DAVID ENTERS THE SAWDUST RING
Braddock saw at once that the old clown was against him. With an ugly
imprecation he directed one of the attendants to go to the main
entrance with instructions to bring Mr. Blake and his friend back to
the dressing-tent.
"We'll see who's running this show," he declared, taking a fresh grip
on the stake, and rolling the dangling cigar over and over between his
teeth.
"Hold on, Camp," said Grinaldi, checking the attendant with a gesture.
"See 'ere, Tom," he went on earnestly, "wot's the reason you won't give
this one an even chance with the others?"
"Stand aside, Christie," Braddock said to his trembling daughter. "Don't
get in the way. Oh, I'm not going to smash the cub, so don't worry.
Here! Come away from him, I say. Both of you. I won't stand for any
petting of a rascal like him. Well, I'll tell you, Joey Noakes," he
went on, turning to the clown, "I don't mind saying I need the money.
This kid's going to be caught by somebody before long, and the man that
does it gets five hundred. It might as well be me. Business is
business, and just now business is bad. You people all know what this
infernal weather has done for us. We haven't had a paying day since we
opened, and here it is the middle of May--nearly six weeks, that's what
it is. There's a lousy three hundred dollars in the big top to-night
and half as much this afternoon. I tell you if these rains keep up I'll
have to close. It takes more than five hundred dollars a day to run
this show. I owe back salaries--all of you have got something coming to
you. Five hundred dollars velvet, that's what this boy means to me--not
for myself, mind you, but for the treasury. That's why I'm going to
turn him over, if you want to know."
"But he ain't guilty," said Grinaldi sharply.
"How do you know?" snarled Braddock. "Go and do what I told you," to
the wavering attendant. Mrs. Braddock and Christine were standing
beside the dejected boy, the former looking steadily at the face of her
husband, whose bloodshot eyes would not meet her gaze. Christine's eyes
were wide with the bewildered stare of an intelligence that has
suddenly been aroused to new aspects: she was having a glimpse of a
side to her father's character that had never been revealed to her
before.
She put forth a hand and drew Ruby Noakes close beside her, pressing
her hand tightly in actual alarm. The Noakes girl's arm went around the
slender figure, but she continued to stare curiously at the face of the
stranger in their midst. She was half a head taller than Christine, and
at least three years her senior.
"We ought to have a new clown to help out dad, Mr. Braddock," ventured
Miss Noakes coolly.
Braddock stared at her. He was not in the habit of accepting feminine
advice.
"What's that?" he barked.
"Keep still, Ruby," cautioned her father nervously. Ruby's lips parted
quickly, and then, thinking better of it, she closed them.
David's face took on a queer, uncertain expression while Braddock was
advancing his dire need of money as an excuse for turning him over. The
proprietor resumed his bitter harangue against the weather, prophesying
bankruptcy and sheriff's sales. The boy's face began to clear. An
eager, excited gleam came into his eyes. He looked about him as if
searching for some sign of corroboration in the faces of the
performers. A certain evidence of dejection had crept into more than
one countenance. It began to dawn on him that the man was more or less
sincere in his argument; even the words of others, in conflict with his
purpose, served to convince him that the money was needed, very
seriously needed.
"If he's innocent, he can prove it," argued Braddock stubbornly. "The
county pays the five hundred. It's nothing out of his pocket. Why the
devil shouldn't I get it?"
David had opened his lips two or three times to utter the words that
surged up from his anxious, despairing heart. A sense of guilt and
shame had checked them on each occasion. Whatever it was that he felt
impelled to say, his honest pride rebelled against the impulse.
Now he lifted his head resolutely, and addressed the proprietor, whose
stand appeared to be immovable.
"I will pay you the five hundred dollars," said David clearly.
Every eye was turned upon him, every tongue was stilled. The tumblers
who had started for the ring stopped in their tracks to gaze in
open-mouthed wonder at the straight, grotesque figure that faced
Braddock.
The proprietor blinked unbelievingly. Then he gave vent to a short,
derisive laugh.
"You will, will you?"
David felt a hot wave of blood rush to his head. His offer had met with
the rebuke it deserved!
"I thought that if it was only the money, I could let you have it. I
didn't mean to try to buy you off," he explained hastily.
"Are you in earnest?" demanded Braddock, depositing the stake on the
ground, a curious glitter swimming across his eyes.
"About the money?"
"Certainly. Where are you going to get it?"
"I've got it with me," said David, feeling at his side. A look of
dismay spread over his face. It was quickly dispelled by the
recollection that his own clothes were lying in the men's
dressing-room. "It's in my vest."
No one thought to oppose him as he passed hastily under the flap. He
was back in a moment, carrying his rain-soaked waistcoat. With nervous
fingers he drew a heavy pin from the mouth of the inside pocket, and
extracted a long leather purse therefrom. It was tied up with a heavy
piece of string.
"Do you mean to tell me that you've got five hundred dollars in there?"
demanded Braddock incredulously.
David felt without seeing the look that went through the crowd. He
knew, by some strange mental process, that they were condemning him,
that they were drawing away from him. He was bewildered. Then suddenly
he understood. It came like a blow. Something rushed up into his throat
and choked him.
They took this money to be the profits of murder! The spoils of a
dreadful sin!
Speechless, he turned to Mrs. Braddock. There was no mistaking the look
of pain and distress in her dark eyes. There were doubt and wonder
there, too. It seemed to him that she shrank back a step; although, as
a matter of fact, she remained as motionless as a statue. Christine was
glowing upon him in grateful amazement, unutterable relief in her gaze.
To her, it meant only that he was rich and could save himself. It did
not occur to her that he had come by the riches dishonestly, nor was
she at once conscious of a feeling that her father would do wrong to
accept the tribute. It was not until later that she felt the shock of
revulsion.
"It is my money!" cried David, speaking to Mrs. Braddock. "Every cent
of it! I--I know what you are thinking. You think I stole it." His eyes
were flashing and his chin was held high now. "I'll kill any one who
says I steal. I'd sooner commit murder a thousand times than to steal."
"How did you--come by all that money?" asked Mrs. Braddock, more than
half convinced by his fervor.
"That's what I'd like to know," added her husband. "Here! Lemme take
that pocket-book."
David jerked his hand loose and abruptly thrust the purse into the hand
of the astonished Mrs. Braddock.
"Look at it," he cried passionately. "Open the purse. It's still in the
sealed envelope, just as my father left it when he went off to the war
the second time--after he was wounded. He left it with my mother for
me. No one has ever opened the package. It was in my mother's trunk
until she died. She wouldn't put it in a bank. My uncle Frank never
knew that she had it; he doesn't know that I have it now. But it is
mine. My father gave it to me when I was six years old. See what it
says on the envelope. It's his own writing. 'For my son David. To be
used in the acquiring of an education if I should fall in this dear,
beloved cause, which now seems lost. God defend us all!' See! 'Arthur
Brodalbin Jenison.' My father's signature. Here is the seal of his
ring. It is my money."
Even Thomas Braddock was swayed, convinced by the eloquence of that
fierce appeal. He stared at the boy, his lips apart, his cigar hanging
limply from one corner of his mouth.
"By thunder!" he murmured, frankly surprised in himself. "I believe the
tale, hang me if I don't!"
But David was waiting only for the verdict of the woman. Mrs. Braddock
had not glanced at the envelope that she now clutched in her tense
fingers; her eyes were only for the eager, chalk-colored face of the
boy. Tears welled up in her warm eyes as he paused for breath.
"I believe you, too--yes, yes, my boy, we all believe you," she cried,
putting out her hand to him. He snatched it up and kissed it.
At that instant the ringmaster, white with rage, dashed in from the big
tent.
"Say, what's the matter with you loafers?"
The crowd of tumblers jumped out of the trance as if shot.
"The show's been held up for ten minutes! Get in there all of you!"
Here followed a violent explosion of appropriate profanity. "The
audience is gettin' wild. They'll be wantin' their money back unless
the performance goes on purty blamed--"
Braddock reached the man's side in three steps. He delivered a
resounding slap on the ringmaster's cheek, almost knocking him down.
The tall hat went spinning away on the ground. Tears of pain and terror
flew to the fellow's eyes. He began to blubber.
"Don't you swear in the presence of my wife and daughter,--you!"
snarled Braddock, his own blasphemy ten times as venomous as the
other's.
"I--I beg your pardon, Mrs. Braddock," stammered the ringmaster in
great haste. If the gaping, respectful hundreds could see the despot of
the ring now!
Braddock's daughter uttered a low moan of horror and amazement. Her
heart swelled with pity for the poor wretch who dared not to defend
himself. Ruby Noakes felt the quiver that ran through the girl's body.
She promptly led her away from the spot.
"Come with me while I change," she said quickly.
Together they passed into the women's dressing-room. Christine's look
of mute surprise and shame rested on David's face as the flap dropped
behind her.
A minute later, the humiliated ringmaster, Briggs by name, was cracking
his whip in the middle of the ring, mighty lord of all he surveyed,
although, to his chagrin, there was no clown present to receive the
attention. In those good old days the circus carried but one clown. He
was the most overworked man in the ring, but he had the satisfaction of
knowing that he was the solitary idol of thousands.
Grinaldi did not accompany the tumblers to the ring. The lone elephant
that graced the show and the horses had been led out for the "lofty
somersault men" to vault over after the run down the "spring board";
that part of the dressing-tent in which Braddock stood was now clear of
humanity, except for his wife, the clown and David Jenison.
"Well, he knows I don't permit swearing in front of my daughter," said
Braddock, resenting the unspoken scorn in his wife's face. "Let's see
that envelope," he added roughly.
She held the coveted package behind her back, shaking her head
resolutely.
"How do I know there's five hundred in it?" he demanded.
"There's more than that," said David nervously.
"How do you know? It's never been opened."
Mrs. Braddock glanced at the writing on the face of the staunch, yellow
envelope. She started violently. In plain figures, in one corner, she
saw: "$3,000." She realized, with a flash of shame, that it would be
fatal to the boy's interests if her husband should come to know of the
actual value of the package. She opened her lips to utter a word of
caution to David, but he was too eager and too quick for her.
"There's three thousand dollars in it," he said.
Braddock started. For the first time he removed the chewed cigar from
his lips, all the while fixedly regarding the youth with narrowing
eyes. He was thinking fast and hard. Three thousand dollars!
"You are not to break this seal, David Jenison," said Mrs. Braddock
firmly, her face very white. "Take it and go. It is your money, not
ours."
"Hold on there," objected her husband. His befuddled brain was solving
a certain problem to his own eminent satisfaction. "These officers have
got to be convinced that you are not with this show. I can't afford to
lie to 'em. There's only one way out of it. I can hire you under
another name and you can travel with us till we get out of this part of
the country. Five hundred is the reward. If I get it from you, most of
it can be paid back in wages. If I turn you over to them and take their
coin, I'd be doing the best thing for myself, but I'm willing to run
the risk of--"
"Thomas Braddock, you are _not_ to take this boy's money," cried his
wife. "It would be infamous!"
"Now, you keep out of this," he growled, fearful for his plans. "It's
one or the other, Mary. Either he antes up or they do."
"I will not allow it!"
David broke in, with a rare show of dignity. "I said I would pay it,
Mrs. Braddock. I can't break my word. If Mr. Braddock will send them
away, I will pay the amount they offer."
"Give him the envelope, Mary," commanded Braddock.
She looked about her as if seeking means of escape with the precious
package. Then, with a deep sigh, and a look of unutterable scorn for
the man, she handed the envelope to David.
He broke the seal.
"Maybe it's Confederate money," said Braddock, a sudden chill in his
heart. But it was not Confederate money. There was exposed to view a
neat package of United States treasury notes of large denomination,
brand-new and uncrumpled, just as they had come from the treasury
department.
Without hesitation, young Jenison counted off five hundred dollars.
Mrs. Braddock closed her eyes in pain as he laid the notes in her
husband's hand. Grinaldi turned away, suppressing the bitter
imprecation that rose to his lips.
"I'll tell those scoundrels that you haven't been near the show." He
did not count the money. He had counted it with greedy eyes as David
told off the bills in his nervous, clumsy fingers. "Now, you lay low.
Stick close to me. Don't let anybody see much of you till we're over in
Ohio. I'll guarantee to get you off safe. Don't you worry. Just lay
low. I'll find work for you to do. We're headed for Indiana and
Illinois. They'll never get you out there. By thunder! I've got an
idea, Joey, that girl of yours is right. You _do_ need a bit of help.
We'll make a clown of him. We'll have two clowns. How is that, Mary?"
She did not reply. He looked away hastily.
"I couldn't be a clown," began David in consternation.
"Sure you can," interrupted the boss. "It's as easy as fallin' off a
log. Joey can tell you all the tricks. He's the best in the world, Joey
Grinaldi is. That's what I've got him for. We've got the best show in
the world, too. Barnum ain't in the same class with us. Forepaugh and
Van Amberg? They are second rate aggre--But, say, I'd better go out and
steer those fellows away." He started off, but stopped suddenly as if
struck by a serious doubt.
"Perhaps you'd better let me take the rest of that money and put it in
the safe in the ticket-wagon," he said encouragingly. "It's likely to
be nipped by some of these crooks that follow the show. 'T ain't safe
with you, let me tell you that."
"No!" cried his wife, her voice shrill with decision.
Braddock did not insist. He was too wise for that.
"Well, if it's stolen, don't blame me," he said. "Remember, I told you
so. I don't give a damn personally. It's your money, kid."
"I reckon I'll keep it," said David, suddenly acute. He began wrapping
the string around the broken package, which he had kept sacredly
inviolate for so long. "I'll stay with the show and do anything I can,
if you'll only help me to get away. I--I don't want to be taken back
there. Some day, I expect to go back, but not right now. I'm not
afraid. But I can't go back until I've found the man that _knows_."
"There _is_ a man who--knows?" murmured Mrs. Braddock.
"Yes. I must find him. He--he doesn't want to be found. That's why it
is going to be so hard. But I will find him!" His eyes were flashing,
his teeth were set.
"So much the better," said Braddock. "You can throw 'em off the track
for awhile, then take your money and go to New York. You'll find him
there, all right. They all go there."
"He is a nigger," said David.
"Umph!" grunted Braddock. "That's bad. You mustn't expect any jury in
Virginia to believe a nigger in these days."
"Oh, yes, they will. They'll have to," declared David firmly.
"Say," said the proprietor, his voice sinking to tones of caution. He
addressed the three of them. "Better keep this quiet about the five
hundred. It won't help any of us if it gets out that you've been
bribing me, boy. I'll just say that I refused to take the wad. That
will go, too. Don't let _anybody_ know. Understand, Mary?" He looked at
her with lowering eyes.
"I will not tell Christine, Tom," she said evenly, meeting the look
with a gaze so steady that he bristled for a moment, but gave way
before it. He felt the scorn and laughed shortly in his attempt to
convince himself, at least, that he did not deserve it.
"And just to show you that I'm honest in this business," he went on
hurriedly, "I'm going to begin by paying you the fifty I still owe on
your salary, Joey. That's the kind of a man I am. I do what I say I'll
do. Here's your fifty, Joey."
"Not that kind of money for me, thank you," said Grinaldi, with a scowl
that brought his painted eyebrows together. He turned on his heel and
hurried into the dressing-room, unable to restrain the words that would
have cut the heart of the man's wife to shreds.
An attendant came in from the circus tent just as Christine Braddock
emerged from the dressing-room alone. David was stuffing the purse
inside the loose shirt that he wore. The girl hurried to her mother's
side.
"Are they going to--to take him?" she whispered fearfully.
David saw the sweet, clean lips tremble. Her eyes were wide and dry
with trouble. Somehow his heart swelled with a strange new emotion: he
could not have ascribed it to joy, or to self-pity, or to gratitude. It
was something new and pleasant and warm; a glow, a light, an uplifting.
This sweet, wonderfully pretty girl was his friend! She believed in him.
"No, dear," replied Mrs. Braddock, lowering her eyes in sudden
humiliation.
The attendant was speaking. "Mr. Braddock, that feller out at the door
has got tired waitin'. He says he's comin' back yere to see you.
What'll I say to 'im? He's got a warrant an' he's got some of the town
marshal's men with 'im now."
"I'll go out and see him right away. The boy ain't with this show."
With a slow, meaning look at his wife, he turned to follow the man.
Over his shoulder he called to David:
"Go in there with Joey. He'll tell you where to hide if you have to. Be
quick about it."
He was gone. The tumblers began to pour in from the main tent.
Christine clutched her mother's arm in the agony of desperation.
"Did--did he take the money from--_him_?" she demanded tremulously.
Mrs. Braddock looked at David, an abject appeal in her eyes. He smiled
blandly and lied nobly, like a true Virginia gentleman.
"No, Miss Braddock. Instead of that, he has hired me to go with the
show."
"Oh, I am so glad," she cried. "I knew he would not take your money."
David swallowed hard; and then, fearing to speak again or to meet her
radiant eyes, he hastened after Grinaldi.
A moment later he was in the center of an excited, whispering group of
performers, in various conditions of attire, but singularly alike in
their state of mind. They were softly but impressively consigning
Thomas Braddock to the most remote corner in purgatory. They plied
David with questions. He reported the impatience of the officers, and
Braddock's decision to protect him for the time being.
"I saw them chaps out there, standin' by the menagerie doors," said the
contortionist. "Spotted 'em right away, I did."
A bareback rider looked in. His horse already had started for the ring.
"Lay low!" he whispered. "One of the boys says they won't be put off by
Brad. They're going to search the tent with the town marshal."
Grinaldi, who had been deep in thought, suddenly slapped his knee and
uttered a cackle of satisfaction.
"I've got it! We'll pull the wool over their eyes, by Jinks! Follow me,
boy, and do just wot I tells you. I'm--I'm going to take you into the
ring with me. By Jupiter, they won't think of looking for you there."
Attended by a chorus of approval, he shoved the stupefied David out
before him and hustled him across the space that lay between them and
the main top, all the while whispering eager instructions in his ear.
"You just follow behind me, keeping step all the time--about three
steps behind me. Don't look to right or left. Keep your eyes on the
middle of my back. Nobody knows you, so don't go into a funk, my lad.
It's life or death for you, mebby. I'll get a word to Briggs, the
ringmaster. He'll help you out, too. Just follow me around the ring,
three steps behind. Stop when I stop, walk when I do. Look silly,
that's all. I'll think of something else to tell you to do after we're
out there. And _we'll stay out there till the show's over_."
Trembling in every joint, David paused at the entrance. Mrs. Braddock
came running up from behind.
"I've just heard," she whispered. "Do as Joey tells you. Don't be
afraid."
"I'll try," chattered David, pathetic figure of Momus.
"Wait," she whispered, as much to Joey Grinaldi as to the novice.
"David, will you trust me to take care of your money until to-morrow?"
Without a word he slipped his hand into his shirt front and produced
the flat purse. He handed it to her.
"Good!" exclaimed Joey Grinaldi.
The next instant David Jenison, aristocrat, was trudging dizzily toward
the sawdust ring, his heart beating like mad, his knees trembling.
Thomas Braddock, detaining the officers on the opposite side of the
ring, saw the strange figure and for a moment was near to losing his
composure. Then he grasped the situation and exulted. He boldly
escorted Blake and the town authorities to the dressing-tent, where he
assisted in the search and the questioning.
Before the expiration of half an hour's time every man, woman and child
connected with Van Slye's Great and Only Mammoth Shows knew that David
Jenison, the murderer, was among them and that he was to be protected.
The word went slyly, by whisper, from car to ear, down to the lowliest
canvasman. It spread to the throng of crooks, pickpockets and fakirs
that followed the show; it reached to the freaks in the sideshow. And
not one among them all would have betrayed him by sign or deed. They
stuck together like leeches, these good and bad nomads, and they asked
few questions. And so it was that David Jenison made his first
appearance as a clown in the sawdust ring.