After another frowning, considering up-and-down glance at David and Sally, but particularly at Sally, the big man strode away with Eddie, out of earshot.
“If the big man does take us, you won’t be sorry, will you, David?” Sally whispered, clinging to David’s hand.
“Dear little Sally!” David drew her close against him for a moment. They stood close to each other, Sally not caring if the interview between Bybee and Eddie prolonged itself interminably, for David was there, thinking—she could feel his thoughts—“Dear little Sally”—
But after only a few minutes Winfield Bybee and Eddie came across the stubble toward them. Bybee spoke, gruffly:
“Eddie here has been telling me that you two kids have got yourselves into a peck of trouble, and want to hide out a bit. Well, I reckon a traveling carnival is about the best place in God’s world to hide. Anybody that wants to bother you will have to deal with Winfield Bybee, and I ain’t yet turned any of my family over to a village constable. Now, Dave—that your name?—if you want to keep out of sight, reckon I’d better let you help Buck, the cook on the privilege car.
“Sometimes Buck gets too chummy with a bootlegger and his K. P. has to rustle the chow alone, but otherwise the boy’s all right. And you, Sally—” His keen eyes narrowed speculatively, took in the little flushed face, the big eyes sparkling. Then one of his big hands reached out and lifted the heavy braid of black hair that hung to her waist, weighed it, studied it thoughtfully.
————
“Right this way, la-dees and gen-tle-men! Step right up and see Boffo, the ostrich man, eat glass, nails, toothpicks, lead pipe, or what have you! He chews ’em up and swallows ’em like a kid eats candy! Boffo digests anything and everything from horseshoes to jack-knives! Any gentlemen present got a jack-knife for Boffo’s dinner? Come on, folks! Don’t be bashful! Don’t let Boffo go hungry!”
The spieler’s voice went on and on, challenging, commanding, exhorting, bullying the gaping crowd of country people who surged after him like sheep. Admission to “The Palace of Wonders,” a tent which housed a score of freaks and fakers, was 25 cents. It still seemed wonderful to Sally that she was there without having paid admission, that she—she, Sally Ford, runaway ward of the state!—was one of the many attractions which the farmers and villagers had paid their hard-earned money to see.
Dimly through the crowd came the voice of the barker and ticket seller in his tall, red, scarred box outside the tent: “All right, all right! Here you are! Only a quarter—25 cents—two bits—to see the big show! Performance just started! Step right up! All right, boys, this way! Don’t let your girls call you a piker! Two bits pays for it all! See the half-man half-woman! See the girl nobody can lift! Try and lift her, boys! Little and pretty as a picture, but heavy as lead! All right, step right in! Don’t crowd! Room for everybody! See Princess Lalla, the Harem Crystal Gazer! Sees all, knows all! See Pitty Sing, the smallest woman in the world—”