"How much man has done for man," rejoined her cousin, Lucia Laniston, "in setting and following the fashions."
"Poor humanity indeed," said Mrs. Laniston, didactically, bent on improving the opportunity. "How can you take so superficial a view? As a mere example of the sensate in creation think what a marvellous motive power is expressed in that woman—only a bundle of muscular fibre, but without a conscious effort she moves along this pavement; with an involuntary impulse she sees every item of that garden at the corner—and really those coleus on the terrace are very fine!—think of the curious cerebral processes of her mental organisation——"
"And then think of the curious way her skirt is cut," the irreverent daughter laughed.
Mrs. Laniston grew squeamish presently and balked at the idea of seeing the "freaks." Her interest in "poor humanity" did not extend beyond the normal—she could not abide to view the fat lady, nor the living skeleton, nor the wild man.
"You ought really to see 'Wick-Zoo,'" her son urged her with a twinkling eye. "He is about as wild as I am."
The "snake-eater" was not to be tolerated, and the utmost wiles of the spieler could not lure her party to his tent. The sun was beginning to be grievously hot, and before Haxon had climbed quite to the top of the mast the party had returned to the verandah of the hotel, whence they shudderingly beheld the acrobat's graceful downward plunge.
The ladies had retired within to rest from their somewhat limited exertions and Frank Laniston and Jardine were sitting on the verandah, languidly chatting and observing the crowd in the square, when suddenly they perceived walking briskly toward the hostelry a dripping serio-comic figure, the pink satin garments party invisible beneath an overcoat, below which, however, a pair of stalwart calves encased in pink silk protruded. Lloyd was following and his distinctive face and manner were too individual not to be instantly placed. The tourists had not recognised in the acrobat the respectable commercial-looking figure they had earlier noted with Lloyd on the verandah, but as Haxon marched stoutly up the steps he fixed them with a serious eye and instantly both remembered the man and their comment on the handbill in his presence.
It was young Laniston's instinct to shrink within himself on this discovery; he realised how deeply this ridicule must have cut, with a keener edge that the rudeness was obviously unintentional. His face flushed, his eye faltered, and he hung his head. But Jardine was very much a man of the world. He considered that the matter could not well be mended and hence had best be ignored. He and his friend could not have been expected to recognise the presence of the acrobat and rein their speech accordingly. Perhaps this conclusion was the more easily reached since he himself with his habitual reserve had said little or nothing calculated to offend the sensibilities of the acrobat. He therefore made no sign of a comprehension of the contretemps; he bent his eyes calmly on the sorting of a sheaf of letters which he had just found on inquiry at the post office here. But Laniston, though quick at contention with a fair cause of quarrel, was possessed of the generosities of good-fellowship; he could not disregard the wound which he had unwittingly inflicted and was eager to assuage it. His chair was near the entrance, and thus he accosted the acrobat, as Haxon was about to pass, without seeming to seek an occasion to make the amende.
"I must congratulate you, sir—a more daring feat I never saw," his hearty young voice rang out buoyantly, "and I've seen some good things on both sides of the water. I believe I have the pleasure of speaking to Captain Ollory?"
"No," said Haxon, apparently contradicted by the rills which trickled from his garments as he paused, and the view which the open coat gave of the saturated pink finery and tights, "that is—a stage name."