The Rose in the Ring Part 19

"Then why don't you pinch it yourself? Why ask me to do it?"

Braddock turned upon him angrily. "Why, I'm no thief! I'll break your neck if you make another crack like that."

Artful d.i.c.k arose. "I'm not so easily insulted," he said with a queer little laugh. "But, say, Braddock, let me tell you one thing. I'm not going to touch that kid's wad, and you ain't either. I'm a friend of his'n, after what happened to-day. Put that in your pipe, Brad, and smoke it."

Braddock gulped painfully. "See here, d.i.c.k, don't be a fool. We can clean up a--"

"You'd take the pennies off a dead n.i.g.g.e.r's eyes," interrupted the pickpocket scathingly.

"I'd do anything to keep the show from busting," said the other with the air of a martyr. "Anything to save my wife's little fortune, and anything to keep my performers from going broke."

"I suppose your wife thinks it's all right to get this kid's money away from him," said d.i.c.k sarcastically.

"She--why, of course, she wouldn't know anything about it. She's so blamed finicky."

"Of course!" scoffed d.i.c.k.

"But she'd stand for it, if she ever did find it out. She needs the money just as much as I do, only she likes to appear sanctimo--"

"I hate a liar, Brad," said d.i.c.k coolly.

Braddock arose unsteadily. "You mean ME?"

"I do," said the thief to the liar. "You know you lie when you say she'd back you up in a game like that."

"I've a notion to smash you one."

"Here's your watch, Brad, and your pocketbook. I nipped 'em just now to see if I'm in practice. Oh, yes, and your revolver, too." He laughed noiselessly as he laid the three articles on the footrest of the wagon and turned away.

Braddock blinked his eyes. As he replaced the articles in their places, he said admiringly: "Well, you do beat the devil!"

When he turned, the pickpocket was nowhere to be seen. It was as if the earth had swallowed him.

Five minutes later d.i.c.k appeared quite mysteriously in the dressing-tent, coming from the skies, it seemed to David, who found him filling a s.p.a.ce that had been absolutely empty when he stooped over an instant before to adjust his shoe-lacing.

"h.e.l.lo, kid," said d.i.c.k easily. "Say, do you know there's a warrant for your arrest right now in the hands of the town marshal of this burg?"

David's heart almost stopped beating.

"How do you know?" he demanded.

"I just piped him and a Pinkerton guy I know by sight hunting up Braddock. Not three minutes ago. They were talking it over between 'em out there by the road. The detective's got a picture of you, he says.

Somehow they've dropped on to it that the new clown is you. Evening, Mrs. Braddock."

The proprietor's wife came up, followed closely by Christine and Ruby, dressed for the street. In an instant David repeated the startling news.

"What is to be done?" cried Mrs. Braddock, aghast.

"They sha'n't take you, David," cried Christine.

"Where is my father?" fell from Ruby's frightened lips.

"Not a second to be lost," said d.i.c.k. "I've got a scheme. Come in here, kid, and let me get into the tights you've got on. Tell Joey, and put the rest of the crowd on to the game," he added to Ruby.

When the town marshal and the detective deliberately stalked into the dressing-tent a few minutes later, a nonchalant group of performers greeted them, apparently without interest.

The new clown was partly dressed, but he had not washed the bis.m.u.th and carmine from his lean face. Braddock, perspiring freely, came in behind the officers. He saw in a glance what had transpired. His cigar almost dropped from his lips.

"We want you," said the marshal, pushed forward by the detective. The new clown looked up, amazed, as the hand fell on his shoulder. "No trouble now," added the local officer, nervously glancing around him.

He knew the perils attending the arrest of a circus performer in his own domain.

"What's the matter with you?" exclaimed d.i.c.k Cronk, jerking his arm away.

"I want you, David Jenison, for murder in--"

There was a roar of laughter from the a.s.sembled crowd of performers.

"Come off!" grinned d.i.c.k Cronk. "You're off your base, you rube. Let go my arm!"

"None of that now," said the detective. "I've got your picture here.

The jig's up, young feller. It's no--"

"My picture?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed d.i.c.k in surprise. "Let's have a look at it. I never had my picture taken in my life."

The man held out a small solar print of a daguerreotype that David Jenison sat for the year before at college. While the marshal, in some trepidation, regained his grip on the prisoner's arm, the crowd of performers looked at the picture with broad grins on their faces.

"Wash up, Jacky," said Grinaldi, stifling a laugh.

"Let the rubes see what you really look like," added Signor Anaconda.

d.i.c.k Cronk proceeded to scrub away the make-up. When he lifted his face for inspection, the two officers glared at him in positive consternation.

"I guess I'm not the guy you're after," said d.i.c.k coolly. "A blind man could see that I don't look like that picture. My, what a nice-looking boy he is! A reg'lar lady-killer."

"You're not the man, that's dead sure," said the Pinkerton operative, perplexity written all over his face. "We've had a job put up on us,"

he explained, turning to Braddock. "Some smart aleck sent word to our branch that the real Jenison boy was a clown in this show. We got a note from some one who said he belonged to the show. They sent me up here on a chance that it was true. We had this picture in the office.

The note says David Jenison joined the show three weeks ago. How long have you been with it?"

d.i.c.k Cronk was very cunning. "That's funny. I've been with it just three weeks. Say, I bet I know who put up this job on you." He turned to his friends. "It was that darned Jim Hopkins. He's always up to a gag of some sort."

"Where is he?" demanded the detective.

"The Lord knows," said d.i.c.k. "He ducked a couple of days ago. Gone to Cincinnati, I think he said. He works the sh.e.l.l game, and it got pretty hot for him after we left c.u.mberland. Well, say, this IS great! I guess the drinks are on the Pinkerton office. Thaw out, mister. Charge it to the Molly McGuires."

In the mean time David Jenison, attired in a street gown belonging to Madam Bolivar, the strong lady, was on his way to the hotel, accompanied by Mrs. Braddock, Christine and others of the s.e.x he represented for the time being.

An hour later he stole away from the hotel, in his own clothes, and boarded a rumbling tableau wagon at the edge of the town, considerably shaken by his narrow escape, but full of grat.i.tude to the resourceful pickpocket.