It was just before the ten o'clock show that Sally, slipping into the
throne-like chair before the crystal, heard a familiar, mocking voice:
"It's not fair! You look as fresh as a daisy! And I've been frantic with
anxiety all day, expecting to hear that Princess Lalla had sickened with
pneumonia. I've come to collect thanks, your highness, for saving your
life!"
----
Sally's sapphire eyes blazed at the man she knew only as "Van," but
since they were veiled with a new scrap of black lace to replace the one
lost in the storm, the nonchalant New Yorker did not appear to be at all
devastated by their fire.
"Thank you for saving my life," she said stiffly, but the man's mocking,
admiring attention was fixed upon the deliciously young, sweet curves of
her mouth, rather than upon the tone of her voice.
"I wonder if you know," he began confidentially, leaning lightly upon
his inevitable cane, "that you have the most adorable mouth I have ever
seen? Of course there are other adorable details in the picture of
complete loveliness that you present, but really, your lips, like three
rose petals--"
"Oh, stop!" Sally cried with childish anger, her small, red-sandaled
foot stamping the platform. "Why are you always mocking me, making fun
of me? I've begged you to let me alone--"
"Such ingratitude!" the man sighed, but his narrowed eyes smiled at her
delightedly. "If you weren't even more delicious when you're angry, I
should not be able to forgive you. But really, Sally Ford--" his voice
dropped caressingly on the name, as if to remind her that he shared her
secret with her--"the way you persist in misunderstanding me is very
distressing.
"I'm not mocking _you_, my dear child! I'm mocking myself--if anyone. It
recurs to me continually that this is an amazing adventure that Arthur
Van Horne, of New York, Long Island and Newport is so sedulously engaged
upon! To paraphrase your own delightful defense, I'm really 'not that
kind of man.' I assure you I'm not in the habit of making love to show
girls, no matter how adorable their mouths may be!" And he smiled at her
out of his narrowed eyes and with his quirked, quizzical mouth, as if he
expected her to share his amusement and amazement at himself.
"Then why don't you let me alone?" Sally cried, striking her little
brown-painted hands together in futile rage.
"I wonder!" he mused. "I make up my mind that I'm a blighter and an ass
and that I shan't come near the carnival. I accept invitations enough to
take up every minute of my last days in Capital City, and then--without
in the least intending to do so--I find myself back in the Palace of
Wonders, humbling myself before a pair of little red-sandaled feet that
would like nothing better than to kick me for my impudence. Do you
suppose, Sally Ford, that I'm falling in love with you? There's
something about you, you know--"
"Please go away," Sally implored him. "It's almost time for my
performance. Gus is ballyhooing Jan now and I come next."
"As I was saying, when you interrupted me," Van Horne reproved her
mockingly, "there's something about you, you know. Last night when I had
the honor of saving your life and seeing your adorable little face
washed clean of the brown paint, I was surprised at myself. I really
was, I give you my word!
"Do you know what I wanted to do? I wanted to swing you up into my arms,
you amazingly tiny thing, and run away with you. If you hadn't looked so
young and--pure, I believe the favorite word is--I'd have yielded to the
impulse. I suppress so few of my unholy desires that I suppose this
discipline is good for my soul--Now, what the devil are you looking at,
instead of listening to the confessions of a young man?" he broke off
with a genuine note of irritation in his charming voice.
"Who is that beautiful woman?" Sally asked in a low voice, her eyes
still fixed upon the golden-haired woman whom Van Horne had called
"Enid," and who had just entered the tent alone, her small body, clad in
the green knitted silk sports suit, moving through the crowd with proud
disdain.
"Again I am forced to forgive you," Van Horne sighed humorously. "I seem
always to be forgiving you, Sally Ford! You are merely asking a question
which is inevitably asked when Enid Barr first bursts upon a startled
public.
"She is probably the most beautiful blond in New York society. Those
industrious cold cream advertisers would pay her a fortune for the use
of her picture and endorsement, but it happens that she has two or three
large fortunes of her own, as well as a disgustingly rich husband. Yes,
unfortunately for her adorers, she is married, Courtney Barr--even out
here you must have heard of Courtney Barr--being the lucky man."
"I wonder what she's doing here," Sally whispered, fright widening her
eyes behind the black lace.
"Oh, I think Courtney's here on political business. The Barrs have
always rather fancied themselves as leaders among the Wall Street makers
of presidents. He's hobnobbing with my cousin, the governor, and Enid is
probably amusing herself by collecting Americana."
"She must be awfully good," Sally whispered, adoration making her voice
lovely and wistful. "She brought all the orphanage children to the
carnival yesterday, you know."
"Yes," Van Horne shrugged, arching his brows quizzically. "I confess I
was rather stunned, for Enid doesn't go in for personal charity. Huge
checks and all that sort of thing--she's endowed some sort of
institution for 'fallen girls,' by the way--but it has never seemed to
amuse her to play Lady Bountiful in person. Of course she may be nursing
a secret passion for children, and took this means to gratify it where
her crowd could not rag her about it."
"Hasn't she any children of her own?" Sally asked. "But I suppose she's
too young--"
"Not at all," Van Horne laughed. "She's past thirty, certainly, though
she would never forgive me for saying so. She's never had any children;
been married about thirteen years, I think."
"Oh, that's too bad!" Sally's voice was tender and wistful. "She'd make
such a lovely mother--"
Van Horne interrupted with his throaty, musical laugh, and was in turn
interrupted by Gus the barker's stentorian roar:
"Right this way, la-dees and gen-tle-men! I want to introduce you to
Princess Lalla, who sees all, knows all! Princess Lalla, world famous
crystal-gazer, favorite--"
Sally straightened in her throne-like chair, her little brown hands
cupping obediently about the "magic crystal" on the velvet-draped stand
before her. Van Horne, with a last ironic chuckle, melted into the
crowd, which had surged toward Sally's platform.
When Gus's spiel was finished, the rush began. At least a dozen hands
shot upward, waving quarters and demanding the first opportunity to
learn "past, present and future" from "Princess Lalla."
She worked hard, conscientiously and cautiously, for she was vividly
conscious that both Van Horne and Enid Barr were somewhere in the tent,
listening perhaps, whispering about her.
Most of her fear of Enid Barr, which had resulted from the connection of
the golden-haired woman with the orphanage children the day before, had
evaporated. It was absurd to think that a woman of such wealth and
beauty, whose philanthropy had undoubtedly been a gesture of boredom,
was seriously interested in one lone little girl who had run away from
charity.
It did not even seem odd to Sally that Enid Barr should have paid a
second visit to the carnival. Probably Capital City afforded scant
amusement for a woman of her sophistication, and the carnival, crude and
tawdry though it was, was better than nothing.
Since "Princess Lalla" was not a side-show all by herself, but only one
of many attractions in the Palace of Wonders, Gus never made any attempt
to cajole reluctant "rubes" into surrendering their quarters for a
glimpse of "past, present and future," but always hustled his crowd on
to the next platform--"Pitty Sing's"--as soon as the first flurry of
interest had died down and the crowd had become restive.
By this method, those who were faintly or belligerently dissatisfied
with Sally's crystal-gazing, at which she was becoming more adept with
each performance, were quickly placated by the sight of new wonders, for
which no extra charge was made.
Sally was straightening the black velvet drapery which covered the
crystal stand, preparatory to returning to the dress tent for a rest
between shows when a lovely, lilting voice, with a ripple of amusement
in it, made her gasp with surprise and consternation.
"Am I too late to have my fortune told?" Enid Barr, gazing up at Sally
with her golden head tilted provocatively to one side, was immediately
below the startled crystal-gazer, one of her exquisite small hands
swinging the silvery-green felt hat which Sally had so much admired the
day before.
"Oh, no!" Sally fluttered, both delighted and frightened at this
opportunity to talk with the most beautiful creature she had ever seen.
Just in time she remembered her accent: "Weel you do me ze honor to
ascend the steps?"
Laughing at herself, and looking over her shoulder to see that she was
not observed by anyone who knew her, Enid Barr ran lightly up the steps
and slipped into the little camp chair opposite Sally. Her small white
hands, with their exquisite nails glistening in the light from the
center gas jet, hovered over the crystal, touching it tentatively.
Sally leaned forward, her own hands cupped about the crystal, her eyes
brooding upon it behind the little black lace veil, her mouth pursed
with sweet seriousness.
"You are--what you call it?--psychic," Sally chanted in the quaint,
mincing voice with which she had been taught to make her revelations.
"Ze creeystal, she is va-ry clear for you. I see so-o-o much!" She
hesitated, wondering just how much of Van Horne's confidences about this
beautiful woman she dared appropriate. Would Van Horne give her away?
Then, as if drawn by a powerful magnet, she raised her eyes suddenly and
met those of Van Horne, who was leaning nonchalantly against the
center-pole of the tent. He nodded, smiled his curious, quizzical smile
and slowly winked his right eye. She had his permission--
"Please hurry!" Enid Barr commanded arrogantly. "I'm just dying to know
what you see about me in that crystal!"
"I see a beeg, beeg city," Sally intoned dreamily, her eyes again fixed
upon the crystal. "I see you there, in beeg, beeg house. Much moneys.
And behind you I see a man--your husband, no?"
"Yes, I am married," Enid Barr laughed. "Since you see so much, suppose
you tell me my name."
"I see--" Sally frowned, but her heart was pounding at her audacity, "ze
letter E and ze letter R--no, B! I see a beeg place--not your
house--with ma-ny girls holding out zeir arms to you. You help zem. You
are va-ry, va-ry good."
"Rot!" Enid Barr laughed, but a bright flush of pleasure spread over her
fair face. "One has to do something with 'much moneys,' doesn't one?
Listen, Princess Lalla, if that is really your name: prove to me you are
a real crystal-gazer! Tell me something I'd give almost anything to
know--" She leaned forward tensely, her violet-blue eyes darkening with
excitement and appeal until they were almost the color of Sally's.
"And what's that, Enid?" a mocking, amused voice inquired. "Do you want
to know whether I really love you? How can you ask! Of course I do!"
Enid Barr sprang to her feet so hastily that the camp stool on which she
had been sitting overturned, anger and something like fear blazing in
her eyes.
Enid Barr and Arthur Van Horne moved away from "Princess Lalla's"
platform together, Enid's golden head held high, her lovely voice
staccato with anger; but Sally, although she was guilty of trying to do
so, could not distinguish a word that was being said.
Near the front exit of the tent Van Horne was greeted boisterously by a
party of Capital City society men and women, laden with trophies from
the gambling concessions on the midway. He was swept into the party,
which Enid Barr refused to join, shaking her little golden head
stubbornly and pretending a great interest in the midget, "Pitty Sing,"
whose platform was nearest the exit.
Although Sally was at liberty to leave the tent until the final
performance at eleven o'clock, she sat on in her throne-like chair,
hoping and yet fearing that the beautiful woman would return and ask her
the question which Van Horne's unwelcome interruption had left unspoken.
Enid spoke to "Pitty Sing" in her proud, offhand manner, paid a dollar
for one of the midget's cheap little postcard pictures of herself,
refused to take the change and was turning toward Sally's platform again
when Winfield Bybee entered the tent with Gus, the barker.
Sally, watching Enid, saw the woman's involuntary start of recognition
as Bybee crossed her path, saw her hesitate, then turn toward him,
determination stamped on her lovely, sensitive face.
When Bybee had bared his head deferentially and was bending over the
small woman to hear her low spoken words, Sally was seized with fright.
She knew instinctively that Enid Barr's questions concerned her, but
whether they concerned Sally Ford, runaway from the state orphanage, or
"Princess Lalla," fake crystal-gazer, she had no way of knowing. All she
knew for certain was that Enid had overheard Betsy's shriek: "That's not
Princess Lalla! That's Sally Ford--play-acting!" And she fled, feeling
Enid's eyes upon her but not daring to look back.
There was less than half an hour before the next and final show was to
start. She spent the time in the dress tent, wishing with all her heart
that she was through work for the day and that she could go to David.
Poor David! lying wounded in a stuffy, hot berth, tormented with worries
as to the future and possibly with regrets for the past, while Eddie
Cobb strutted on the midway as the hero of the safe robbery.
It would be better for David, infinitely better, if she could screw up
her courage to the point of going back to the orphanage and taking her
punishment. It would be so simple! She had only to seek out Enid Barr
and say to her: "I _am_ Sally Ford! Send for Mrs. Stone." And perhaps
Enid would intercede for her, for she seemed so very kind.
"Wake up, Sally," Bess, one of the dancers of the "girlie show," called
to her, as she came shuffling into the tent on tortured feet. "Gus is
ballyhooing your show."
Yes, her mind was made up. She would tell Enid Barr, beg her to
intercede with the orphanage for her, and with the police for David. But
there was no Enid Barr among the audience at the last show of the
evening, and even Van Horne was absent. In spite of her good resolutions
Sally felt an immense relief. Reprieve! She certainly could not give
herself up if there was no one to give up to!
"Going to the show train to see David?" Gus whispered, when the last
show was finished and the audience was straggling toward the exits.
"Of course!" Sally cried. "Is he worse? Don't hide anything from me,
Gus--"
"Worse!" Gus laughed. "Bybee says he's yelling for food and threatens to
get up and cook it himself if they don't give him something besides mush
and milk. Come along! I'll walk you over to the show train. You're too
pretty to be allowed to go alone. Some village dude would be trying to
kidnap you."
They found David sitting up in his berth, working crossword puzzles,
Mrs. Bybee sitting on the edge of his bed to jot down the words as he
gave them to her.
"Reckon you won't need the old lady now that the young 'un's come to
hold your hand and make a fuss over you," Mrs. Bybee grumbled jealously.
"What's that? What's that?" Winfield Bybee, who had come over from the
carnival grounds in a service car, demanded from the doorway. "Been
flirting with my wife, young man? Reckon I'll have to put the gloves on
with you when that crippled wing of yours is O. K. Well, Sally, old Pop
has done you another good turn."
Sally paled and reached instinctively for David's left hand. "Oh! You
mean--Mrs. Barr, the lady who was talking to you?"
"Nothing else but!" Bybee nodded, smiling at her. "She tried to make me
admit you was Sally Ford and I acted innocent as a new-born lamb. Told
her you'd been with us since we left New York."
"Why is she so interested in Sally, Mr. Bybee?" David asked quietly.
"She 'lowed a carnival wasn't no place for a pure young girl," Bybee
chuckled. "She said they was anxious over at the orphanage to get Sally
back, away from her life of sin, and that pers'n'ly she took a powerful
interest in unfortunate girls and was determined to see Sally safe back
in the Home if 'Princess Lalla' _was_ Sally Ford. I lied like a
gentleman for you, child. Told her she was a nice little dame and all
that, but clear off her base in this instance. Reckon I put it across
all right, for she shut up and beat it pretty soon."
"I think she's wonderful," Sally surprised them all by speaking up
almost sharply. "She's just trying to be kind. She doesn't know how
awful an orphans' home can be."
"Come along, Mother. Let's give these two kids a chance. But you mustn't
stay long, Sally. Tomorrow's Saturday, and you oughta be enough of a
trouper by now to know what that means. We head South Saturday night,
riding all day Sunday."
"Out of the state?" Sally and David cried in unison.
"Yep. Out of the state. You kids'll be safe then. The police ain't going
to bother about extradition for a couple of juvenile delinquents. So
long, Dave boy. Don't let this little Jane keep you awake too late."
"I'll leave in fifteen minutes," Sally promised joyfully.
And she kept her promise. Her lips were smiling tenderly, secretly, at
the memory of David's good-night kiss, when she left the car and began
to look about for someone to walk back to the carnival grounds with her,
for she was to sleep in the dress tent that night, the storm-soaked
mattresses having dried in the sun all day.
Gus had told her he would be waiting for her, but she could not find
him. She went the length of the train to the privilege car, pushing open
the door sufficiently to peep within. At least a score of men of the
carnival family were seated at three or four tables, their heads almost
unrecognizable through the thick layers of cigar and cigaret smoke.
There was little conversation except an occasional oath, but the steady
clacking of poker chips upon the bare tables came to her distinctly.
She closed the door noiselessly and jumped from the platform of the
coach to the ground. It would be mean to disturb Gus, she reflected, for
he loved poker better than anything except ballyhoo, and there was no
real reason why she should not walk to the carnival grounds alone.
Of course she would be conspicuous on the streets in her "Princess
Lalla" costume and make-up, but if she paid no attention to anyone who
tried to accost her, there was certainly not much danger. She began to
run, leaving the train swiftly behind her, but she slowed to a sedate
walk when she reached the business streets through which she had to pass
to reach the carnival grounds.
She was crossing Capital Avenue, at the end of which sat the great white
stone structure which gave the street its name, when a limousine skidded
to a sudden stop and an all-too-familiar voice sang out:
"Princess Lalla! What in the world are you doing out alone at this time
of night?"
Sally contemplated flight, but the limousine blocked her path. Before
she could turn back the way she had come Van Horne stepped out of the
tonneau of the car.
"Let me drive you to the carnival grounds, Sally," he urged in a low
voice, completely devoid of mockery for once. "It's really not safe for
you to be out alone dressed like that. Come along! Don't be prudish,
child! I'm not going to harm you. Remember, 'I'm not that kind of a
man!'" And he laughed as he almost lifted her into the car.
She sank back upon the cushions, feeling their depth and softness with a
childish awe. The chauffeur started the car, and Van Horne dropped a
hand lightly over hers as he leaned back and regarded her quizzically.
"I'm glad I ran into you," he told her. "I suppose you've been told that
Enid--Mrs. Barr--is hot on your trail?"
"Yes," Sally nodded, her lips too stiff with sudden fright to form the
word.
"She's almost convinced that you're really Sally Ford," he told her
lightly. "And if she makes up her mind, there's nothing in heaven or
hell that can stop Enid Barr. A damnably persistent little wretch! I've
never been able to understand Enid's passion for succoring 'fallen
girls.' She appears to be such a normal little pagan otherwise."
Sally said nothing because she could not. But her sapphire eyes were
enormous and her mouth was twitching piteously.
"Listen, Sally," Van Horne leaned toward her suddenly, crushing her
little brown-painted hands between his own immaculate white ones. "Let
me get you out of this mess! I've been thinking a lot about you--too
damned much for my peace of mind! And this is what I want to do--"
"Please!" Sally gasped, shrinking far into the corner of the seat, but
unable to tear her hands from his.
"Wait till you've heard what I have to say, before you begin acting like
a pure and innocent maid in the clutches of a movie villain!" Van Horne
commanded her scornfully.
"I want to send you to New York, give you a year in a dancing academy
that trains girls for the stage and a year in dramatic school--both at
the same time, if possible. You've got the figure and the looks and the
personality for a musical comedy star, or Arthur Van Horne is the 'rube'
that you carnival people call him. What do you say, Sally? Think of it.
A year or two with nothing to worry about except your studies and your
dancing and then--Broadway! I'll put you over if I have to buy a show
for you! Come, Sally! Say 'Thank you, Van. I'll be ready to leave
tomorrow.'"
As long as she lived, Sally Ford would remember with shame that for one
moment she was tempted by Arthur Van Horne's offer to prepare her for a
stage career in New York. She had "play-acted" all her life; her heart's
desire before she had met David had been to become an actress, and in
that one moment when she knew that realization of her ambition lay
within her grasp she wanted to stretch out her hands and seize
opportunity.
Her eyes glistened; she gasped involuntarily with delight. If Van Horne
had not been hasty, if he had not snatched her to him with a strangled
cry of triumph as his black eyes--mocking no longer, but wide and
brilliant with desire--read the effect of his words, she might have
committed herself, have promised him anything. But he did touch her, and
her flesh instinctively recoiled, for every nerve in her body was still
athrill with David's good-night kiss.
"No, No! Don't touch me!" she shuddered. "I won't go! You know I love
David!" she wailed, covering her face with her hands. "Why won't you let
me alone?"
Van laughed, settled back in his seat and crossed his arms upon his
breast. "I can wait until you have your little tummy full of carnival
life and of hiding from the police," he told her in his old, nonchalant
way. "Incidentally I have always bemoaned the fact that conquest is so
damnably easy. It is a new experience to me--this being refused, and I
suspect that I'm enjoying it. Now--shall I say good-night, since we've
reached the carnival lot? It's not goodby, you know, Sally. I assure you
I'm admirably persistent. And remember, if Enid tries to make a nuisance
of herself, you can always fly to Van. Good night, Sally, you adorable,
ungrateful little wretch! No kiss? Perhaps it is better so. I'm afraid I
should not care for the brand of lipstick that Princess Lalla uses."
Sally did not tell David of Van Horne's offer, for on Saturday, the last
day of the carnival in Capital City, the boy developed a temperature
which caused Gus, who had acted as volunteer surgeon, to exclude all
visitors, even Sally.
Apparently Enid Barr had been convinced of Bybee's gallant lies that
little orphaned Betsy had been mistaken and that "Princess Lalla" was
not "Sally Ford, play-acting," but it was not until the show train was
rolling out of the state in the small hours of Sunday morning that the
girl dared breathe easily.