“Reckon I’d better call the constable and let him settle this thing,” he said apologetically.
“I’m a deppity sheriff,” a man called loudly from the audience. “Make way for the law!”
The awe-stricken and happily thrilled crowd parted obediently to let a fat man with a silver star on his coat lapel pass majestically toward the platform. Sally knew him, too, as a “schiller” whose principal job with the carnival was to impersonate an officer of the law when trouble rose between the “rubes” and any member of the carnival’s big family.
“Come along quiet, ladies!” the fat man admonished the two women briskly. “We’ll settle this little spat outside, all nice and peaceable, I hope.” The last word was spoken to Mrs. Stone with significant emphasis.
“This is an outrage!” the orphanage matron raged, but the “deppity sheriff” gave her no opportunity to say more, either in her own defense or to Sally.
Gus, the barker, bent over the trembling girl while the crowd was still enthralled over the spectacle of two apparently respectable middle-aged women being dragged out of the tent under arrest.
“Better beat it, kid. The dame’s hep to you. Reckon she’s the Orphans’ Home matron, you been telling us about. Here, take this—” and he thrust a few crumpled bills into her hand—“and don’t ever let on to Pop Bybee that I helped you get away. Goodby, honey. Good luck. You’re a great kid.... All right, folks! Excitement’s all over! It gives me great pleasure to introduce to you the smallest and prettiest little lady in the world. We call her ‘Pitty Sing,’ and I don’t reckon I have to tell you why—”
Five minutes later Sally was cowering against the rear wall of Eddie Cobb’s gambling-wheel concession, pouring out her story to David, to whom she had fled as soon as Gus had tolled the crowd away from her platform.
“And she recognized me, David!” the girl sobbed, the palms of her trembling hands pressed against her face. “I was so startled when she tore my veil off that I couldn’t pretend any longer. As soon as she gets away from the ‘schillers’ she’ll set the real constable on my trail. Gus told me to beat it—oh, David! What’s going to become of me—and you? Oh!” And she choked on the sobs that were tearing at her throat.
“Why, darling child, we’re going to ‘beat it,’ as Gus advises. Of course! We’ve ‘beat it’ together before. Listen, honey! Stop crying and listen. Go to the dress tent, get your make-up off, change your clothes and make a small bundle of things you’ll need, and I’ll join you there, just outside the door flaps, in not more than ten minutes. I’ve got to get my money from Pop Bybee—”