With this remark we both thought we might effectively take leave. We departed together, and as we left the garden we could still hear the shrill tones of Susy:—
"—an' there was an ejjicated pig that sat up in a chair with a ruffle round his neck, an' they said he could read, but he didn't, an' one man fell out of that swing, an' we thought he was goin' to get killed, but he fell in a net an' jumped up an' kissed his hand, but my mother says they do get killed,—often, an' there was a cinnamon bear—"
As we walked by my house Ed Mason repeated his remark:—
"I don't b'lieve 'twas much of a circus."
My father looked suddenly over a hedge and said: "Then you couldn't arrange to go with me this evening?"
We both jumped. We were startled at his voice, and there was also something in what he said that seemed to make the sun burst out of the clouds.
Perhaps it was not well to judge the circus without seeing it.
"Because I am going," he continued, "and I should be glad of your company,—unless, of course, you are leaving for Omaha?"