WHILE Polly sat in the dressing tent, listening indifferently to the
chatter about the “Leap of Death” girl, Jim waited in the lot outside,
opening and shutting a small, leather bag which he had bought for her
that day. He was as blind to the picturesque outdoor life as she to her
indoor surroundings, for he, too, had been with the circus since his
earliest recollection.
The grass enclosure, where he waited, was shut in by a circle of tents
and wagons. The great, red property vans were waiting to be loaded with
the costumes and tackle which were constantly being brought from the
“big top,” where the evening performance was now going on. The gay
striped curtains at the rear of the tent were looped back to give air
to the panting musicians, who sat just inside. Through the opening,
a glimpse of the audience might be had, tier upon tier, fanning and
shifting uneasily. Near the main tent stood the long, low dressing
“top,” with the women performers stowed away in one end, the “ring
horses” in the centre, and the men performers in the other end.
A temporary curtain was hung between the main and the dressing tent,
to shut out the curious mob that tried to peep in at the back lot for a
glimpse of things not to be seen in the ring.
Coloured streamers, fastened to the roofs of the tents, waved and
floated in the night air and beckoned to the towns-people on the other
side to make haste to get their places, forget their cares, and be
children again.
Over the tops of the tents, the lurid light of the distant red fire shot
into the sky, accompanied by the cries of the peanut “butchers,” the
popcorn boys, the lemonade venders,{sic} and the exhortations of the
side-show “spieler,” whose flying banners bore the painted reproductions
of his “freaks.” Here and there stood unhitched chariots, half filled
trunks, trapeze tackle, paper hoops, stake pullers or other “properties”
necessary to the show.
Torches flamed at the tent entrances, while oil lamps and lanterns gave
light for the loading of the wagons.
There was a constant stream of life shooting in and out from the
dressing tent to the “big top,” as gaily decked men, women and animals
came or went.
Drowsy dogs were stretched under the wagons, waiting their turn to be
dressed as lions or bears. The wise old goose, with his modest grey
mate, pecked at the green grass or turned his head from side to side,
watching the singing clown, who rolled up the painted carcass and long
neck of the imitation giraffe from which two property men had just
slipped, their legs still encased in stripes.
Ambitious canvas-men and grooms were exercising, feet in air, in the
hope of some day getting into the performers' ring. Property men stole a
minute's sleep in the soft warm grass while they waited for more tackle
to load in the wagons. Children of the performers were swinging on the
tent ropes, chattering monkeys sat astride the Shetland ponies, awaiting
their entrance to the ring. The shrieks of the hyenas in the distant
animal tent, the roaring of the lions and the trumpeting of the
elephants mingled with the incessant clamour of the band. And back of
all this, pointing upward in mute protest, rose a solemn church spire,
white and majestic against a vast panorama of blue, moonlit hills, that
encircled the whole lurid picture. Jim's eyes turned absently toward the
church as he sat fumbling with the lock of the little brown satchel.
He had gone from store to store in the various towns where they had
played looking for something to inspire wonder in the heart of a miss,
newly arrived at her sixteenth year. Only the desperation of a last
moment had forced him to decide upon the imitation alligator bag, which
he now held in his hand.
It looked small and mean to him as the moment of presentation
approached, and he was glad that the saleswoman in the little country
store had suggested the addition of ribbons and laces, which he now drew
from the pocket of his corduroys. He placed his red and blue treasures
very carefully in the bottom of the satchel, and remembered with regret
the strand of coral beads which he had so nearly bought to go with them.
He opened the large property trunk by his side, and took from it
a laundry box, which held a little tan coat, that was to be Toby's
contribution to the birthday surprise. He was big-hearted enough to be
glad that Toby's gift seemed finer and more useful than his.
It was only when the “Leap of Death” act preceding Polly's turn was
announced, that the big fellow gave up feasting his eyes on the satchel
and coat, and hid them away in the big property trunk. She would be out
in a minute, and these wonders were not to be revealed to her until the
close of the night's performance.
Jim put down the lid of the trunk and sat upon it, feeling like a
criminal because he was hiding something from Polly.
His consciousness of guilt was increased as he recalled how often she
had forbidden Toby and himself to rush into reckless extravagances for
her sake, and how she had been more nearly angry than he had ever seen
her, when they had put their month's salaries together to buy her the
spangled dress for her first appearance. It had taken a great many
apologies and promises as to their future behaviour to calm her, and now
they had again disobeyed her. It would be a great relief when to-night's
ordeal was over.
Jim watched Polly uneasily as she came from the dressing tent and
stopped to gaze at the nearby church steeple. The incongruity of the
slang, that soon came from her delicately formed lips, was lost upon him
as she turned her eyes toward him.
“Say, Jim,” she said, with a Western drawl, “them's a funny lot of guys
what goes to them church places, ain't they?”
“Most everybody has got some kind of a bug,” Jim assented; “I guess they
don't do much harm.”
“'Member the time you took me into one of them places to get me out a
the rain, the Sunday our wagon broke down? Well, that bunch WE butted
into wouldn't a give Sell's Brothers no cause for worry with that show
a' theirn, would they, Jim?” She looked at him with withering disgust.
“Say, wasn't that the punkiest stunt that fellow in black was doin' on
the platform? You said Joe was only ten minutes gettin' the tire onto
our wheel, but say, you take it from me, Jim, if I had to wait another
ten minutes as long as that one, I'd be too old to go on a-ridin'.”
Jim “'lowed” some church shows might be better than “that un,” but Polly
said he could have her end of the bet, and summed up by declaring it no
wonder that the yaps in these towns was daffy about circuses, if they
didn't have nothin' better an' church shows to go to.
One of the grooms was entering the lot with Polly's horse. She stooped
to tighten one of her sandals, and as she rose, Jim saw her sway
slightly and put one hand to her head. He looked at her sharply,
remembering her faintness in the parade that morning.
“You ain't feeling right,” he said uneasily.
“You just bet I am,” Polly answered with an independent toss of her
head. “This is the night we're goin' to make them rubes in there sit up,
ain't it, Bingo?” she added, placing one arm affectionately about the
neck of the big, white horse that stood waiting near the entrance.
“You bin ridin' too reckless lately,” said Jim, sternly, as he followed
her. “I don't like it. There ain't no need of your puttin' in all them
extra stunts. Your act is good enough without 'em. Nobody else ever done
'em, an' nobody'd miss 'em if you left 'em out.”
Polly turned with a triumphant ring in her voice. The music was swelling
for her entrance.
“You ain't my MOTHER, Jim, you're my GRANDmother,” she taunted; and,
with a crack of her whip she was away on Bingo's back.
“It's the spirit of the dead one that's got into her,” Jim mumbled as he
turned away, still seeing the flash in the departing girl's eyes.