Free Circus Shoes by Noel Streatfeild Page B

down the steps.
    “I will ask my father. He understands this things.” He turned and held up a finger. “You wait? Yes?”
    Alexsis’s father, Maxim Petoff, was in his caravan. Alexsis brought him back with him. He made a formal introduction.
    “This is my father, Maxim Petoff. He is equestrian director. He train the horses. You understand? Yes?”
    Neither Peter nor Santa did understand much. They had never seen a performing horse, so had no idea what training them meant. But they smiled politely as if they understood perfectly.
    Maxim Petoff was the kind of man everyone smiled at. He was tall with brown curly hair like Olga’s and Sasha’s. He had eyes that turned up a bit at the corners as if crinkled with laughing. He had even higher cheek-bones than his children. He had lovely teeth which showed when he smiled. He held out his hand, first to Santa, then to Peter.
    “So this is the nephew and niece of Gus. And there is trouble with a box. Let us go and sit inside and you will tell me.” He came into the caravan and sat down at the table. There was something so big about him, not so much in the way he was made, as in himself, that the caravan which had seemed quite roomy was suddenly very small. “Well?” He smiled at Peter.
    Peter explained what they wanted to know. When he had finished Maxim talked the problem over with himself.
    “That letter is for London?” Santa and Peter nodded.
    “They get him tomorrow. That is Friday. They must pack the box. Then they must send it to the station. That maybe will be Monday. It costs much money to send by passenger train, so it will be sent by freight. Next week is three days Carlisle. Three days Whitehaven. It is the week before Easter.” He stopped and took on the proud voice of somebody who has worked out a difficult puzzle. “The box must go to Whitehaven.”
    Santa had been enthralled at this casual mention of towns. After all, going to Bridlington had been a great adventure to them, and here was Mr. Petoff making long journeys sound no more than walking to Miss Fane for a violin lesson.
    “And where do we go after that?” She had to accentuate the “we” a little.’ It was such fun to be able to ay it about yourself and a circus.
    Maxim laughed.
    “That’s right. Always say ‘we.’ You are already part of us. We”-he beamed at her-“go to Blackpool. We stay all the week.” He got up. “I must go. I am a busy man when there is a build-up.” He patted Santa’s head and smiled at Peter. “We shall be good friends.”
    Gus came back just as Mrs. Ford’s letter was stuck lawn for the second time. He nodded approvingly at the two envelopes.
    “That’s right. Two letters in one envelope. Save the pennies. That’s always been my motto.” He picked up the letter to Mrs. Ford. “Where are you having your stuff sent?”
    Peter and Santa answered at the same time. They both tried not to sound pleased with themselves.
    “Whitehaven.”
    But it was evidently no good expecting admiration from Gus. He thought a moment. Then he nodded
    “Yes. Whitehaven’s best. Week before Easter. Might miss us at Carlisle. Besides, there’s no show on Good Friday. Give us nice time to fix your stuff.” He looked at his watch. “Tea’s at four. I’m going to have a nap. You two go and have a look round. I’ve told Mr. Cob you’re here so you’ll be all right.”
    Peter and Santa jumped down the steps. There was no question where they were going. All the animals would have come from the station and they had not seen them. They set off running.
    Although they had seen the stables being built, the sight of them full came as a complete surprise. They walked through them awed into silence.
    There were horses in the twenty stalls on the right. Ten chestnuts and ten grays. On their left, where before there had before there had been a space, two huge barred cages had been placed. Looking through the bars with sleepy disinterested eyes were lions. Farther down below the