And once more "Weighs six hunderd pounds—come in and see her tip the beam—oh, lady, don't believe that snake-man. The serpent was ever the snare of the fair sex! That feller is the same one that crawled in the garden of Eden, lady. Come in, lady, and see the handsomest woman of her size in the world—tips the beam at six hunderd pounds!"
Lloyd was deaf to it all. He was still revolving the situation, which was by no means devoid of danger to him. Should the foolhardy enterprise of the moonshiners reveal their infringement of the law and bring down disaster, which could only end in a Federal prison, he might well be involved on the suspicion of connivance and profit-sharing. The truth was that the financial prospect of the Fair must have been greatly ameliorated by the depot of liquid refreshment established on its outskirts. He had not earlier been able to understand the crowd's reinforcement in point of numbers as the day had worn on. He remembered, with a sort of helpless astonishment at the toils of the circumstances as they began to enmesh him, how public he had permitted to be the fact of his acquaintance with these people; the glowing advertisements of the "song-and-dance turn" of Shadrach Pinnott's daughter, which in themselves must have been ample intimation to the initiated that there was something else to be found at the Street Fair as alluring as youth and beauty; the courtesies that he had shown the family as recognition in some sort of the very questionable value of her performance.
He had realised that it was in itself a sort of exhibition, at which he had himself been able to laugh in the lightness of his heart—he had thought it a very heavy heart then, so unprescient had he been of worse troubles to come,—when he had made the tour of the show with the venerable Mrs. Pinnott on his arm, and they had gone up in the Ferris Wheel together. All the crowd below had laughed and guyed the twain, as the mingled fright and ecstasy of the ancient dame sounded on the air while she swayed aloft and clutched her youthful cavalier with a grip of steel. Now and again the listening wights were convulsed with merriment at her pertinent remarks, charged with a pungent old-fashioned native wit, and, when once more on solid ground, the rough but good-natured crowd had given a rousing cheer for "May and December." It was hardly possible that any ascent could be more public.
He was taking himself to task now for his plastic folly. He said to himself that he did not know any other man who would have been guilty of it. The indifference of other men, their surly self-centred natures, their aversion to ridicule, their sense of the value of their own time in rest, if duty did not absorb it, in the luxury of waste, if no dissipation entrenched upon it—all would have protected other men from a situation which had as a sequence menace so serious. Other men might have found a lure in the girl's beauty and thus involved themselves in a troublous association. It was only he, however, who would interest himself in the enjoyment of a funny old crone, by giving her a ride on the Ferris Wheel and a sight of all the wonders of the show, sinking his individuality out of sight, and laughing himself at the crowd's ridicule of the incongruity of the companions. It was no unselfishness, he told himself grimly. He found his own happiness in such ill-advised benefactions. And this fad, that had seemed so simple, so natural, had developed a curiously resilient blow. He could well understand now why the men of the family had no interest concerning the details of the show, and manifested no filial disposition that her narrow, restricted life should be enriched with the sights and sounds that were so much to her wondering simplicity. Overpowered by all they had at stake in their venturesome pursuit of their vocation, in defiance of imminent discovery and the penalties of a long term of imprisonment, they had neither time nor thought for such trivialities as making for her behoof the tour of the Fair.
If a disastrous suspicion of complicity in their enterprise on the part of the management of the Carnival should be entertained by the revenue authorities it would wreck the individuals of the combination beyond all help or redemption, Lloyd reflected. They were strangers, poor personally, and as a company on the verge of financial collapse. Suspicion would mean for them arrest, the jail, utter ruin, for there was no possibility of bail-bonds for stranded mountebanks in a remote and unfamiliar region.
Lloyd staggered under a sense of responsibility. His first impulse was to find Haxon, and in the confidential relations of mutual interest seek some surcease for the terrors that had fallen upon him with fangs that were rending and gnawing at his consciousness. Then he checked himself. No change of plan could be speedily compassed. An itinerant show is an unwieldy device. It was obvious policy that the Carnival should continue the next day without any deviation of plan, until the matter could be canvassed and some decision reached. Haxon's nerve must not be shaken. His diurnal feat, his "high dive," was billed for the morning, and a suggestion freighted with such momentous possibilities would doubtless affect his self-control, his physical poise, and cost him his life. A frightful fate waited on a false step, a trifling miscalculation of distance. Lloyd shuddered at the thought. He had seen Haxon earlier in the evening, and had marked with a sense of gratulation the restoration of the spirits of the acrobat. The improved business of the show, as the day wore on, had revived Haxon's hopes. The company might yet pull through, he thought, making current expenses and transportation. This was the first day, and though he could not discern whence the patrons for the rest of the week were to come, he found a degree of solace in the propitious present, the jollity of the aspect of the square, the flaring lights, the enthusiastic crowds, and all the "turns" were at their best.
With a sigh Lloyd felt that he must broaden his back to the burden. He could carry this weighty secret without a sign till high noon to-morrow, surely. He drew out his silver watch and consulted its dial—he wondered would the course of events change before twelve hours should pass. Still Haxon must not know—the routine could not be altered without suspicion. Lloyd had a keen, intelligent power to appraise cause and event, and he had already noted the sudden fierce temper of rural crowds. He intuitively knew that the public here could not be balked of its sensation with the proffered return of the money at the door, like a metropolitan audience, even if it were practicable. But Haxon's turn was a free show. It was already the inalienable property of the public. A riot might ensue, and in any disturbance disastrous facts might be elicited and precipitate the dangers he feared. Haxon must not know. The crowd must be kept satisfied, and as quiet and orderly as possible until the leap for life was made.
Suddenly Lloyd's heart sank as he wondered why the municipal authorities had not interfered to seek the source of the inebriation of the drunken men on the streets of this dry town. Surely they could not be suspected of standing in with the liquor dealers, or were they even now laying their plans, spreading their snares, waiting for the coming of the revenue force, already summoned, for there were rewards of not despicable sums for the informer.
He was about to start toward the hotel, still lingering in front of the drug store at the corner of the intersection of one of the streets with the square, and he became all at once aware of a covert watchful gaze, that had been fixed on him so long, with such complete immunity by reason of his mental absorption hitherto, that his abrupt turn surprised and caught it. The look came from a pair of dark, bright eyes, under the flapping brim of an old white hat, shown in the flare from the windows of the drug store—young eyes, to his astonishment, for he had fancied that it was an old lame man in the miller's garb, who had "shadowed" him to the Pinnott encampment to-day. He could not be sure of the incongruity, for the man turned his head instantly, and the momentary impression was lost in the turmoil of anxiety, of eager thought, of perplexed fears that filled the brain of the manager of the joyous "carnival."
When one by one the lights of the Street Fair went out, when the town was dark save for the corner lamps at long intervals, when the crowds had vanished and the itinerants had repaired to the little hotel which harboured the better paid, or the boarding-houses where the underlings found refuge, except indeed the "freaks," who from motives of privacy, so essential to their trade, never left their several tents, Lloyd tossed to and fro on his sleepless pillow and canvassed anew within himself the situation, and calculated again the problems of the expense accounts and the gate receipts and the transportation, and wondered if he had decided wisely, and then listened warily to the breathing of Haxon, in his bed on the opposite side of the room, lest the tumult of his wild thoughts might have boisterously wakened the acrobat and defrauded him of his night's rest.