Free Jenny and Barnum by Roderick Thorp

he demands.”
    â€œPay, Barnum!” the crowd shouted. “Pay!”
    People started to clap rhythmically, and Barnum raised his hands. “I give up. For once, boys, I’ve been outsmarted!” They cheered, and hats were thrown in the air. Barnum leaned close to Tom Thumb. “As for you, you human canapé, your next appearances will be before the Apache and Comanche Indians.”
    â€œDon’t kid me, you fat tub,” Tom Thumb whispered. “Paying me double wages will save you twice as much as you would have spent on a traveling secretary’s expenses.”
    â€œThe Jenny Lind proposition is going to put me in a bad way!”
    â€œStop your bellyaching. The only reason you take such chances is to avoid an honest day’s work.”
    Barnum smiled. Tom Thumb smiled. They shook hands and the crowd cheered again. It was a grand time, and everybody thought it was part of the show. The cheering went on, spreading down the gangplanks to the pier, where people cheered, too, although not knowing why. But they cheered all the same.
    Whatever the contents of Jenny Lind’s letter in his pocket, Tom Thumb felt in a similarly expansive mood this morning. Last night had been good—the show had been good, Emperor Franz-what’s-his-name had greeted them warmly. Best of all, Tom Thumb had had Lavinia to himself, Joe Gallagher ducking out of the reception early, once again seeing that the star of the show, wherever in the world it played, was the smallest man in the world, Tom Thumb.
    The little General had his other suspicions about Joe Gallagher, his activities, and what his sudden departures actually meant. So far there was no proof, but if Gallagher was debauching himself in brothels all over Europe as Tom Thumb suspected, then he was a menace to the reputations of them all and a candidate for a one-way ticket back to San Francisco. No matter. Last night Tom Thumb and Lavinia Warren had been together—alone—for hours. Like any other successful lover, Tom Thumb felt on top of the world—drained by the process, naturally, and a little guilty, but happy to the point of giggling nevertheless.
    He was dressed for travel, in black walking shoes, white spats, pearl gray trousers, a gray Chesterfield, and a black silk top hat—taken together, a tiny fraction of the custom wardrobe that cost many thousands of dollars every year to maintain. The hotel dining room was open but still empty, the gaslights on as if prepared for dinner instead of breakfast. The Barnum troupe had its own specially prepared large table in the corner, the General’s chair built up with his own custom designed, firm, square cushions. Hotel dining room people all over Europe were now so accustomed to the troupe that they could handle all its unusual requirements with aplomb. Such professionalism, when it appeared, was one of Tom Thumb’s few comforts when he was touring Europe.
    The captain steadied Tom Thumb’s chair as the tiny man climbed up. “Coffee at once, sir?”
    For a moment Tom Thumb forgot where he was, and thought the man meant American coffee. But no. Tom Thumb nodded. “Let me have half a scrambled egg, half a slice of toast, and one slice of bacon, too.”
    â€œVery good, sir.”
    At twenty-seven, Tom Thumb had reached the time of his life when even a little overeating resulted in added weight. Staying trim made him look smaller, of course, but now he had another reason for eating lightly—Lavinia, who liked him trim.
    The sky was beginning to glow. Too much of Europe left Tom Thumb feeling on edge and unhappy, from the shorter winter days to all the languages, customs, kings, queens, and emperors. The only way to understand such a complicated and uncomfortable setup was to remember that it had taken hundreds, even thousands, of years to evolve.
    That didn’t make it any easier to bear, however. On a travel day like this Tom Thumb would have a