Polly of the Circus Part 18

"Why DIDN'T she ride?" cried Douglas, in an agony of suspense.

"Dat's what I don' know, sah." Mandy began to cry. It was the first time in his experience that Douglas had ever known her to give way to any such weakness. He walked up and down the room, uncertain what to do.

Hasty came down from the window and tried to put one arm about Mandy's shoulders.

"Leab me alone, you n.i.g.g.a!" she exclaimed, trying to cover her tears with a show of anger that she did not feel; then she rushed from the room, followed by Hasty.

The band was playing loudly; the din of the night performance was increasing. Douglas's nerves were strained to a point of breaking. He would not let himself go near the window. He stood by the side of the table, his fists clenched, and tried to beat back the impulse that was pulling him toward the door. Again and again he set his teeth.

It was uncertainty that gnawed at him so. Was she ill? Could she need him? Was she sorry for having left him? Would she be glad if he went for her and brought her back with him? He recalled the hysterical note in her behaviour the day that she went away; how she had pleaded, only a few moments before Jim came, never to be separated from him. Had she really cared for Jim and for the old life? Why had she never written?

Was she ashamed? Was she sorry for what she had done? What could it mean? He threw his hands above his head with a gesture of despair. A moment later, he pa.s.sed out into the night.

Chapter XIII

JIM was slow to-night. The big show was nearly over, yet many of the props used in the early part of the bill were still unloaded.

He was tinkering absent-mindedly with one of the wagons in the back lot, and the men were standing about idly, waiting for orders, when Barker came out of the main tent and called to him sharply:

"Hey, there, Jim! What's your excuse to-night?"

"Excuse for what?" Jim crossed slowly to Barker.

"The cook tent was started half an hour late, and the side show top ain't loaded yet."

"Your wagons is on the b.u.m, that's what! Number thirty-eight carries the cook tent and the blacksmith has been tinkering with it all day. Ask HIM what shape it's in."

"You're always stallin'," was Barker's sullen complaint. "It's the wagons, or the black-smiths, or anything but the truth. _I_ know what's the matter, all right."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Jim, sharply.

"I mean that all your time's took up a-carryin' and a-fetchin' for that girl what calls you 'Muvver Jim.'"

"What have yer got to say about her?" Jim eyed him with a threatening look.

"I got a-plenty," said Barker, as he turned to snap his whip at the small boys who had stolen into the back lot to peek under the rear edge of the "big top." "She's been about as much good as a sick cat since she come back. You saw her act last night."

"Yes," answered Jim, doggedly.

"Wasn't it punk? She didn't show at ALL this afternoon--said she was sick. And me with all them people inside what knowed her, waitin' ter see 'er."

"Give her a little time," Jim pleaded. "She ain't rode for a year."

"Time!" shouted Barker. "How much does she want? She's been back a month and instead o' bracin' up, she's a-gettin' worse. There's only one thing for me to do."

"What's that?" asked Jim, uneasily.

"I'm goin' ter call her, and call her hard."

"Look here, Barker," and Jim squared his shoulders as he looked steadily at the other man; "you're boss here, and I takes orders from you, but if I catches you abusin' Poll, your bein' boss won't make no difference."

"You can't bluff me," shouted Barker.

"I ain't bluffin'; I'm only TELLIN' yer," said Jim, very quietly.

"Well, you TELL her to get onto her job. If she don't she quits, that's all." He hurried into the ring.

Jim took one step to follow him, then stopped and gazed at the ground with thoughtful eyes. He, too, had seen the change in Polly. He had tried to rouse her; it was no use. She had looked at him blankly. "If she would only complain," he said to himself. "If she would only get mad, anything, anything to wake her." But she did not complain. She went through her daily routine very humbly and quietly. She sometimes wondered how Jim could talk so much about her work, but before she could answer the question, her mind drifted back to other days, to a garden and flowers, and Jim stole away unmissed, and left her with folded hands and wide, staring eyes, gazing into the distance.

The memory of these times made Jim helpless to-night. He had gone on hoping from day to day that Barker might not notice the "let-down" in her work, and now the blow had fallen. How could he tell her?

One of the acts came tumbling out of the main tent. There was a moment's confusion, as clowns, acrobats and animals pa.s.sed each other on their way to and from the ring, then the lot cleared again, and Polly came slowly from the dressing tent. She looked very different from the little girl whom Jim had led away from the parson's garden in a simple, white frock one month before. Her thin, pensive face contrasted oddly with her glittering attire. Her hair was knotted high on her head {a}nd intertwined with flowers and jewels. Her slender neck seemed scarcely able to support its burden. Her short, full skirt and low cut bodice were ablaze with white and coloured stones.

"What's on, Jim?" she asked.

"The 'Leap o' Death.' You got plenty a' time."

Polly's mind went back to the girl who answered that call a year ago.

Her spirit seemed very near to-night. The band stopped playing. Barker made his grandiloquent announcement about the wonderful act about to be seen, and her eyes wandered to the distant church steeple. The moonlight seemed to shun it to-night. It looked cold and grim and dark. She wondered whether the solemn bell that once called its flock to worship had become as mute as her own dead heart. She did not hear the whirr of the great machine inside the tent, as it plunged through s.p.a.ce with its girl occupant. These things were a part of the daily routine, part of the strange, vague dream through which she must stumble for the rest of her life.

Jim watched her in silence. Her face was turned from him. She had forgotten his presence.

"Star gazin', Poll?" he asked at length, dreading to disturb her revery.

"I guess I was, Jim." She turned to him with a little, forced smile. He longed to save her from Barker's threatened rebuke.

"How yer feelin' to-night?"

"I'm all right," she answered, cheerfully

"Anythin' yer want?"

"Want?" she turned upon him with startled eyes. There was so much that she wanted, that the mere mention of the word had opened a well of pain in her heart.

"I mean, can I do anythin' for you?"

"Oh, of course not." She remembered how little ANY ONE could do.

"What is it, Poll?" he begged; but she only turned away and shook her head with a sigh. He followed her with anxious eyes. "What made yer cut out the show to-day? Was it because you didn't want ter ride afore folks what knowed yer? Ride afore HIM, mebbe?"

"HIM?" Her face was white. Jim feared she might swoon. "You don't mean that he was----"

"Oh, no," he answered, quickly, "of course not. Parsons don't come to places like this one. I was only figurin' that yer didn't want OTHER folks to see yer and to tell him how you was ridin'." She did not answer.

"Was that it, Poll?" he urged.

"I don't know." She stared into s.p.a.ce.