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Updated: May 26, 2025
But Tad, never for an instant removing his gaze from Jo-Jo, held up a warning hand, leaned slightly forward and fixed the pony with impelling eyes. Then Tad backed away slowly.
"We must be getting back now. Master Tad, you get on your pony, and I will lead Jo-Jo behind with the thief." The mountaineer had been securely tied to the back of Walter Perkins's mount, and the procession now quickly got under way, Tad riding ahead, Ned Rector bringing up the rear, that he might keep a wary eye on their prisoner on their way back to camp.
It was at the club one night I'd just come from the Draytons, and Jack hadn't been home to dinner that I heard Rawlins Richardson and Horace Trevano chattering about Maisie Hartopp. The "Jo-Jo" song had made the biggest kind of a hit that winter at the Gaiety, and the hit had been made by the Hartopp singing it to a stage box which the Johnnies scrambled to bid in nightly.
Barnum exhibited," she declared, "that we didn't allow the children to go to see Jo-jo, the Dog-faced Boy! You remember?" Their cold horror, briefly expressed, had shown her that she had trespassed too far on their indulgence, and she spoke of it no more, but the memory rankled. "It's so strange you don't see how cunning it is," Carolyn complained; "everybody does it now.
But as Tad stepped back Jo-Jo insistently followed, alternately pushing his nose against the boy's face and tugging at his shirt. "He wants to do it again, Tad," cried Chunky, enthusiastically. The freckle-faced boy grinned knowingly. "Got any sugar, Walter?" he asked. Walter thrust a hand into a trousers pocket, bringing up a handful of lumps that were far from being their natural color.
He stepped inside, and spoke to them: "Good dogs! good dogs! good Musket, Coffee, Filthy, Jo-Jo steady, steady, idiots!" for the huge brutes were nosing him, throwing themselves against: him, and whining gratefully.
He had not the slightest thought of letting go until ho should finally have subdued the animal. "Whoa, Texas! Whoa, Jimmie! Whoa, Jo-Jo!" he soothed, trying the name of each of the ponies in turn. But it was all to no purpose. Finally, the little animal slackened its speed, somewhat, as it began the ascent of a steep rise of ground.
All you have to do is to press your knee against his side and he will turn, just as if you were pulling on the rein. He's a trained pony, Walter. Did you know that?" "That's what the man said when father bought him. Jo-Jo can walk on his hind legs, too. But father said I mustn't try to make him do any tricks, for fear I might get hurt." "Hurt nothing!
To the amazement of the others, Jo-Jo, balancing himself beautifully on his hind legs, followed his new-found master in short, cautious steps, the animal's head now high in the air, its nostrils dilated, and every nerve strained to the task in hand. "Beautiful," breathed Walter and Chunky in chorus. "He's a regular brick," added Chunky. "How'd you do it, Tad!"
"I was only going by what my father said in his letters," he explained, in extenuation. Archie nodded. "I'm afraid your jolly old father doesn't appreciate me. But I'm hoping for the best. If I can rope in that rummy-looking little china thing that Jo-Jo the dog-faced boy is showing the customers, he will be all over me.
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