THE WHITE LIGHT
Well at all events, Hervey might now inspect freely the sanctum of the
diving wonder. His enthusiasm for the hero was not dimmed. Even the
derby hat had not entirely covered up Diving Denniver. Here was just
another exhibition authority. That a cop should make so free with Diving
Denniver, even calling him Charlie!
Hervey went into the tent, and stood looking about. Muffled by the
distance he could hear the frightful monotonous music of the
merry-go-round playing _Little Annie Rooney_ for the millionth time. On
the red board were strewn the leavings of Diving Denniver’s supper. The
smutty little oil-stove reeked of kerosene. A long, up-ended box did
duty as a washstand and on this, beside a tin basin, was the photograph
of a girl. A couple of candles burned and sputtered. On the tent pole
hung a broken mirror.
Diving Denniver’s bathrobe and his white bathing suit trimmed with gold
braid lay on the converted couch just as he had thrown them in his hurry
and anger. The very bathrobe, half off and half on the couch, seemed
eloquent of his high disgust at the tyrannical interruption of his work.
Hervey surmised that he would speak with the management of the carnival
on his way out; he wondered why the two had not gone in that direction.
But in truth the diving wonder did not love his public enough to
consider it in his sudden dilemma. He never went up when the wind was
strong. And he was not thinking of the expectant throng now.
Hervey longed to don that gorgeous exhibition suit. Could he slip it on
in a hurry? With him it was but one step from impulse to action and in a
few seconds he had thrown off his suit and was gazing at himself in the
dirty old mirror, clad in the white and gold habiliments of the
international wonder. How tightly it fitted! How thrillingly
professional it made him feel! What a moment in his young life!
Suddenly, something very extraordinary happened. The trodden grass at
his feet shimmered with a pale brightness. Clearly he saw a couple of
cigarette butts in the grass. It was as if some one had spilled this
brightness on the ground. Then it was gone. And there was only a dim
light where the candles sputtered on the makeshift table. That was a
strange occurrence.
He stepped out of the tent and there was the patch of brightness near
the Ford sedan. How plainly he could read the flaunting words on the
spare tire, THREE HUNDRED FOOT DIVE. Then suddenly, the square tank and
the foot of the dizzy ladder were bathed in light. A long, dusty column
was poking around as if it had lost something. The sedan was again
illuminated. The bright patch moved under the tent and painted an area
of the canvas golden. Was it looking for Diving Denniver, the wonder of
two continents, to come forth and make his three hundred foot dive?
It found the tank and the ladder again and made them glowing and
resplendent. Then there was wafted on the air the robust sound of the
band playing real music. It drowned the tin-pan whining of the
merry-go-round and sent its rousing strains over the fence which bore
the forbidding sign. What a martial tumult! It made the cane ringers
pause, sent the carriers of kewpie dolls to a point of vantage, and left
the five-legged calf forlorn and alone. Louder and louder it sent forth
its rousing melody.
Come take a ride o’er the clouds with me
Up in the air mid the stars.
Hervey Willetts stood petrified. He was in the hands of the gods--or the
devils. I have sometimes wondered if he ever, _ever_ thought. Behind
every act, good or bad, there is some kind of intention. And I have told
you about boys whose intentions were not of the best. But what of this
boy? There was just never anything behind his acts. No boy could catch
him. Yet the band and the waiting light caught him. And what did they do
to him? The light seemed to be waiting for him, there at the foot of the
ladder. All else was darkness. Only the area of brightness bathing the
ladder and the big tank with its metal corners. It seemed to say, “Come,
I am going up with you.” And, God help him, he went to it as a moth
flies to a flame.
When he had ascended a few feet, he remembered that Diving Denniver went
up very slowly seeming to test each rung. He knew now that this had been
for effect and to make the climb seem long. For the rungs were sound and
strong. Also the performer had occasionally extended his arm. The
substitute realized that there had been good reason for that, for the
breeze was more brisk as he ascended and he knew that the diver had thus
held out his hand by way of keeping tabs on the breeze.
The small tank permitted no divergence from the straight descent. To
land outside it----
He went up slowly, but did not pause at each rung. He could be reckless,
but not theatrical. But he did hold out his hand every few feet and the
gay breeze cooled his sweaty palm. Was the wind too strong? What would
Diving Denniver do? Go back? But in any case Hervey could not do that.
He never turned back.
He continued ascending, up, up, up. He could feel the ladder sway a
little. When he was about half-way up, the breeze made a little murmur
where it was cut by one of the wires extending off slantingways, far off
down to the earth somewhere. It was funny how he could see these wires
in the circle of light that had accompanied him in his long climb, but
could not follow them with his eyes to their distant anchorages. Each
wire disappeared in the darkness, and he had an odd fear that they did
not go anywhere. He saw the lights of the carnival, but no human beings.
Were they gazing at him--hundreds of upturned faces?
Up, up, up he went. Was there no end to it? Now he did really feel the
force of the breeze. Was it too strong? How could he decide that? He
could hear the band, but he knew it would cease playing when he reached
the top. In that one brief moment of suspense it would cease playing.
His companion light moved with him like a good pal. And beyond and below
all was darkness except for the lights of the carnival.
Up, up, up he climbed. And he came at last to the little platform at the
top, as big as the top of a stepladder. It was just a little shelf fixed
to the fifth or sixth rung from the top. But the part of the ladder
above that would serve as a back and he could lean against it. By
fancying the ground was right below him, by eliminating the distance
from his mind, he was able to squirm around and get onto this tiny
shelf. He did not know how Diving Denniver did this, but he managed it.
Standing on the little shelf and leaning back, he could feel the ladder
shake under him. Of course, there were several ladders clamped together
and the extending wires could not hold the towering structure absolutely
taut. But it was steady at the top.
Far below him was a square frame of lights marking the sides of the tank
which had been illuminated during his ascent. Within it the water
shimmered. His senses swam and he closed his eyes, then opened them and
got control of himself. A straight down dive would do it. Would it? Yes,
he was sure. He let go the ladder and laid his two hands palm to palm
above his head.
There was no music now.
[Illustration: HERVEY MADE THE GREAT DIVE.]