"Big as life, dang 'is bloody 'eart. He's bothering 'er, too. Makes love to 'er right afore 'er 'us-band's eyes. It's—it's out-rage-ious."
Miss Noakes forgot her story and her resentment. She leaned forward, her black eyes fairly snapping, her fingers clenched. David recalled the muscular bare arms he had seen during the trapeze act, and wondered how so slight a person as she now seemed to be could be so powerfully developed.
"I knew something awful was going to happen," she said. "I saw a cross-eyed man in the blues to-day. It never fails."
Circus people, from the beginning of history, have been superstitious. Not one, but all of them, carry charms, amulets or lucky pieces, and they recognize more signs than the sailors themselves.
"Some of these fine days I'm going to paste that guy on the nose," said the contortionist heatedly.
"You'll get a bullet in your gizzard if you do," said the clown gloomily. "He carries a gun, and he'll use it, too. And if he didn't, Tom Braddock would beat you to jelly for insulting 'is best friend."
"Do you mean that Mrs. Braddock is in love with that man?" demanded David, his heart sinking.
The three of them glared at him—positively glared.
"Nobody said that, sir," said old Joey angrily. "She despises 'im. I said as 'ow he was in love with 'er. There's a big difference in that, my friend."
"I knew she wasn't that kind of a woman," cried David joyously.