?”
But Bobo, the wild man, continued crunching his bone, and paid no attention to the woman in front of his cage. The manager stole out of the room softly, and left them together. There was nothing he could do.
Each week he had gone to Bobo’s cage, and tried to talk to the wild man, telling him that he had better give up the business and settle down somewhere. But the wild man never paid any attention to him; and when one day Poole Brothers tried to take him out of his cage by force,[42] one man was killed and Stetson himself seriously injured, so that had to be given up.
All that winter the side show connected with Poole Brothers’ Royal Roman Hippodrome and Three Ring Circus played to packed houses; and probably no one paid any particular attention to a sad-faced Irish woman of middle age who spent most of the time standing in front of the cage of Bobo, the wild man, weeping silently.