Polly of the Circus Part 8

"That's right, it's jes' the same with a circus. One year ye give 'em the rottenest kind of a thing, and they eat it up; the next year you hand 'em a knock-out, and it's a frost. Is that the way it is with a church show?"

"Much the same," Douglas admitted half-amusedly, half-regretfully. "Very often when I work the hardest, I seem to do the least good."

"I guess our troubles is pretty much alike." Polly nodded with a motherly air of condescension. "Only there ain't so much danger in your act."

"I'm not so sure about that," he laughed.

"Well, you take my tip," she leaned forward as though about to impart a very valuable bit of information. "Don't you never go in for ridin'.

There ain't no act on earth so hard as a ridin' act. The rest of the bunch has got it easy alongside of us. Take the fellows on the trapeze.

They always get their tackle up in jes' the same place. Take the balancin' acts; there ain't no difference in their layouts. Take any of 'em as depends on regular props; and they ain't got much chance a-goin'

wrong. But say, when yer have ter do a ridin' act, there ain't never no two times alike. If your horse is feelin' good, the ground is stumbly; if the ground ain't on the blink the horse is wobbly. Ther's always somethin' wrong somewheres, and yer ain't never knowin' how it's goin'

ter end--especially when you got to do a careful act like mine. There's a girl, Eloise, in our bunch, what does a SHOWY act on a horse what Barker calls Barbarian. She goes on in my place sometimes--and say, them rubes applauds her as much as me, an' her stunts is baby tricks alongside o' mine. It's enough to make you sick o' art." She shook her head dolefully, then sat up with renewed interest.

"You see, mine is careful balancin' an' all that, an' you got ter know your horse an' your ground for that. Now you get wise ter what I'm a-tellin' yer, and don't you NEVER go into ANYTHIN' what depends on ANYTHIN' else."

"Thank you, Polly, I won't." Douglas somehow felt that he was very much indebted to her.

"I seen a church show once," Polly said suddenly.

"You did?" Douglas asked, with new interest.

"Yes," she answered, closing her lips and venturing no further comment.

"Did you like it?" he questioned, after a pause.

"Couldn't make nothin' out of it--I don't care much for readin'."

"Oh, it isn't ALL reading," he corrected.

"Well, the guy I saw read all of his'n. He got the whole thing right out of a book."

"Oh, that was only his text," laughed Douglas. "Text?"

"Yes. And later he tried to interpret to his congrega----"

"Easy! Easy!" she interrupted; "come again with that, will you?"

"He told them the meaning of what he read." "Well, I don't know what he told 'em, but it didn't mean anythin' to me. But maybe your show is better'n his was," she added, trying to pacify him.

Douglas was undecided whether to feel amused or grateful for Polly's ever-increasing sympathy. Before he could trust his twitching lips to answer, she had put another question to him.

"Are you goin' to do a stunt while I am here?"

"I preach every Sunday, if that's what you mean; I preach this morning."

"Is this Sunday?" she asked, sitting up with renewed energy and looking about the room as though everything had changed colour.

"Yes."

"And YOU GOT A MATINEE?" she exclaimed, incredulously.

"We have services," he corrected, gently.

"WE rest up on SUNDAYS," she said in a tone of deep commiseration.

"Oh, I see," he answered, feeling it no time to enter upon another discussion as to the comparative advantages of their two professions.

"What are you goin' ter spiel about to-day?"

"About Ruth and Naomi."

"Ruth and who?"

"Naomi," he repeated.

"Naomi," she echoed, tilting her head from side to side, as she listened to the soft cadences of the word. "I never heard that name afore. It 'ud look awful swell on a billboard, wouldn't it?"

"It's a Bible name, honey," Mandy said, eager to get into the conversation. "Dar's a balful picture 'bout her. I seed it."

"I LIKE to look at PICTURES," Polly answered tentatively. Mandy crossed the room to fetch the large Bible with its steel engravings.

"We got a girl named Ruth in our 'Leap of Death' stunt. Some of the folks is kinder down on 'er, but I ain't."

She might have told Douglas more of her forlorn, little friend, but just then Mandy came to the bed, hugging a large, old-fashioned Bible, and Douglas helped to place the ponderous book before the invalid.

"See, honey, dar dey is," the old woman said, pointing to the picture of Ruth and Naomi.

"Them's crackerjacks, ain't they?" Polly gasped, and her eyes shone with wonder. "Which one 's Ruth?"

"Dis one," said Mandy, pointing with her thumb.

"Why, they're dressed just like our chariot drivers. What does it say about 'em?"

"You can read it for yourself," Douglas answered gently. There was something pathetic in the eagerness of the starved little mind.

"Well, I ain't much on readin'--OUT LOUD," she faltered, growing suddenly conscious of her deficiencies. "Read it for me, will you?"

"Certainly," and he drew his chair nearer to the bed. One strong hand supported the other half of the Bible, and his head was very near to hers as his deep, full voice p.r.o.nounced the solemn words in which Ruth pleaded so many years before.

"'Entreat me not to leave thee,'" he read, "'or to return from following after thee, for whither thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy G.o.d my G.o.d.'"

He stopped to ponder over the poetry of the lines.

"Kind o' pretty, ain't it?" Polly said softly. She felt awkward and constrained and a little overawed.

"There are far more beautiful things than that," Douglas a.s.sured her enthusiastically, as the echo of many such rang in his ears.

"There are?" And her eyes opened wide with wonder.