“We were playing a one-night stand in Oregon,” said Hap. “On the morning following the performance I found a notice of our show on the front page of the town paper. The opening sentence was promising—I smiled to myself as I saw it. For it read as follows: “‘Ward and Vokes’ show, as given here last night, was not half bad.’ “Then I read the second sentence and quit smiling. “‘On the contrary, it was all bad!’” § 363 The Prize Smell of the Circus Harry Dickson, the writer, probably knows as much about the Southern negro as any white man can ever expect to know. But even so, in his search for local color and quaint lines with which to illuminate his stories, he constantly is striking a new angle of thought or a new angle of observation on the part of some one or another of his dusky neighbors down in Mississippi. Once upon a time Dickson was on a hunting trip in a remote county. While there, he met an old negro guide, a bear-hunter of superior attainments and a person of a quaint and an original philosophy. All his life the old man had been buried at the back edge of the canebrakes. Only once or twice had he been to a large town. The dream of his life, it developed, was to see a circus. He had heard of circuses, he had talked with persons who had seen circuses and he treasured a tattered program of a circus performance which a white man had given him. But the marvels of the red wagon and the white top never had revealed themselves to him. Learning of the old man’s ambition, Dickson had an inspiration. It was an inspiration born partly of philanthropy and partly of selfish and mercenary motives; for he scented a chance to get some prime material for one of his stories. He promised Uncle Jim that when next the circus visited Vicksburg, he, Uncle Jim, should see it. In the middle of the following summer Ringling Brothers came along with their show. Dickson sent Uncle Jim money for his railroad fare and bade him be in Vicksburg at daylight of a certain morning. He met Uncle Jim at the train. That day was probably the most crowded day and the most eventful in Uncle Jim’s entire life. His patron took him up into the yards to see the circus unload from the cars, and took him thence to the show lot to watch the raising of the tents. Under escort of Dickson the old negro viewed the street parade, the afternoon performance and the side-show and heard the concert. He saw it all—menagerie, hippodrome, freaks and the rest of it. His widely popped eyes and the look on his face testified to his enthrallment at beholding these wonders, but not a word either of commendation or admiration fell from his lips. Harris was rather disappointed. He had expected a constant flow of “copy.”